#yeah i saw jingle mercy and i was like

[minghzi]

heheh, merry christmas.

This yeah Cass is santa and Hanzo is the reindeer

[redflagshipwriter]

Check Yes ch 9 part 2

masterpost

That whole detour took a depressing amount of their allotted Dick-free time frame. Danny sulked about it a bit as Jason caught up to him and bumped his shoulder. Jason fished his phone out and clearly made a call to a restaurant, giving them an ETA and asking them for the meal Danny had asked for.

Well… Danny untensed a bit. He was willing to look at Jason again by the time that the phone call finished. 

“Wanna talk strategy?” Jason coaxed. 

Danny pursed his lips. “Is anything off limits?” he asked with a shrug. He spread his hands out. “I can fly, go intangible– most of my powers are more martial but those are really applicable.”

“I can’t do either of those things,” Jason said, “So unless-”

“I will just pick you up,” Danny cut him off. He flicked a glance up and down the other guy. “You weigh nothing to me.”

Jason seemed to experience a 404 error. Once he had rebooted he cleared his throat and his voice still came out a little peaky. “I think those things are fair, but we don’t wanna clear Dick totally, it won’t be any fun unless he thinks he has a shot at some points.” He cleared his throat again.

‘....Does he want me to pick him up?’ Danny looked Jason over as sneakily as he could manage. ‘He didn’t let me carry him up the stairs, but maybe that was different because we were play-fighting.’

He filed that very interesting question away for later and took a little mercy on his date. “What strengths does he have, what tactics is he gonna use?”

Jason whistled a long breath out from between his teeth and opened a door for Danny. “We should call Barbie and beg for her neutrality. He won’t go to tech immediately, but tracking us by cameras is always an option.”

Danny snorted and tossed his hair. “Not a problem,” he boasted. “I can short out any cameras in my vicinity.”

There was a moment of silence. “That sounds like it would make it really easy to spot our current location.”

Oh. Well. Heck.

“...Is this the restaurant?” Danny pushed open the door without waiting for an answer, bell jingling overhead.  

A sharp-eyed waiter in black and white saw them enter and indicated the back area with a gloved hand. “Thanks, France,” Jason said easily. He pulled out a seat for Danny without a thought.

Danny shared a moment of eye contact with France. Danny was intending to communicate, ‘Do you see this shit, France?’ France was a cypher. There was no hint of what he thought about this.

…Danny sat. “Thank you,” he said, a little confused by the gesture but pretty certain that this was the best response. 

Jason seated himself and gave him a distracted smile in lieu of a verbal reply. Shit. Fuck. He was hot. Danny flashed internal alarms at this. “Are you still interested in red wine, or would you like something else?” 

“Uhhh.” Danny decided not to say that he had no idea, he was basically copying the romantic date from The Lady and the Tramp. “I’d like to start with a water.” 

“Of course.” Jason glanced over at France, who inclined his head and left in a frankly shocking burst of speed. “I think that Dick will try to leverage the date against me, to embarrass me,” he said thoughtfully. He picked up a saltshaker and started toying with it absentmindedly. “He’ll think that I won’t want the other guys bothering us.”

Danny cocked his head. 

“I was thinking about cutting that out from underneath him, at the last second,” Jason explained. “Dick’ll probably have a couple contingencies around siblings.”

“Yeah, control the flow of information,” Danny agreed. “Do you think you can turn any of them against him?”

Jason pursed his lips. “Yes, but not predictably. It’ll depend who sides with who first. It’s not a fun game if they all play on the same team, so some of them will be willing to fuck him over.” He blinked and lifted his hands as France returned with a pitcher of lemon water and a plate of appetizers. 

It was a very serious war council, for all that it happened to be about the tactics Birds and Bats would use in a game of tag. Danny caught himself leaning forward, elbows braced on the table, to breathe in every word out of Jason’s mouth. 

“Don’t worry about the big guy though,” Danny faintly understood. He was glazing out a little bit, just watching Jason’s mouth move. There was a little bit of stubble that hadn’t been there at the start of their date a few hours ago. Danny wanted to touch it. “No way will they invite him to play, he hasn’t been fun for a decade.”

“Whatever you say,” Danny managed. Unbidden, one hand started to come up off the tabletop, reaching toward Jason’s jawline. Touchy touch touch.

“What- oh, we should take a photo for the group chat.” Jason pushed the food slightly out of the way and rested an elbow on the table to support himself as he leaned basically into Danny’s space. He used that hand to grab the hand Danny had been inching across the table and he gave it a squeeze.

He was. He was holding Danny’s hand again. Danny swallowed, hard. Was his pulse too fast? Could Jason feel that?

“Lean in a bit?” Jason was checking how they looked in his phone camera. 

Danny leaned forward agreeably, brain screaming static at him. He didn’t even bother to think about how he looked in the photo. It must have been fine because Jason made an approving noise and put the phone back down on the table. “I’ll send it to the group chat in about 20 minutes,” he said.

“Ngah,” Danny said intelligently. 

Luckily, the pasta came then.

[ameliaenya707]

We Cry Together

Day one

Hours went by, the cool bathroom tile against your palms as you sat in the dark room. The soft drip of the leaky sink faucet and the gentle hum of your own thoughts fill your ears. Nothing felt real, this certainly didn’t feel real. Everything happened so fast. He….Hawks was…it hurt to think about. Emotionally sure but you could feel a splitting stress headache thump in your skull whenever you came too close to a logical conclusion.

The logical conclusion, he’s fucking psychotic.

But it just was too much.

That was the man who cooed over you after rough nights, pet your hair as he hummed you to sleep. The man who vacuumed down fried chicken like it was a sport, who sneakily stole dumplings off your plate the nights you were too lazy to cook. Every part of your body was itching. Itching to humanize him, keep him in the view you always held him. When you saw him at the store, you tried so hard to convince yourself that you were crazy. Paranoid. But he was stalking you, wasn’t he? Everything was crumbling but your breath stayed leveled, your eyes closed.

You weren’t sleeping, you couldn’t afford to. But you had heard somewhere that if you let your eyes rest and stayed still, it still rested your body enough. Probably not as much as real sleep but it was the next best thing. You didn’t know how long you’d been hunched over, trying not to focus on the sick feeling boiling in your gut. Pretty bursts of white painted across the black whenever you closed your eyes making you feel like you were spinning. When you blinked your eyes open the next time light was filtering through the cracks of the boards covering the windows.

Keys jingled as a door creaked shut just hallways down. You glanced down at your palm, red and swollen. Before you had slumped down on the floor hours before, you had scoured through drawers and accidentally sliced your palm on a shard of glass. It hurt enough to distract you from the nausea in your stomach. Your head lifts abruptly when the bathroom door opens and heavy footsteps come in. Every nerve in your body shot alive but you willed your breath down. Your eyes trained on Hawks as he crouched down to your level. His eyes looked tired…

“Watcha doin' in here baby bird, I bought brand new sheets just for you to not even sleep in the bed? Well…whatever, just glad to see you again sweet girl.”

You flinched away when his hand came up to touch your cheek and you didn’t miss the flicker of irritation behind his amber eyes. With a sigh, he rummaged through a plastic bag he had in one hand.

“I got you food, something nice and warm.” He pulled out a container of rolled omelets. The plastic cover was dripping with condensation from the hot food inside. He was crazy if he thought you would be taking anything from him. Genuinely who did he think he was?! You felt crazy because this entire situation was so ridiculous. IT FELT SO RIDICULAS. You couldn’t help but break into a manic fit of laughter because what was any of this?! It was nonsense!

The confusion etched on his face only spurred on your rage, sleep deprivation-induced laughter. Your eyes grew blurry with tears, your stomach twisting in knots as your ribs ached to their core from how hard your body shook. Your hand raised without thought before slapping right across his cheek. You felt the sting of your cut burn when your palm met his face with a force you wouldn’t have enacted if you were a smidge more lucid. If you had cared about your safety a smidge more. Laughter quickly turned into a scream when he grasped your wrist, twisting it harshly. His other hand grabs your chin and forces you to blink up at him.

“Are you done?”

You didn’t know him. That voice. Too sharp to be Hawks. TO CRUEL TO BE HIS. Everything screamed to run but you were boxed in by four walls, a tile floor, and a popcorn ceiling decorated with cobwebs.

“Y-.....yeah…”

Your soft mumble made him let go of your wrist. Something you stupidly mistook as mercy until his hand fisted in your hair, not too hard but enough of a tug to keep you silent. You saw his eyes soften as his thumb came up to brush away one of the tears slipping from your eyes. But it didn’t look like sympathy. The small smile that played on his face made it seem like a fraction of himself enjoyed seeing you so hurt and broken down.

Maybe it was the part of him that liked control. You could never claim you knew everything about him. Why he did every small thing he did. But you’d been with him long enough to see how little control he actually had over his life. There was something bigger that had him under their thumb. Maybe hurting you made him feel…more in control. But then why couldn’t the same apply to him being gentle? It used to. Didn’t it?

Tears fell harder on the bathroom floor, ones he couldn’t brush away quick enough to ignore the existence of.

“Fuck,”

More chapters

[expired-bat]

we met in september - chapter 6

Another day has started, and yet Y/N couldn't get out of bed. It’s not because of another episode, surprisingly. It’s due to that conversation between her and Dee. She couldn’t get it out of her head. Why would he be interested in being her friend? Is it because of pity due to the journal? She brushed those thoughts out of her head, and began getting ready for the day.

Nearly an hour would pass when she makes it to her first class. Dee was already at his seat and prepared for the day. Y/N sat down and took her materials out. Her accessories and boots jingled as she pulled out her pen and notebook.

She was too busy to realize that her seatmate and new friend was looking at her.

Hours would pass until third hour, where Mr. Orlov has assigned a project requiring a partner. It was a presentation about a figure in Russian history. Dee and Y/N were assigned to cover Ivan The Terrible.

She’s heard of Ivan before, the man cradling his dying son after beating him in a painting she saw once. Dee mustered a cough and already has settled out a plan; they are both responsible for gathering information, he will double check the accuracy of the info. Y/N is going to design the presentation with his approval. They will both take turns speaking on whatever the next slide is. Y/N was surprised that he thought of this so quickly; well, it's been five minutes since the project was announced.

They took this time together to gather some info, writing down as they went along. When the bell rang, Dee and Y/N were almost finished gathering some facts. Dee looked at her and asked, “Do you want to finish this during lunch?”

Y/N agreed. There’s no way she wants to have more homework for today.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

The day would drag on once again. Lunch was the time Y/N and Dee would have time to talk more. The duo went to an empty hallway and sat down near the lockers. They continued their research for the history project.

The silence was thick, and Dee coughed a bit. “So… what do you like to do?”

Y/N knew damn well he did not ask that question.

“You should know. You’ve read my book, haven't you?”

He puffed out some air. “Yeah, I know that you like to draw, but what else do you do?”

Y/N thought for a bit. That was something barely anyone asked her before.

“I like to watch anime.”

“Same here. What are your favorite shows?”

Y/N listed out her favorites, while Dee responded with his; Death Note, Hellsing, Vampire Hunter D, Higurashi, Elfen Lied, Attack On Titan, and Naruto. Both were discussing the show’s plots and how annoying the fandoms are. The topic then changed to music.

“I notice you’re wearing Joy Division. What’s your favorite song by them?”

“Wilderness. Do you listen to The Sisters of Mercy?”

“No, but I know someone who does.”

The conversation about music went on. They liked almost the same genres, except Y/N also liked to listen to new wave and gothic rock. Turns out, both are fans of Slipknot. They talked about their favorite songs, members, and their wish to go to their concert. Dee tried to learn guitar, but gave up because it was too difficult. Y/N can play ukulele, drums, keyboards, and melodica, but doesn’t bother to practice much. Dee had a look of surprise and a tinge of jealousy.

Pages were filled with facts and questionable trivia. Y/N put her pen aside and stretched.

“Are you finished with researching?” Dee asked.

“Yeah.”

Dee took her papers and stacked it with his. Y/N looked at him in confusion.

“... You took my papers.”

“Yes, I will look over them and compare them to mine tonight. Are you okay with it?”

“Y-Yeah man, just don’t overwork yourself.”

Y/N felt hot as she asked Dee that question. Why did she even ask that? It should be that simple.

Dee put the papers away in a folder and stood up. Lunch hour was about to be over and there won’t be enough time to go to physics. Y/N gathered her things and began to separate from her new friend.

“Hold on.”

Dee walked up to her with his phone in his hand. He then showed her his username for Discord.

“Do you have it?”

“Yeah, it’s (Y/U/N)#0000”

Dee quickly tapped on the keyboard and sent something. Y/N felt her phone buzz and pulled it out.

Discord

DarkPrinceDee sent you an image

She opened the app to see this.

She chuckled at the image and accepted the message. The bell rang and the duo went to their next class.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Y/N’s third day would end without disaster. She met Dee at the stop as she was waiting for her bus. The conversation between the two would be interrupted with a lion cub’s roar. 

“HEY DEEEEEEE!!!”

The blond’s face instantly deflated and was filled with dread. Y/N looked behind him to see a ginger kid with long, unwashed hair and a Manowar shirt sprint towards him. He tried to tackle him, but the blond managed to get him under control. They roughhoused a bit before the younger boy got Y/N’s attention. His attention span is the same as a puppy.

“Hey! Are you new here? Do you know my brother? You look pretty cool!”

Y/N’s Russian has improved, but with him speaking so fast, she couldn’t translate half of the stuff she was saying. She panicked, but the dark prince saved the day. 

“Calm down Heavy. This is Y/N, she’s an exchange student,” he said as he switched languages. “Y/N, this is my idiot little brother Heavy.”

Y/N calmed down. That’s his brother? He didn’t tell him anything about having siblings. She let out her hand to offer a handshake.

“It’s nice to meet you.”

Heavy took in the handshake. He switched to his older brother and began to chatter. Y/N could briefly understand what he was saying, like when he got in trouble again for his unwashed hair or skipping algebra. The brothers didn’t look much alike, say for the noses.

Heavy then noticed Y/N’s changed demeanor. He instantly felt bad.

“Hey! Are you being left out? I’m sorry about that! I just had to tell my brother something! Say, how did you meet? Was it fate?! Huh, huh?”

She couldn’t comprehend what Heavy just said. She just chuckled and shook her head. She saw her bus and headed out. She said her goodbyes to the brothers. Dee waved back while Heavy just raised his hand in the air, shook it, and yelled a ‘bye!’

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

[Dee’s POV]

Dee was close to strangling his little brother. He and Y/N were just vibing with whatever they were talking about earlier, but Heavy of course had to barge in.

His mind was on autopilot on the way home. He didn’t even know what Heavy was talking about at this point.

“Hey, do you like Y/N?”

Dee stopped his steps. He gave Heavy a dark look and continued on walking. This sent the kid into a fit of giggles and teased about his older brother’s so-called “new crush.”

“I don’t like her like that shithead!” the blond exploded.

When they entered home, Dee instantly went to his room. He dropped his bag and flopped on his bed. He laid there for a few minutes before realizing that makeup was still on his face. While washing his face in the bathroom, he pondered and thought about Y/N. She’s a sweet girl, and has a great fashion and music taste. She looked kinda cute when she’s focused on something-

“DAMN IT!!”

Dee swung and punched the mirror. It didn’t shatter (thank goodness), but it hurt and left a loud thud. Knowing that Heavy and his dad are home, they probably heard it.

The blond sighed. He has to remember to revise the notes he and Y/N took after all.

Returning to his room, he pulled out his phone and saw that Y/N sent a message. He opened the app and read it.

(Y/U/N)

hey i know we’re working on something else but i have this project for art that requires doing a portrait of someone else. do u mind being a model for me? it’s alright if u don’t

Dee nearly snapped his phone.

DarkPrinceDee

Yeah, i’m cool with it.

[plush-rabbit]

The Start of a Family

Picture Perfect Series

Warnings: Sickness, Forced Pregnancy, Noncon

Word Count: 2.9K

A/N: I love being a degenerate with him

-

The sound of your door creaks, footsteps light as they make themselves to your bed. You let out a low whine, turning over onto your back, your hands loosely grasping at the sheets. The bed dips and you mumble your partner’s name. You believe it to be Danny, you're so sure of it, yet the hands that hold your face and they feel off. The skin is smooth, pressing into your cheeks without the press of nails. You feel off. It’s a slight feeling that twists at your stomach and you’re unable to figure out why. You open your eyes, your vision blurry and mind delirious with sleep, the only thing you’re able to make out is white, blurry at the edges and mixed with black and in your state, you think it's Danny coming home from work.

You whimper his name, closing your eyes and reaching your hands to grab at his face. However, instead of stubble that pricks your skin, it’s plastic, almost rubber in it’s feel and your hands edge towards the middle, meeting mesh. You open your eyes, blinking harshly in an effort to erase sleep from your eye but in that moment, a hand covers your mouth. It’s heavy and forceful, covering the lower half of your face, the body now above you, legs straddling you and the full body weight pressed onto you, digging into your hips. Your eyes widen, and beneath the hand, the name of your partner is muffled. You believe it to be a sick joke but when your lamp turns on, the glaring light shooting against your face, your blood turns into ice. You go rigid, your hands trying to pry off the one on your face, so desperate for air and yet, the force stays solid above you.

Terror spikes throughout your body, eyes wide and sickness thick on your tongue that you fear you’ll become sick against him and the thought of what he might do in that case terrifies you. His petrified look of a scream haunts you, mesh black that stares at you and with a body covered in black, he blends into the darkness, his body evaporating but weight still heavy on you. He wastes no time, removing your clothes and his, his body bare above yours and hands finally away from you but instead of hitting him, you lay there, with your hands over your eyes, as his mask brushes along your collarbone. You thought you were safe; you really thought that you were safe.

“Did you miss me?” Ghostface whispers, his breath nothing more than a wisp against your skin. “Because I missed you.” You let out an ugly wheeze in response, your palms wet with tears. “I miss you so much that it hurt.” His hands- covered by gloves- scratch against your skin, they squeeze against a breast, fingers pushing into your supple breast. “I couldn’t take it. I had to see you. I had to feel you under me, writhing and squirming-” his other hand cups at your sex, two digits pushing past your folds and teasing at your entrance- “feeling your cunt milk my cock.” His gloved fingers squirm inside of you, massaging at your walls, encouraging for the tight fit to become smoother. “Did you miss me?”

You take in a loud breath, peeking between the gaps in your fingers, looking to the door that remains open. “Danny,” you gasp, hoping that by saying his name, he’ll appear. The fingers inside of you stop inside of you. “I want Danny.” Tears slide down and wet at the crevices in your ear, and slip to the bed sheet beneath you.

“Danny, huh?” You look at him when he speaks, chills running across your body. “Is that your boyfriend’s name? The one with the camera at all my crime scenes?” Your mouth is stuffed with his gloved hand, the taste of your essence lingers against your tongue. “You know he’s a bit too involved, walking around, staining the soles of his shoes with blood.” His cock is erect, pressed harsh against the inside of your thigh, slipping past your folds and pressed against your entrance. “I wonder what he would do if he saw you getting fucked by the Ghostface?” He pushes himself inside of you, and you let out a wail muted by the hand that sickens you. “You’d think he’d join in?” He rocks inside of you, steady and hard, making sure to slam himself against your hips. “He could fuck your mouth with I fuck your pussy.” He lets out a breathless laugh, his mask closing in on you until you can smell the scent of alcohol on his breath. It’s intoxicating in all the wrong ways- thick and bitter, making your stomach churn and acid creep into your throat. “Fuck, that would be something, huh?” He slams himself back into you, grunting and letting out your name intermixed with his moans.

“Stop,” you cry, hiccupping and choking on your tears. Your hands clutch at your chest, stopping the bouncing motion from his roughness. “Please, just stop. I haven’t told anyone, please. You can go away,” you cry harder, wishing for death. “Just kill me,” you wheeze out, your chest stuttering with your heavy cries.

He pauses, stilling his movements for a moment, his head tilting. “Kill you?” He breathes out. He shakes his head. “No, no,” he repeats. “I could never kill you.” He resumes his thrusting, pushing himself deep inside of you. “I love you too much to ever do anything like that to you. Did you know that?” Despite his mask, you know that he’s staring into your eyes, watching for any reaction that you can give to him. “I love you so much. And when you get pregnant-” his hand curves over your belly- “you’ll never be able to escape me.” Your eyes go wide, and you suck in a deep breath. “You’ll look so cute with a round belly.” The mesh of his mask presses against your lips. His lips wet at the mask and his spit is on your lips. “You’ll be plump and begging for my cock, knowing that it was me who did that to your body.”

He’s ruthless. A true monster disguised as a human as he ravages your body. With every push inside of you, is a groan of despair from you, your cunt leaking with your arousal, slipping to the inside of your thighs and down his length. You lay beneath him, crying and holding onto him, feeling a pressure against your stomach when he releases inside of you. It’s thick and warm, burning your inside and it's pushed inside of you. You cry his name, “Ghostface,” begging for mercy as he continues his rutting, burying his cock inside of you until he’s drained and you’re full of seed.

-

Danny finds you in the morning, curled up with dried tear stains. Your clothes stick to you uncomfortably, your underwear feeling as if it were stuck to you, drenched with his semen that had spilled out. Danny walks to you, crouching to a squat as he brushes your hair away from your face.

“Nightmares again?” He asks in a low whisper, and you nod, your lips trembling as you go to hug him, sobbing against his shoulder and clinging to him like a child. “It’s okay,” he says gently, running his hand down your back, “it’s okay. I’m here now. It was just a bad dream.” He crawls into bed with you, pulling you close to him, his chin resting on the top of your head while you curl up on his lap, resting your head on his chest. “They’re just nightmares, they aren’t real.”

“It felt real,” you mumble, your head curving around his belly, letting your thumb arc over him. “I wished you were here last night.” A sob interrupts you and you’re soothed once again by Danny. “I wanted you here,” you cry, pressing yourself closer to him.

“I’m sorry,” he says earnestly. “I wish I was here. I know how bad your nightmares can get.” His hand stills for a moment, clenching the back of your shirt into his fist. “But you were the one who didn’t want to move in with me, remember?” You nod slowly. “You can’t just guilt trip me into this. I’m sorry and I wish I were here but-”

“Danny?” You whisper, clenching his shirt loosely. He hums in response. “Can I move in with you? Please?” You can hear his heartbeat quicken, the hand on your back coming loose and returning to the soothing touch. “I don’t want-” you pause and look at him- “I miss you too much.”

“Of course you can.” His hand manages to find a way to hold yours, bringing your knuckles up to his lips and kissing each gently. “I would love nothing more than to have you at home with me.” His lips trace up a finger, kissing the tip of your thumb. “I’ll keep you safe there. Away from this place with all those gross memories- you’ll be safe with me.”

-

You lay on his bed. It’s not the first time, it’s nothing more than a bed you’ve both shared in the past and yet, now as you sit on it, it’s foregien to you. It’s nothing more than a bed, a bed that you share now because his home is now your home. The comforter has loose threads that you wrap around your finger until it pales and turns dark at the skin that protrudes from it. Your stuff is organized, fixed and moved into a space that he has made for you. You’ve come into his space and he’s made sure to welcome you.

The door clicks and you can hear him, his heavy footsteps and the jingle of his keys. “Honey, I’m home!” He sings, followed by a laugh and he’s searching for you throughout the house. Your heartbeat quickens and the comforter is gripped in your hands. “Want to go out to eat?” His voice sounds far away and you’ve realized you’ve forgotten to make a meal for him. For the both of you. “We can order take-out or something.” His voice is growing closer and you stare out the window expecting to see Ghostface but there’s no one there. “You know, since it’s a special night.” His voice is close, and when you turn, he’s at the doorway, loosening his ties and running a hand through his hair. “You good?”

You nod. “Yeah,” you whisper out. “I’m just- I feel so out of place here, you know?” You give out a shaky laugh as tears threaten to form, a lump in your throat as you release your grip and hold out your arms.

He’s quick to hold you, his face pressed against your neck and arms wrapping tight around you. “You shouldn’t. This is your home now.” He pulls away and kisses your lips, his nose bumping against yours. “You’re allowed to be comfortable here.” He pulls away, his hands holding onto yours. “I didn’t want to ask yesterday because we were both tired and hungry, but do you want to go take a picture? Something to commemorate our living situation?”

You stare up at the man who has kept you safe and you pull him down, kissing his lip and gesturing for him to get on the bed with you. He must understand what you want, why you want him to get on the bed with you, because in the same moment, he unbuttons his shirt and teases at the hem of yours. His hands stop there, his knuckles brushing against your stomach and for a moment, he stops, he pulls away from the kiss and licks his lips. Your only response is to remove the shirt yourself, continuing until you’re naked in front of him.

His lips brush against yours, his breath warm and hands lingering on your bare sides. His eyes stay fixed on yours, his thumb arching on your body, a shiver running down your spine. Your heart is beating erratically, so loud that you think he might hear it. You hesitantly raise your hands to cup his face, licking your lips when you realize that your hands have started to become clammy. You pull away from him, enough to no longer fear that he might see how flushed that you’ve become.

“I- I wanna do something else to commemorate.” You roll your lips, nervously swallowing, your legs twitching and stomach churning. “If you don’t mind.”

He stares at you with blank eyes and a parted mouth for a second until his smile grows, pulling high on the corner of his lips. He nods, leaning towards you, your hands falling onto his chest when he kisses you. It’s a blur of the moment, feeling his fingers edge against your sex, brush so carefully against your clit, and you’re gasping for breath under him, hidden in the crook of his neck with tears in your eyes.

His fingers are coarse, touching your sensitive bud, rolling it under his fingertips and he tries to move you, to signal for you to show him your expressions as he touches you, but you can’t. You stay hidden, digging your nails into his back and shaking your head. With your eyes shut tight, with only darkness in your vision, you can picture someone other than your partner. You picture him. You swear that you can feel his hands on you, but instead of the roughness, it’s gentleness, it’s him being tender, focusing on your pleasure and making you gasp and whine under him. You’ve never taken a proper look at his hands, but they’re thick, spreading your cunt and massaging at your walls, while you buck against him, feeling the tip of his cock against your thigh.

You arch your back into his chest, hissing at the contact and clutching tighter to him, squeezing his fingers in your cunt. A hand slips between and palms at your breast. He’s eager and clumsy, grabbing at your roughly and you hold on tighter to him, whimpering under his touch and his only response to hold you tighter, to pinch at your skin and push himself knuckle deep inside of you, adding a third finger and then a fourth, your sex burning with the spread and you’re calling his name, pulling away with tearstained eyes only to be kissed roughly.

Tears catch on your lashes, your hands digging into him, wanting to draw blood and get him off but at the same time, wanting him to never stop, to continue until he’s the one who has touched your body to the full extent.

He pulls away, the hand on your breast going to wipe a tear away, his head tilting and smiling softly. He looks much younger and handsome with the gentleness on his features. “Condom?” He asks in a low whisper.

While maintaining eye contact, you shake your head. Your hands hold him, and you pull him for a kiss. When his lips are on yours, you leave him, your hand slipping between your bodies and going to grab at his erection. He moans against you, bucking his hips into your hand while his tongue slips into your mouth. It lasts for a moment, the intimacy of holding him, only to disappear when he’s inside of you, pushing past your already stretched hole and pushing himself deep inside of you. He pulls away, face above you while he grunts and holds your hand, calling you everything sugar and nice. He kisses you with a gentleness that you don’t remember ever feeling.

It isn’t long until you’re clenching around him, gasping his name out and arching your back. You plead to him- begging for him to not stop with tears in your eyes, to be a bit rougher and you allow for him to spill inside of you. He’s hot inside of you, spilling his seed deep into your womb and making you warm all over. He doesn’t stop pumping inside of you, the tenderness making you gasp out and hands clench into loose fists. He holds you close, his cock fully inside of you, not allowing a droplet of semen to be wasted and you hold him, crying and thanking him, kissing at his neck and holding him there with you.

-

You rest your hands in the sink, the small space of the bathroom putrid as the air reeks of acid. Your stomach swirls and your eyes are filled with tears. Your throat burns and the birds sing their morning song outside. You want to believe that you woke up sick; that whatever it is that made you throw up is nothing more than the stomach flu.

But you know better. You know that it isn’t the flu. It’s something worse, something much more than it could ever be. You wish it were the flu. The bathroom drawer scratches open, your hands reaching towards the back where you’ve hidden your box, and when you pull it out, the box rattles in your hand and your heart sinks.

It takes only a few minutes until your timer is beeping, and you’re quick to stop it. Your hands shake as you grab the pregnancy test. You pray and you aren’t sure for what, but when you look at the pregnancy test, two loans, a faint red, stare back at you and you let the plastic clatter against the sink as you sob.

[needs-to-stop-looking-at-valves]

Megatron from tfa with a human partner, they're so small in comparison to him so he puts his hand out and has them hump one or two of his fingers as he watches?

Listen, this SCREAMED some pet kink, so there’s some of that here too.

Megatron always saw fleshies as...useless. Flimsy, weak, loud little pests full of flesh and blood. He thought they were all like that. Until he met his little pet. His little pet was so cute, so precious towards him. They didn’t scream as they saw him, didn’t beg for mercy. Just saw him as some kind of big, strong caregiver. They were there to be his trophy, cute, and always ready for his attention. He was sitting as his throne, bored as he awaited a report from Lugnut and Blitzwing. He snapped his servos, and his pet just came running up towards him. Just like he trained them. He heard them coming along, excited steps and the jingly bells of their little collar. They hopped right into his servo, and he placed them on the arm rest of his throne.

“There’s my little pet. I take it you were bored, yes?”

“Yeah, kinda, but I know I needed to wait. But I have your attention now!”

“Yes you do, my little pet. Now, I’m just as bored as you are. You can entertain me, can’t you?”

They nodded their helm so fast, their little bells jingled. Megatron chuckled.

“Good pet. Take off your shirt.”

They peeled their shirt over their little head, and let the shirt fall to the side. Such cute, perky little nipples. Megatron nodded, as if in approval.

“Touch yourself. Just how I like it.”

Megatron liked it when they did their tricks so easily. They obeyed, little hands massaging and playing with their chest. Slowly, occasionally plucking their nipples for his viewing pleasure. They mewled and moaned underneath their touch.

“H-happy?”

“Mhmm. Would my pet like a reward now?”

They nodded quickly, and Megatron lowered his servo to them. They knew right away what it was, and they hopped onto his servo. They held onto the smooth, black digits, and proceeded to help themselves. They humped his servo eagerly, moaning and groaning on top of him. Megatron felt them soak right through their little pants, and it stained his fingers. Most would find it gross, but Megatron adored it. Adored how they humped him like a horny little thing, adored how they panted in their arousal.

“Hmm...you’ve been wanting this for a while, haven’t you pet?”

They nodded furiously, and Megatron chuckled.

“Stop.”

They obeyed, but they clearly weren’t happy about it. They pouted, and Megatron just found it so cute.

“Take off your pants.”

They obeyed, tossing their pants to the side.

“Present yourself.”

They opened their legs for him, giving him a good view of their wet, eager parts. Megatron’s servo carefully rubbed against them, and they shuddered harshly.

“Proceed.”

They hopped back onto him, biting their bottom lip as they continued to hump him. So wet, so soft, his little pet.

“C-can I cum? Please?”

Megatron chuckled. Ever amusing, his little human was.

“Already? You just started, my pet.”

“Y-you just feel good! Please!”

Megatron mulled it over for a minute, clearly trying to stall for time.

“Hmm...I don’t know…”

“Pleeease! I’ve been a good pet all day! Please!”

Megatron sighed. He watched his pet for a moment longer, before nodding.

“You may cum.”

With a pathetic, adorable cry, they came. Toes curled, grip tight against him. They sullied his servos, before falling limp into his palm. Megatron chuckled, lifting them to his view.

“Who’s my pretty pet?”

“I am~”

“That’s right. My pretty little thing.”

Megatron leaned down to kiss their chest, and he swore they purred for him. How charming. He patted the top of their little head, before turning towards Shockwave.

“Shockwave!”

“Yes my liege?”

“Take my pet back to their room, get them cleaned up and clothed. They’re tired.”

“...yes, my lord.”

Megatron loved his little pet. More than any mech should love any fleshy.

[bitchassbucky]

.eps (cut)

Word Count: 1.7k

Warning/s: dark!bucky x dark!reader, MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, blood mention, gore and dismemberment, murder, toxic/abusive relationship dynamics, sedation/drugging/use of sedative, stockholm syndrome-ish, one very special character reveal

A/N: this version of the epilogue is the 'clean cut' - there's a good chunk of it missing but it's not particularly important to the story. if you want to read the EXPLICIT version, there should be another one uploaded at the same time. (sorry, this is scheduled so i don't have the link yet lol)

follow the CTRL series:

i - .exe

ii - .avi

iii - .raw

iv - .png

v - .zip

CTRL playlist CTRL moodboard

Safeness, comfortability, warmth are all but a false sense of reality.

When a prey takes down its walls, the predator moves in. Camouflaged in familiar colors, in words that you’re used to hearing, in praises, in lies. Most predators use the mask of the night to move in darkness—unyielding and calculated. Come morning, there will be only one left alive, tainted with victory and bloodshed.

You and Bucky have been engaging in a dance for two—a battle of who’s willing to take the leap of faith and unleash hell upon the other.

Stifled smiles and pursed lips.

The air is filled with unsaid irritants, little things that ticked away like bombs.

There was no time for pleading, no time for mercy, no rest for the wicked.

Did you still love each other?

How far are you willing to go to keep up with his… complacency?

Bucky’s mundane life already taking a toll on you. The endless nightmares of him feeling you. The swirling vision of Bucky being with you every waking—and sleeping—moment: it grates your soul to shreds.

“We’ll be together forever, right?”

“Yes, darling.”

“What about the day after forever?”

“That too, honey.”

Where was the man you loved so deeply? The man that broke his morals just to be with you?

Was he under this hull of a Yes Man? A poor little thing that says ‘yes’ to everything like a puppy.

The man you held so dearly now slipping away, chipping his humanity, shedding the once-human.

“Would you marry me tomorrow if I asked you?”

“Of course, baby, why wouldn’t I?”

“Would you kill for me?”

“I’m meant to do the same for you.”

It’s irritating how Bucky gave up too quickly. Too fast, moving too fast. The gazelle let the lion tear its neck as it lay there, unmoving, letting the blood seep into its hide.

When you first met Bucky, it was your own fairytale unfolding before your eyes. Kismet, reality, forgiveness from above. He was soft and shy, passionate, lively.

Far from what you expected from a man his age—you blame Steve for forcing you into his narrative before. That all men are out to get you. They will hurt you. They will use you and leave you for good. But Bucky? Bucky came in like a knight. He saved you from the carcass of your past. He saved you from the sins that you prayed and knelt for.

Bucky taught you how to love.

Bucky taught you how to live for yourself.

Bucky taught you that being alone doesn’t mean you have to be lonely.

“It was an unspoken little thing, wasn’t it?”

“What thing, baby?”

“Our love.”

“Yes, honey, it was.”

He worships you.

He worships you like a fucking God and you hate it.

Suffocating, too suffocating. You dove straight for the water and now you’re drowning.

Do you still love each other? The question hangs in the air, heavy with its weight, light as a feather.

It’s all your fault. It’s all your fault. It’s all your fault. It’s all your fault.

You stand there with a syringe half-filled with a horse sedative. It’s a concern how easy it is to waltz into a pet store and pick up a general anesthetic. You make a mental note to look at it later.

Bucky’s body slumps forward, his forehead meeting the edge of the table with a dull thud. If the overdose doesn’t kill him, the weeping crack in his head will.

Holy fuck, humans bleed a lot. And fast. Good thing you already have that clear tarp taped down. Even with the hush money stuffed down your throat, it would take a good nick to regrout the kitchen.

“What is that for, honey?”

“I’m painting the cabinets.”

“Okay, darling.”

So you let him bleed, surprised that the liquid is redder than what you thought it would be. A soft gurgling noise came from Bucky, the last of air escaping his dead body. You stood there, syringe in hand, as you thought how to dispose of a six-foot-tall man without arousing suspicion.

Not that he’ll be missed anyway: the local news and the internet already branded him as a psycho and you as a victim. You were both victims in this fairytale. They reported his case as “skipped the town like the sicko he is.” So, no—no one’s going to look for him.

The sun was high up in the sky and there was a dead body in your kitchen.

A butcher and a surgeon walk into a bar for a drink. “What do you do for a living?” Said the butcher, “I save lives! What about you?” The doctor answers. “I save animals from dying slowly. We’re basically the same. You’re just very clean.” You see, the butcher comes into the bar covered in blood, reeking of death. The surgeon, on the other hand, wears his white coat with pride even though he’s surrounded by death every passing second.

Today was the day you learned that you have the tools of a butcher and the precision of a surgeon. Unlike before.

You carefully take Bucky’s fingers off of his left hand, leaving a skin flap on the edge of the last knuckle for you to stitch close later. Four promises. Four goddamn promises and he broke all of them.

It was his fault that he’s dead. He made you do this.

Placing the body into the trunk of a rental, you begin your journey to the end of your fairytale. Off to the woods, where you buried your first love. In a town where not everyone who dies leaves.

The drive to and from the place was tiring, to say the least. The internet connection of the diners was spotty at best. Locals were overly friendly with the city folks who came passing through their towns. The roads reek of roadkill and manure from the farm animals that were left to roam for fresh grass.

At least you get to come home in a spotless apartment, alone once again.

But not lonely.

Your space is yours again. No trace of anyone anywhere. Immaculately yours.

—

Humans are social creatures.

No one can truly be alone, especially in today’s world where we’re connected to everyone—whether we liked it or not.

Leaving your wretched job behind was an easy feat to do. No one can say no to the victim of such a vile crime. That’s all they saw you: a helpless little thing. So off you went; saying half-assed goodbyes and sending emails of courage and hope and fucking resilience.

Your resignation meant that the company’s free of any dirt from you, Bucky’s disappearance quickly becoming a joke and a rumor blending in one.

They let you leave: in your bank account a fat check ensuring that you’d shut up about the scandal for months until you can’t feed yourself no more. So you packed your bags and jet off without looking back. You never liked that apartment anyway.

Nevertheless, you found yourself looking into another dead-end job in one of the towns you stopped over before. It’s a charming place like time froze in their plaza while the rest of the world went on. You found a small studio apartment in a street tuckered away from the main avenue, you settled there as days became nights and nights turned into days.

You woke up one morning craving a healthy serving of coffee and pancakes, luckily the town’s local diner wasn’t far from your new home.

The coffee was too hot, the pancakes were amazing, fluffy, and just right. You’re sitting in a sunny booth, the warmth doing its wonders.

“Hi, can I get today’s paper, please?” Your voice is sweet as you call your server, giving her a quick smile.

A pair of Raybans adorn your face, unconsciously hiding behind its darkened glasses. The waitress gives you a thick stack of newspapers, refilling your cup with black coffee.

Upon opening the paper, you ignore the town’s headlines and go straight for the job postings. The door jingled open as patrons come in and go, waving to familiar faces.

Job Vacancy Announcements

Secretary to the Town Sheriff

You skimmed over the rest of the details, only noting the address of the office. The job looks quite lucrative for someone who would only take messages and organize files for the sheriff.

Looking over the job posting again, you read over the words walk-ins only. That shouldn’t be hard enough.

The diner looked deserted save from the man sitting behind your booth. Leaning over and tapping his shoulder, you put on a polite smile, “Hi, sorry, do you know how to get to the sheriff’s office from here?”

“Hello, darling.” The man croons in an accent, he looks over to you, “join me in my booth, will ‘ya?”

You’re in no position to reject his proposal, you’re the one who needed an answer.

Taking your coffee cup, you slide into his booth, “hi.”

“Just the face I wanted to see.” Clean-shaven, a hint of mint and smoke, and something woody; a worn leather jacket and white button-up shirt hugging his soft frame. “Some folks over on the apartment complex were talkin’ about a city girl wanting to rent a studio all by herself. That happen to be you?”

You look over to him, trying to understand how that small of news spread like a wildfire, “yeah. I moved in a week ago.”

He leans over, smiling sweetly as he unabashedly lets his eyes roam your features, “What’s a city girl like you doin’ in a place like this? I hope we ain’t too boring for you, gal.”

Chatty—he’s way too chatty.

“Just wanted a change of pace, really. Away from the bustle of the city.” You rustle the paper, clearing your throat to get back on the matter on hand, “so the sheriff’s office? Is it too far from here?”

“What business are ‘ya bringing into the office?”

“A job, actually. Says here that they’re looking for a secretary.” You might as well tell him everything, he seems too chatty to be dismissed over and over again.

“Well, darlin’, today’s your lucky day. No need to drive down the old road.” He reaches down to his seat, pulling up a brown hat, “Hi, I’m Sheriff Bodecker. Now, to whom do I owe the pleasure?”

You bite back a giggle, you’ve always wanted to be involved with the law.

[timextoxhajima]

Playlist Feels: SHORT SERIES PART 4

PART 1 / PART 2 / PART 3

Member: Lee Juyeon

Genre: angst and smut i promise (how can i not write smut with this gif right)

A/N: idk if you guys read my A/Ns... but look for the ** in this chapter, and play the bonus track i’ve linked. i apologise in advance if it hurts... it’s going to be a long chapter, so sit back and relax

Taglist: @muvtharecca​

“you always try to hide the pain”

kevin is sitting opposite you in a 24-hour convenient store, the scent of kimchi flavoured instant noodles wafting through the air. the snow outside was only making this hot, late-night supper even more endearing as if it wasn't already on its own.

the chopsticks snap away from each other with bare minimum energy while you pull off the flap and greet the cloud of hot vapour.

the day concluded with kevin and the interviewer thanking juyeon, and they must've known something was wrong because you shook his hand without a word.

they've never seen you try so hard to force out a smile.

"go ahead and eat, kev," you jam your chopsticks into the nicely cooked noodles, shaking the strands apart. "do you need an invitation?"

kevin is accustomed to your work ethics; he knows you don't like to talk about work outside the studio or the office building.

so he deems it valid to ask when he decides that there was something more than "work" between you and the guest they had today.

"so, lee juyeon," kevin mirrors your movements, watching you in some corner of his eyes. "he's an ex-boyfriend?"

the food masks your need to throw something at kevin, and frankly, you weren't really in the mood to go against your kind-hearted colleague. not just that, you were spent from the day.

the vast amounts of strength you had to summon from the witch scratching your insides out was enough to drain you. it feels like you had to entertain more than a guest today, when you only had one.

any other day and it would've been an easy day.

but not when it is lee juyeon. not when he has his lips on yours in your studio. not when you still love him.

"you can talk to me if you need to, y/n. it sucks to see you like this, and we've been colleagues for two years."

the hot noodles leave a scalding sensation on your lips when you slurp it up, but instead, a sourness wraps itself around the nerves in your nose.

"for context, if our boss was in the studio, he would not have condoned your behaviour. you know that," leaning forward, kevin tries to meet your eyes.

"but he wasn't, so case closed."

he sighs, shaking his head gently as he takes his first mouth of instant noodles.

it is a few minutes of silence that brings you peace. every now and then, one of you slurps and kevin's lips began to pink with the heat and spicyness of the food.

yet, when kevin breaks the silence to return to the topic, it is both a relief from the tension and an added stress to the fact that you have no clue how to run anymore.

"i know he followed you into the storage room, did he do anything to you inside? are you alright?"

"i'm fine."

silence.

you look up through your lashes and see that kevin is slurping a lone strand of noodles extremely slowly, squinting his eyes at you and shaking his head.

"i think you should know you can't lie for whack."

a scoff runs your warm throat dry, and you shove another good mouth through your lips.

"i know he was talking about you in the interview, y/n. why are you denying a bad break up? most couples go through this. so what if he lost you to another man? he said he wasn't prioritising you over his work.”

kevin knows you are trying to avoid the topic and you weren’t one to be aggressive with him. 

he chooses to pry.

“from what i got from the interview, it sounds like he was the one in the wrong.”

sure, he started it. 

but you were the one who slept with someone else.

“any normal girlfriend would’ve been upset, and of course if there was another, better guy in the picture, i wouldn’t have blamed her for moving on. i wouldn’t blame you.”

but you didn’t move on, did you?

“i highly doubt any of that was your fault--”

your attention pulls to kevin from the bowl and lock eyes with him. 

“i slept with someone else, kev.”

the silence is deafening, only the jingle from the entrance of the store interrupting the still air between the two of you. 

“...while you were with--”

“yeah,” your eyes gravitate back downwards, and a frown gets cemented into your forehead. 

the food no longer looks edible; it looks more like a bunch of dead worms floating in a pool of blood. 

you hear kevin suck a deep breath through his nostrils as you push the bowl away, your appetite shrinking by the second and then it disappears completely like dust in the wind. 

“is it...” someone pays for a cup of coffee and leaves the store. “...safe to say that the two of you were already estranged when you did it?”

estranged. 

more like non-existent.

“it felt like we broke up and i didn’t know about it. i don’t know how great of an analogy or explanation that is, but i know that it felt like that,” you pause, because it feels like you were going to hurl out half the portion of noodles you had. “we were on edge for like... months. four, five months. it’s like his phone got thrown out into the middle of the pacific ocean and he never bothered to get a new one or at least save my number and i just...”

you look up from the bowl because your eyes were welling and your lungs were beginning to collapse in on themselves. there was a look of pity and sympathy in kevin’s eyes. 

his lips were pursed and brows slightly furrowed; he doesn’t know what to say and you don’t blame him. 

“the other guy was just there for me in that time of... vulnerability. i just let myself fall for that temptation.”

your colleague is stunned, but never does he once look at you like it was your fault. it was extremely out of character for you to crash and break down in front of him, and you were sure he could tell you were putting in effort to keep yourself composed. 

“sorry,” a tear falls without mercy, and you hurry to get rid of it, simply offering a weak laugh to hide your feelings. 

“i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to make you emotional.”

“it’s alright,” you shake your head and sit up straight, eyes looking to the fluorescent lights above and blinking away the layer of tears in your eyes. “saw this conversation coming anyway.”

kevin pushes out a tiny, bare smile by pursing his lips. 

you let kevin continue with his food because you couldn’t eat anymore, and your attention gravitates back to the outside world where the snow was gently falling onto the pavements. 

bright white lights reflected off the snow on the floor looking like crystals from afar, and you just can’t find enough strength to push the memory of juyeon out of your head. 

the gush of wind that greets your face would’ve been refreshing had you not just been on the verge of crumbling infront of kevin. 

he thanks the cashier behind you and follows you out onto the streets, pulling his beanie over his ears. he watches you close your eyes, snow falling into your lashes and your hair over the back of your coat. 

“i know it’s not in my place to say much, but if it’s anything i learnt from being in a relationship, it’s that you need to face whatever haunts you.”

his words sink into your skin like a cold blanket of truth, because you know it’s right. the tip of your nose numbs with the cold weather when you open your eyes and look at kevin, his presence alone enough to comfort you. 

there was probably no other person you’d be this comfortable talking to about the biggest mistake you made in your life. 

“i know.”

he nods, and turns to the left, expecting you to follow because you stay just about a ten minute walk from him.

but when he notices that you don’t budge from the spot you were standing on, and two passerbys were visibly confused with your lack of movement, kevin returns to your side and gives you a pat on the head. 

“call me if you need anything.”

like before, a nod shakes your head before you could process the movement, and kevin walks away, giving you one last look before he disappears around the corner of the building.

it is taxing to hit the button on the lift panel, watch the numbers on the display screen decrease number by second. 

it is overwhelming when the doors open, and snow falls off your shoulders when you stroll in, finger hovering over the button.

“i didn’t know i needed her until i lost her, and i lost her to another man. it was the biggest mistake then, and it’ll probably be the biggest mistake i’ll ever make.”

your lungs fill itself with a deep breath, the cold air piercing through your pores and nerves as the button lights up with a displeasing shade of red light. 

i’ll believe you this once, lee juyeon. 

we both found a chance to slit each other’s throats open and we both did. 

the gears of the lift doors grind open and a door along the corridor is wide open as someone walks in after pulling off his shoes. 

you step out without much thought, that is, until that person’s head sticks out beyond the door frame and the striped shirt is glaringly familiar to you. 

juyeon picks up his shoes and naturally, his eyes follow his line of movement. 

the eye contact seizes you in your footsteps, and it freezes juyeon the same. his back was slightly bent over, very obviously surprised that you were standing in the hallways of his residence. 

it takes him a few moments to process your face, your hands that were covered in gloves and the handbag you had dangling around your waist. 

your hair, lashes and brows were sprinkled with bits of snow; your grip around the straps of your handbag tight with tension. 

juyeon slowly resumes a proper standing position, each shoe hanging on each of his index and middle fingers as he blinks at you. 

he doesn’t say a word and the lift doors close behind you, but his door doesn’t when he turns and disappears into his apartment. 

just this once.

apologise, and you’re through.

he is not good for you and neither are you, for him.

his apartment is cozy; shoe rack, dining table on the right and a small kitchen beyond, living room. carpet, television, sofa, hallway to the private rooms.

you use your feet to get your boots off, carefully placing them by the shoe rack after dusting off the bits of snow from the wool outside the door. 

the apartment smells like juyeon and it makes you sick to your stomach when it haunts you like a dream you never woke up from; when it rips you apart all over again after five years. 

he walks into view from the hallway, arms crossed tightly across his chest and he looks at you like he was expecting something from you. 

just say what you need to say and go. 

you do not owe him anything. 

“are you here to gawk at my apartment like it’s a showroom or are you here because you wanted to do something?”

fool. 

it is surprisingly easy to contain the frustration now, because you were simply sick of it. there was no reason to remain annoyed with him, nor let him get to you all so easily when he was like this then; obviously he hasn’t changed that much. 

“i...” the neurons in your head struggle to piece the sentence together. “i came to apologise.”

kevin’s words repeat in your brain like a broken record when you look away, for juyeon was staring at you with slightly widened eyes now. he doesn’t even try to hide his surprise or shock -- or maybe he just couldn’t.

you apologising was probably the last thing he expected, yet you were here on your own initiative, spitting out words that he never thought he would hear. 

it requires a rather commendable amount of courage to look up back at juyeon again, his gaze tearing through you like a chainsaw through wood. 

“we had our differences and problems back then but i know it broke you when you found me... with sangyeon.”

you pause, thinking that he’d say something to piss you off or aggravate the situation, but his temples are tightened because he is hiding his feelings; his pain. 

“so... i’m sorry,” a pause. the muscles in your forehead contract and juyeon doesn’t move a single inch. “i don’t need you to apologise, because i don’t know what exactly happened... maybe something happened and i didn’t know but i know myself that i should not have slept with sangyeon, regardless the status of our relationship.”

at least say something, juyeon.

anything.

**  

a car honks outside, the snow getting heavier and falling like feathers of doves being shot down from the sky. the city lights outside the window were flickering with the snow blocking your view of them, but the still atmosphere was holding you by the neck; the cold temperature a knife at your throat. 

there was a kind of pain and trauma in his face that feels like paper cuts on your heart. you know very well he was playing that fateful day like a movie in his head, seeing you in bed with another man. 

you would’ve stopped him right there and then, tell him not to think about it, but that’s what you were here to apologise for anyway. 

gravity pulls your chin down to the ground with shame, your jaws clenching and your temples tightening under your beanie. the skin around your knuckles whiten with the amount of strength you were offering the straps of your handbag, 

a soft shuffle snaps you out of your blank, yet panicking mind that glued its eyes to the floor, and you watch juyeon’s feet with his socks on enter your field of vision. 

your lids squeeze shut, his voice rumbling through your nerves like an internal earthquake and you suddenly berate yourself for thinking this was a good idea.

“did you mean what you said today?”

his touch on your chin forces you out of your mental escape, your jaw being pulled upwards so you could meet his eyes.

i still love you, and i don’t want to break you again... so please don’t break me anymore.

it feels like all your motivation and confidence had drained into him through his finger under your chin, and if you weren’t already beating yourself up inside for saying that to him earlier today, you would’ve probably passed out. 

the layer of glistening tears in his eyes feels like boiling poison in your stomach, because the realisation of his truth only hits you now. 

but you don’t want to hear it.

the last time you were in love with him and he was in love with you, it was like pairing a matchstick with a wax candle: both eventually die out because of the other. 

denial washes all over you like waves during a thunderstorm in the form of an abrupt, shake of your head, even under his touch. it ached more than you liked it to have to deny the truth in what you said today, but you cannot break juyeon again.

“no, i--” your chin shifts out of his hold and your eyes dart away from his face. “i didn’t mean it--”

but didn’t you?

juyeon has your jaw in his hands again, lips cushioned against yours. 

it feels like a spear had been driven through your face when you taste his tears between your lips. 

it tastes like toxins and rotten eggs and saltwater and it makes you want to hurl; not because you hated it but because you hated how much it was hurting him.

“juyeon,” your hands push him away but he grabs both your wrists, the seizure halting you in your movements. 

“what are you so scared of?”

the question is like a dump of cold water on you, and you see nothing but remorse in his eyes. 

“...breaking you... it hurts me to know that i can, and i don’t want to do it anymore. i did it once, i don’t want to do it again.”

your voice cracks under the pressure and a tear rolls down his cheek. the urge to reach up and wipe it off his face was so intense, your hands started to tremble in his grip.

“i meant what i said during the interview today. and if you meant what you said, then it means there’s nothing to be afraid of anymore.”

life has just shoved you off an edge, an edge that you were standing on after running away from juyeon.

only for you to fall off and into his arms again. 

he shoves his lips between yours, almost violently, when he pulls you forward by your wrists. 

he guides your arms around his shoulders and behind his neck, while his hands find your waist and rest on your lower back, keeping the length of your body close to his. 

your hair under your beanie loosens when he pulls it off, and the next to go was your handbag that he slides off your shoulder and lays it somewhere on the ground. 

don’t make me close one more door

it still doesn’t feel too far for no return, until he takes your hand and rests it on his cheek while he kisses you softly. his lips part and so do yours, instinctively, but he doesn’t force himself into your mouth. 

i don’t want to hurt anymore

the warmth from his palm over yours on his cheek melts you like the snow outside, and before you knew it, he pulls away, looking to see if you were going to turn your back on him and run.

stay in my arms if you dare

yet, the want to run is no longer in control. 

or must i imagine you there?

there was no need to say anything, because it was written all over his face and in his eyes. 

he slots his lips between yours again like puzzle pieces, this time feeling much more whole, much less in pain, much more in love; in love again.

the supposedly dead doves on the street writhes to life as a familiar fire in your chest lights up again. 

don’t walk away from me

both his hands cup your cheeks and your hands are gripping onto the material around his elbows when he starts walking you backwards. 

i have nothing 

a wall meets your back, sandwiching you between the cold concrete and the warmth that was emitting from the length of his body.

if i don’t have you

his scent fills your nostrils like flowers in a field and it is almost nauseating to have it so near to you. not only were you smelling it, you were tasting it, and having it in your grasp was extremely surreal.

you break the kiss first and look at the skin on his neck before finding the courage to look back up at him. 

there is a mild frown on his forehead, his palms still holding your face so gently, it feels like you were cushioned in feathers.

“juyeon...”

the name rolls off your tongue like a song lost in time, and juyeon simply angles his head downwards to meet your lips again. 

you must’ve been a fool to believe that five years was enough for you to forget about juyeon, not when you’ve spent nearly the same amount of time being his significant other. 

either that, or you were just never meant to escape juyeon’s life, nor rid him from yours. 

maybe now you understand why people do stupid things when they are in love, because they just don’t think it’s stupid. they do it because their heart propels them to do so; they do it because nobody can replace the feeling that this special someone can offer, that only this person can offer.

so when he has you cushioned cozily into the pillows of his bed and your coat and winter wear long gone somewhere, leaving you in just the first layer of clothes you have on, you realise what he’s trying to compensate.

you couldn’t tell if juyeon was just childishly bitter about the fact that you lost your virginity to another man, or that he was still in disbelief about how he treated you back then. 

one thing was for certain though, he is showering you with kisses and caresses that you would’ve otherwise not expected from juyeon. 

the whines and sighs pouring out between your lips sound like a soft lullaby and  he was revelling in the fact that he should’ve given this to you sooner. 

instinctively, your fingers find the rim of juyeon’s top and riles it up, running your skin over the warmth of his skin and smelling more of his cologne when the material brushes across your face as he removes it. 

he looks down at you and his gaze causes goosebumps to erupt all over your body. 

they are loving and desperate for love. they are warm and cold with the memory of how you ended. they are full of desire and hungry for validation.

it doesn’t take him long to attach his lips to yours again once he’s done admiring the features on your face; features that he had lost for so long, he was worried he might forget them. 

as strange as it seemed, having him drag your clothes off you only to stop and stare at the shade of your skin makes you feel like you were truly exposed to him. it is alien and it makes you want to shrivel up under him, because he was not the person you slept with.

but before you could hide yourself away from him, he litters kisses all over your skin. your cleavage, your stomach. fingers brushing over the skin of your hips and thighs, encouraging your hand reaching down to look for his face.

when his cheek is brushed with your fingertips, he looks up through his lashes and it feels like this should’ve happened in place of sangyeon. 

the memory of sangyeon providing you the love and affection you needed engulfs you in flames and your chin tilts to the ceiling, silently begging the heavens to provide you enough strength to keep your tears in. 

juyeon, reading your body language, reaches to his nightstand and pulls out a black sash, something that looked like it belonged to his costume when you saw him at the club two weeks ago. 

“hey,” he leans forward and gives you a peck on the lips. pulling you upwards, he wraps his arm around your waist as he sits down. the position confuses you for awhile, until he pulls you onto his lap and lets you sit on his thighs. 

looking down at him while feeling the warmth of his legs under your rear is slightly unsettling; it has been way too long. 

“me saying sorry won’t cut it,” he slides the sash into your hands and brings them up to his face. “so i’m letting you do whatever you want.”

you decide that lee juyeon has lost his mind when he guides your hands and ties the sash around his eyes.

a frown draws itself into your forehead before you realise he can’t see your expression. 

your lips part in a bid to protest, to ask if he’s lost his fucking mind; but juyeon grabs your wrists and plants kisses into your palms.

your stomach is churning and your eyes are tearing up all over again when he starts trailing them down the inner side of your wrists and forearms. the intimacy of this entire ordeal draws a high on your consciousness, and you can’t help the sigh that escapes your lips when he pulls away.

if this is his way of earning validation, then you have no authority to keep him from being validated. 

your palms press flat against his shoulders, gently pushing him backwards until he’s lying down on the mattress with your knees straddling the sides of his hips. 

the scent that you remember wafting through your nose for so long, so long ago is strongest around his neck. fragile memory invites you to that very spot, dipping your nose into his skin and attaching your lips to the spot under where his jaw led up to his ear.

the heavy breathing from his inflated nostrils already sounds like frustration, and it begins to hurt in your chest that juyeon is punishing himself.

he’s letting you do it only because he thinks he doesn’t deserve it.

your fingers replace the spot where your lips were, and circles of innocent pain draws themselves into his skin. 

his adam’s apple bobs up and down when he gulps, and you try to contemplate your next move. 

it shouldn’t be this difficult.

it really shouldn’t. 

not when he deserves to suffer for what he did.

but you were the one who slept with someone else.

frustration builds up inside you like a pressure flask, or a volcano for that matter. 

juyeon and his affection were the only things you ever wanted.

punishing him would be as good as punishing yourself. even if it was valid, it was, unfortunately, driving a nail through your spine. 

it hurt to let the realisation of his self-punishment sink in. 

“juyeon,” you pull off the blindfold and shake your head at him. “i can’t.”

a muscle in his cheek twitches, and his bare chest heaving up and down under your palms allows you to feel his heartbeat. 

what was this? some dumb game of chess? were you too dumb to let up so easily or was juyeon just too petty about what happened five years ago? it feels like a game of push and pull that was never going to end.

that is, until juyeon opens his mouth. 

“i’m sorry.” 

your eyes dart around his, frantically searching for any sign of pretence or inauthenticity. 

but you are shocked when you see sincerity, and nothing but him wanting to prove himself. 

your heart is racing and thumping so hard, you were sure juyeon could hear it.

it feels like the weight of the world has crashed down on you, at the same time the heavens finally ridding you of the witch that has been peeling your insides and throwing them out of your body in the form of tears. 

the gravity of the apology sinks into you too soon, because you shove your lips between his before you could even process your own actions. 

digging his fingers into your thighs, he pushes you back so you were lying down again, never once breaking the kiss.

you wonder if you were giving in too easily when he slips his tongue through your lips without much effort, but feeling his heart rush against yours is a sensation to be reckoned with.

it does not feel real. it does not feel like you deserve it.

the friction of your pants being pulled off your thighs earns your attention, but he is drinking your moans and feeling you writhe under him. 

the cool air followed by a thud tells you that your pants are on the floor, leaving you in your lingerie and him in his pants. so your fingers run across his biceps and reach south, slightly aggressively undoing his belt. 

sparks fly when juyeon smiles into the kiss. 

oh, how much i missed you. 

he shifts around in a bid to get rid of his pants, breaking the kiss in the process. 

panting and trying to catch your breath from the excessive making out, juyeon slides his arm under you and flips you over carefully.

he doesn’t remove your bra, and maybe it was because he wanted to know he wasn’t doing this because he wanted sex, the way you accused him of it two weeks ago. 

chills run down your spine with every instant his lips are on the skin of your back, and then your inner thighs and you find yourself shaking under him.

not because you were scared, but because this was right. 

the mattress around your legs shift, a finger trails the skin near your core and the air meets your needy wetness you didn’t even realise was becoming prominent. 

the bedsheet gets crumpled in your hands when he pulls it off, lifting your legs for you to remove it. 

then his palms are gripping the back of your thighs and his tongue meets your entrance. 

a hiss runs through your teeth and you shut your eyes.

the bliss is overwhelming, and your entire body was tremoring from the sensation of him dipping his tongue into you. 

his fingers find your sensitive nub, making you pool more for him to lap up. 

just when it becomes too unbearable, he removes himself from your south. burying your face into the pillow, one of his hands grips the flesh of your rear.

it feels like a warm blanket when he leans down, chest against your back and his left arm supporting his weight next to your ear. “tell me if it hurts.”

he greets you at your entrance, prodding slightly and driving inappropriate thoughts into your head as if you weren’t already halfway there. 

so you nod, and he plants a kiss on your shoulder as he pushes into you. 

your temples tighten with the pain when you feel him stretching out your walls, your fingers gripping onto the bedsheet like you were strangling someone. 

his right arm is holding your stomach under you, his lips still leaving lingering dollops of love and care on your shoulders. 

he waits until the look of pain has vanished, and the thrusts start out light because you were still adjusting to him. 

but it doesn’t take long for the small winces of pain to turn into gentle mewls and moans of pleasure. 

you turn and bury your face into the pillow, trying to muffle out your own desperation. 

so it is a surprise when juyeon abruptly pulls out and flips you over on your back, and you provide him one extremely annoyed sigh. 

he smirks at you, and you don’t mind it one bit. 

“nothing to be ashamed of.”

he wraps his legs around his hips as he looms over you, arms on either side of your head against the mattress. the combination of him pushing into you and pressing his lips against yours is of immense bliss and satisfaction.

you have all of him now, and this was meant to be. 

hips hips roll against yours instead of rampant thrusting, so that he could maintain his lips on yours. he was careful and meticulous and he wants you to know that he still loves you.

if that is what he’s doing, he’s doing a damn good job at it.

his hips are grinding against your sensitive nub and the rolling was maximising the friction of his length inside you, so it doesn’t take much for him to help you reach your high. 

“juyeon--”

“i know,” he whispers to you, lips just about an inch away from yours when his eyes dig into your half-hooded ones.

you expected your body to regurgitate all the memories of sangyeon, but nothing comes to mind.

the only person in your head is juyeon, and you had absolutely no problem with it.

he helps you reach your high and your back archs off the mattress as he drinks the pleasure spewing out your throat. 

he pulls out, just after he helps you ride it out, and he releases on your stomach and your thighs with sweat sticking his gelled hair to his forehead. 

your arms slide under his pillows and your chest heaves from the intimacy. it takes you awhile to realise you are staring at his chest and collarbones and face before he crawls back towards you.

he angles his head to kiss you again, this time willingly smiling into the act of affection. 

“does this mean you accept my apology?”

you suck your lips between your teeth when he pulls away, his hands brushing your hair out of your face and stroking your cheek.

“yes,” you nod subtly. “but only if you clean your mess off me.”

juyeon jabs the inner side of his cheek with tongue and looks away for a second.

he leans forward once more, kissing you on the forehead this time. 

“i love you.”

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

to be continued (final)

[im-done-arent-you]

Conversations You’d Have While Dating John Bender

Bender: “If I died, how much would you miss me?”

(Y/N): “It’s cute that you think death can get you out of this relationship.”

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(Y/N): “Jesus it’s cold!”

Bender: “Here, take my jacket, I’m not even that cold.”

(Y/N): “Thanks, I’ll give it back tomorrow at school.”

*later, at (Y/N)’s house after everyone has gone home*

(Y/N), aggressively inhaling in Bender’s jacket while curled up with it: “I’m never giving this back.”

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 Bender and (Y/N): *staring into each other’s eyes*

Andy: *opens a soda can*

(Y/N): “We’re having a moment here.”

Andy: “And I’m having a soda, your point?”

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Bender: “I have very high standards. I’d never date anyone clumsy-”

(Y/N) walking in, tripping and falling face first on the floor: “Ah shit, oh, hi guys!”

Bender: “I want them.”

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Bender: “(Y/N), what the hell are you doing?”

(Y/N), feeling Bender’s hair while mumbling: “What the fuck this is so soft and smooth…?”

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Bender: “You have a sweet lookin’ ass.”

(Y/N): “What was that?”

Bender: “You have very nice eyes.”

(Y/N): “I liked the first one better.”

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Teacher: “Okay, here’s the classwork.”

Bender: “Please help me.”

(Y/N), sighing: “You’re lucky you have me.”

Bender: “I know, right? The only thing I know how to do on this paper is write my name.”

(Y/N): “You just spelled it wrong.”

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Bender: “Hey, (Y/N), can you do the thing?”

(Y/N): “What thing?” Bender: “The thing that never fails to make me happy.”

(Y/N): “Oh, okay.” *smiles*

Bender: “Thank you.”

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Bender: *Licks his lips while rolling up his sleeves*

(Y/N): “Jesus take the wheel.”

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(Y/N): “You… you have a face.”

Bender: “Yes. Yes I do.”

(Y/N): “I mean… a nice face. You have a nice face.”

Bender: “Thanks… I think?”

(Y/N): “Oh my gosh. Please just accept my awkward attempts at flirting. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

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Bender: “Is your name Jingle Bells?”

(Y/N): “ No no no no, please don’t, Bender, have mercy-”

Bender: “Because you look ready to go allll the way.”

(Y/N): “Shut up, Bender, it’s the day after Thanksgiving!”

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(Y/N): “Do you know what time it is?” Bender: “Do I look like a weatherman to you?”

(Y/N):

(Y/N):

(Y/N): (Y/N): “What?”

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Brian: “Why do you guys wake up so late? What time do you even go to sleep?”

(Y/N): “I always fall asleep first because Bender always strokes my hair and I snuggle into him until I finally do.”

Bender: “I always disassociate and have an existential crisis, so I never actually know.”

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Claire: *sees Bender and (Y/N) walk into the room holding hands* “So who finally confessed?”

Bender, with a proud smirk: “It was me. I made sure it was real short and sweet.”

(Y/N): “You yelled ‘Listen here you little shit, I have feelings for you and it’s about time you acknowledge them!’ at me from on top of the school roof.”

Bender: “It worked though.”

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(Y/N): “Are you...blushing?”

Bender: “What, no.”

(Y/N): “Did I get the ever-stoic, hardcore, total badass Bender to blush?”

Bender: “No..It’s..It’s the cold.”

(Y/N): “Huh. It’s the cold. And not that I told you ‘Your face is freaking cute and I bet the rest of you is too’?”

Bender, blushing harder: *voice cracks* “N-no.”

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(Y/N): *Drops something* “Oh, fuck me.”

Bender: *smirks*

(Y/N): “That wasn’t an invitation.”

Bender: *Gets closer to (Y/N)*

(Y/N): “I mean it, Bender.”

Bender: “Gets in (Y/N)‘s face with a low hum and a smirk*

(Y/N): *Blushing furiously*

Bender: *puts his hand under (Y/N)’s chin and leans into their ear* “I think we should have pizza for dinner.”

Bender: *Sits back down*

(Y/N): “Oh, for the love of-” *repeatedly smacks Bender with a pillow*

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(Y/N): *kisses Bender’s forehead*

Bender, frowning: “You missed.”

(Y/N): “Huh?” Bender: *Leans forward and kisses (Y/N)’s lips*

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Bender: “What are you doing?”

(Y/N): *Wiggling into Bender’s arms* “Hiding.”

Bender: “....Don’t you mean hugging?”

(Y/N): *Pauses* “Did I fucking stutter? This is my safe place. Now shut up and put your arms around me.”

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Bender: “I have to get something off my chest.”

(Y/N): “Is it your shirt? I hope it’s your shirt. Please let it be your shirt.”

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(Y/N): “I get this weird feeling in my chest every time I see you.”

Bender: “.....Is is heartburn?”

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Bender: “You know, I’m jealous of you?”

(Y/N): “Huh? Why?”

Bender: “Your partner is way hotter than mine.” *walks away*

(Y/N): “Wait- but you’re my- we’re dating...Come back here you little shit!”

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*Bender and (Y/N) kiss*

Allison: “Aww..”

Bender: “Allison i have had it up to here with your bullshit!”

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(Y/N): *Smiles*

Bender: “There it is again.”

(Y/N): “What?” Bender: “You better not smile for anyone else like that. If you do I might have to kill them.”

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(Y/N): "What's your biggest fear?"

Bender: "You."

(Y/N): "Me?!"

Bender: "I'm scared that one day you'll look in the mirror and see yourself as I see you. That you'll realize just how amazing you are, and that you deserve better than me. I'm terrified that you'll leave."

(Y/N), on the verge of tears: "Oh, god, Bender please don't say that. You are the most amazing person I've ever met, I could never leave you. Ever. God, I love you so much more than it's possible to say, you know that? I hate seeing you feel like you aren't enough because you are, Bender, you always have been. You always will be. I love you."

Bender: "Aw, come on, Baby, please don't cry, I love you too."

——————————————————————————————————

(Y/N): *Complains about Bender*

Bender: "I could be a drug addict. Do you realize how lucky you are?"

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Bender: "Where's your liquor?"

(Y/N): "At 11 A.M?"

Bender: "Why, does it move around throughout the day?"

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Andrew: "You deserve an award for putting up with me."

Allison: "You're my award, Andy."

Bender: "You deserve an award for putting up with me, (Y/N)."

(Y/N): "Hell yeah I do. You're a real bitch sometimes."

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*On the topic of how to sneak out of detention*

Bender: "I have a plan."

(Y/N): "No weapons."

Bender: "I have no plan."

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(Y/N): "You know what I did yesterday?"

Bender: "Got prettier?"

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(Y/N): "Damn. We're out of decaf."

Bender: "Well there's no need to get hysterical."

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(Y/N): "I already knew you didn't have any moral qualms about breaking and entering."

Bender: "That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

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(Y/N): "Earlier Bender walked into our classroom to see me, saw algebra on the board and yelled 'Oh what the fuck is this, get me an eraser before I pass out!'"

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(Y/N): "So Bender, what do you want to do tonight?"

Bender:  "You, probably."

(Y/N): "You know you said that out loud, right?"

Bender: "Yup, no regret."

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(Y/N): "Has anyone seen Bender?"

Claire: "It's 10 A.M., I would be worried if he was here."

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Bender: "Hi pretty (Y/N). Oh, you're so pretty. But not just your face, your brain. It's like your beautiful brain exploded all over your face."

(Y/N): "Are you drunk?"

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Bender: "I assure you I am the most attractive person in this room."

(Y/N): *Walks into the room*

Bender: "Never mind."

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(Y/N): "Putting a lemon in your water isn't gonna balance out the fact that you chugged seven beers in under thirty minutes last night, Bender."

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(Y/N): "Bender... why do I love you?"

Bender: "Because you're the only one who can tolerate my bullshit and vice versa."

(Y/N): ".............I was gonna say your eyes, but that works too."

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Bender: *About (Y/N)* "My partner is like an oven."

Brian: "Explain."

Bender: "Roasts me."

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(Y/N): "Next time I wanna hurt someone, I'm coming straight to you for help."

Bender: "Aw, that's the sweetest thing you've ever said to me."

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Bender: :I'm just sitting here with my empty pizza box, my Coke, and my Baby. *Leans over and kisses (Y/N)'s cheek* I may be out of pizza, but I'm never out of love for them."

(Y/N): *Blushes*

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(Y/N): "Bender no."

Bender, drinking hot Cheeto dust mixed with vodka from a vase: "Bender yes."

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*Sneaking into the teacher's lounge for snacks*

(Y/N): "But how do we not get caught? There are teachers everywhere!"

Bender: "Easy. Keep a cool head and a sweet smile."

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(Y/N): "I drink to forget but I always remember."

Bender: "You're drinking soda."

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(Y/N): "You're a fucking loser."

Bender: "Well you're fucking a loser."

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Bender: *Takes off his shirt*

(Y/N): "What a time to be alive."

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Bender: "Hey, I like your pants."

(Y/N): "Thanks."

Bender: "But, you know, they'd look better on my bedroom floor."

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*During a fight*

Bender: *Rolls his eyes*

(Y/N): "Yeah keep rolling your eyes, you might find a brain back there."

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Claire: "Are you a big spoon or a little spoon?"

Bender: "I'm a knife."

(Y/N): "He's a big spoon."

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*Mr. Vernon left his door open*

Bender: "He left his door open!"

(Y/N), looking at Bender: "Slim Jim raid?"

Bender, nodding: "Slim Jim raid."

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*During an argument*

(Y/N): "You are unbelievable, Bender!" *Starts storming out of the room, stops halfway* "Do not watch my ass as I leave!"

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(Y/N ), answering the phone: "Hello?"

Bender: "Hey, it's Bender."

(Y/N): "What'd he do this time?"

Bender: "No, it's actually me, Bender."

(Y/n): "What did you do this time?"

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*Talking about a teacher*

Andrew: "Yeah she's a bitch."

Bender: "Speaking of bitches..." *looks at (Y/N)*

(Y/N), without looking up from their book: " Choose your next words carefully."

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(Y/N): "You shouldn't smoke. It isn't good for you."

Bender: "Fuck off."

(Y/N): "I love you too."

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*When Bender first tells the group about (Y/N) and him dating*

Andrew: "How hot are they?"

Bender: "It doesn't matter what they look like. I mean, they're already the most beautiful person in the world to me."

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Allison: "Are they flirting?"

Claire: "I think so."

(Y/N): "We are not flirting, we are arguing."

Bender: "We're flirting."

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Bender: "Have I ever told you you look like a sexy praying mantis?"

(Y/N): "Every time you drink alcohol."

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Bender: "You know, (Y/N), I've been drinking- I mean thinking-!"

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(Y/N): "It's quiet....too quiet..."

Andrew, bursting into the room: "Bender let a snake loose in the library!"

(Y/N), sighing: "I knew it."

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Brian, on the phone: "(Y/N), what are you doing?"

(Y/N): "Homework."

Bender, taking the phone from (Y/N): "I'm homework."

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(Y/N): "You think you're a better kisser than me?"

Bender: *Raises eyebrows*

(Y/N): "You think you're a better cuddler?"

Bender: *Raises eyebrows further*

(Y/N): "Well come over here and prove it, punk."

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(Y/N): "Claire, tell Bender that he's an idiot but I still love him."

Claire: "Gross, tell him yourself."

(Y/N): "We're in a fight."

Claire: "You're sitting in his lap?"

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Bender: *Lights a match with his teeth*

(Y/N): "You have no idea how hot that is."

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(Y/N): "Bender, you..."

Bender: "I?"

(Y/N): "Um...y-you..."

Bender: "I what?"

(Y/N): "You make my heart have premature ventricular contractions."

Bender: "Huh?"

Brian, from across the room: "They mean you make their heart skip a beat."

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*In a fight*

(Y/N): *Flips Bender off*

Bender, smirking: "Maybe later, Honey." *winks*

(Y/N): *Rolls eyes*

Bender: "Hey! Don't roll your eyes when I allude to fucking you!"

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(Y/N): *Kisses Bender*

Bender: "What was that for?"

(Y/N): "I've been thinking about what makes me happy. You make me happy."

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*After getting caught breaking the rules*

Mr.Vernon: "Did you two really think you were gonna get away with this?"

Bender: "Well, it would be stupid to say yes now."

(Y/N): *Stares blankly at Vernon while nodding in agreement with Bender*

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

*(Y/N) is absent from school*

Allison: *About (Y/N)* "Do you miss them?"

Bender: "You can tell?"

Allison: "There are two things in this world you cannot hide. Sneezing and love."

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

Andrew: "I spy with my little eye something that begins with the letter S."

Claire, looking over at Bender and (Y/N): "Is it sexual tension?"

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

(Y/N), to Bender: "Oh, you're touch starved? Wanna hold hands about it?"

[trifle-of-doom]

The Hawk X Demetri Manifesto

Okay, here is the thing. Despite being well past my teens, there's a particular ship of Cobra Kai that has drawn my attention, this ship being Hawk/Eli x Demetri. When I first watched the show, I was actually more invested in the adult characters storylines than the teens. I immediately rooted for Johnny and Carmen, and I was always hoping for more interactions between them. But then I saw episode 2x05, in which the atmosphere between the Binary Brothers becomes way more dense, and that's when I started to see some potential for them. Not because I'm a deranged person who fosters abusive relationships, but because I immediately caught the hurt/comfort dynamic of the duo, which is something that works really well when it comes to fictional relationships. However, it wasn't until 3x10 that I said, "Ok, that's official, I need to see more of these two! I totally support them!" And I was quite surprised to find a fairly large amount of people who are very committed to this pairing, to the point it's caught the attention of the screenwriters/producers as well. Honestly, I don't know if the showrunners will ever have the guts to make them an official couple, and chances are their supporters will have to keep reading between the lines of their bromance, but in any case, here is my take on why Hawk/Eli x Demetri is an option worth to be considered.

#1 - The Bromance

If there's something that many years of navigating the Internet taught me, is that the main driving factor for fan-made ships is the presence of either a solid relationship based on mutual brotherly love or a bitter rivalry that may or may not flow into hate/obsession. If you consider anime fandoms, there are thousand examples that fit into either of these categories: Yugi and Jonouchi from the Yu-Gi-Oh series (yes, that's how old I am), Yugi and Kaiba from Yu-Gi-Oh, Sakuragi and Rukawa from Slam Dunk, Light and L from Death Note, etc. And our Hawk and Demetri fit into both categories. When we first see them, they are the stereotypical nerdy friends (possibly childhood friends?) sitting at the losers' table, who have no one else but each other. When Eli is at his most sensitive and fragile, you can tell he feels comfortable being with Demetri by the genuine smile he has on his face as Demetri is joking with Miguel at the canteen table. Through his sarcasm, the mouthy kid acts as a catalyst to deviate the attention from Eli, speaking for him, reprimanding Johnny when he makes fun of his lip and trying to make him feel safe. Besides, you can see a certain degree of frustration in Demetri when Kyler and his gang are harassing Eli, and he's unable to do anything to defend him. And they even have a jingle for their friendship with a robot dance, I mean, how cute is that? But of course, a solid friendship between two helpless nerdy guys is not enough to spark a ship to be rooting for. In order for the magic to happen, another key ingredient is needed, i.e. a little bit of angst. Which brings us straight to the next point.

#2 - The Angst (aka the Hurt/Comfort Dynamic)

Even though I never liked the Twilight saga or any similar urban fantasy young adult works, I can easily see where the appeal comes from; the attraction to a charming, dangerous person who could either protect you from any harm or crush you like grape. Although with different franchises, I wasn't immune to the bad boy trope either (Yes, I'm looking at you, my teenage self drooling over Grimmjow from Bleach). If we can appreciate the genuine, brotherly friendship between nerdy Eli and Demetri, the shift that Eli makes as he transitions into Hawk and becomes more aggressive and dominant gives their relationship a totally different flavor. Attrition sparks a certain tension that, in the viewer's eyes, could either flow into a brawl or into passion.

During the mall fight, Demetri comes to the realization that his former best friend is actually someone who can crush him like grape. We see Hawk intentionally harming him for the first time, and Demetri's heartbreaking expression as he drops the line: "You'd actually hurt me?" And if that line gave us a pang in our hearts when we first watched Season 2, imagine rewatching it now that we know what happens in Season 3. Demetri is chased down the mall, running for his life, and then he's locked in a grip, as his best friend menacingly advances towards him. Demetri appears as the damsel in distress, however his friend is not the one who will fight to protect him, but rather his tormentor.

During the party at Moon's, Demetri manages to briefly go through Hawk's mask and reach out to Eli, thanks to a casual conversation about Dr Who. But then the beer incident happens, and Demetri defends himself with the only weapon he has – his loudmouth. The situation is reversed, and for a brief moment, he gets to be the dominant one as he discloses all Eli's most intimate secrets. Demetri is now actively contributing to the Hurt/Comfort dynamic; he's no longer just a target, but he's doing his part to enlarge that gaping hole that has formed between them. And Hawk didn't take it well.

From this moment on, Demetri becomes a sort of obsession to Hawk, who hunts him down the school, teasing him and taunting him sadistically, like a serial killer from a horror movie, during the big fight. Of course, in real life, this would be completely insane, and the police/a social assistant/psychiatrist should be called, but in ShipLand, these situations are pure gold. Okay, we get it, Hawk wants to get revenge for the humiliation at the party, and he wants to crush that nerd part of himself he sees in Demetri, but he does it with such an intensity that it borders on ridiculous. It's like this is his twisted way to acknowledge Demetri's presence. Eventually, Hawk ends up smashed into the trophy case, and I confess I felt a little disappointed when Demetri broke that hug to give Hawk a roundhouse kick. I mean, it was a great comeback, but I was sincerely hoping for a "No hard feelings man, let's get outta here!" scenario.

Getting back to the sick and twisted way Hawk acknowledges Demetri's presence, he destroys his science project after he got jealous due to him being confident in his nerd self and laughing around with his ex girlfriend (whom the writers insist he still has a crush on). Speaking of Moon, I have a feeling she likes Hawk mostly based on his badass appearance. Remember when she goes "I like this (mohawk) and I love these (muscles), but I'm not dating a bully"?

Then the football match happens. Okay, let's break this down. Demetri trips Hawk and acts all sassy, and a fellow Cobra Kai is immediately ready to take him down, but Hawk stops him. "Fight smart, he says". Too bad that literally 5 seconds earlier he had shoved a kid to the ground just because his ex girlfriend (again, duuuh~) ignored him when he winked at her. And then, as he's trying to intercept the ball, BANG, Hawk hits Demetri, sending him to the ground, pretending it was an accident. So, what does this tell us? That Hawk has some serious anger management issues? Yeah sure, but also that he cares about fighting smart only as long as it serves as an excuse to leave Demetri for him, because he's his designated target. Again, this is all but romantic, and it doesn't necessarily have to be interpreted as him lusting after his friend, but it's undeniable that this dynamic offers a lot of ship fuel.

The arm breaking thing is just too painful to even analyze. We see a completely helpless Demetri begging for mercy to his ex best friend, who has made No Mercy his life motto. And that scream, oh that scream. All I wanted to see was Hawk realizing what he had done and throwing himself on his knees while begging for forgiveness. But I'm glad that at least we get to see he feels awful for what he's done, and I like to think that, as he got home, Eli cried out all the tears he had in his body thinking about poor Demetri at the hospital, with a swollen broken arm, all because of him. Of all the situations, this is undoubtedly the most deranged and extreme, and if something like this happened in real life, the wrongdoer would deserve to be punished and would definitely need to be sent to therapy. But in ShipLand, this opens the road to many, many different scenarios, in which the bully understands his mistakes and shifts back to the good side, or the two share a tender moment after they reconcile, or the traumatized character has to to learn to trust the other one again, or the bully becomes overprotective of his former victim, etc.

#3 - A Rewarding Reconciliation

Finally, we come to the reconciliation, in which Hawk makes his heel-to-face turn. While we've seen him torn with doubt for an entire season about his sensei's teachings, his actions and the people he wants to surround himself with, the key factor that drives Hawk's redemption is the sight of his best friend being held down for him to beat. And with an epic stunt and his awesome KEEEH screech, Hawk jumps to the rescue of his friend. Like many of us, Demetri thought this was still part of the "Only I Can Torment Him" dynamic I discussed earlier, as he steps backwards a little concerned, but then he understands that action was actually meant to save him, and the two begin to fight side by side, in sync, watching each other's back. You can see Demetri's eyes sparkling at the thought of having his friend back.

Also, not only Demetri stands up to alpha bitch Tory in defense of Eli, but he also speaks for his friend when he's faltering, just like he used to. So kudos for Demetri.

#4 - The Red Oni, Blue Oni Dynamic

Binary Brothers are two sides of the same coin and complete each other with opposite character traits, visually expressed by the color red and the color blue. Being the color red typically associated with violence, rage, passion and irrationality, as opposed to blue, which is associated with calmness, melancholy and rationality, red is clearly the dominant color. Again, this opens many interesting scenarios for shippers.

#5 - Body Language

Besides the situations I described above, which may or may not be read from a romantic/attraction standpoint, there are also a collection of small gestures I noticed when rewatching the series with a more attentive look on their relationship.

- Demetri's heart-broken expression when Eli shamefully covers his lip during the anti-bullying announcement.

- The smile Demetri gives when Hawk responds "Hell yeah!" after Aisha proposes to crash Yasmin's party, implying he's learning to embrace this new wild side of his best friend

- The astonished look with which Demetri watches Hawk at the tournament and the way he's pissed no one knows his real name.

- How deeply hurt Demetri is when Hawk belittles him by saying: "Five against three. More like two and a half." He even tries to reply, but he's caught so off guard that words die in his throat.

- How Demetri takes a step towards Hawk during the mall fight, before Sam makes him back off, and how sadly he looks at Hawk's nearly unconscious body after Robby defeated him.

- How Demetri smiles and nods when he briefly connects with Eli at Moon's party, despite the mall incident.

- How Hawk watches Demetri juggle with the cleaning product from behind his bike helmet (how did he stuff the mohawk in there by the way)?

- Hawk's psychotic/sadistic faces when he smells Demetri's blood, and how he likes to hunt him down like he's his prey.

- Hawk's secret impulse to comfort Demetri after the arm breaking (I hope you get nightmares of Demetri's howl of pain for the rest of your life, Hawk).

- The way Hawk twitches his upper lip when he sees his friend Demetri in danger.

- How Hawk and Demetri are so absorbed in their new-found friendship, that they're caught off guard, and Demetri swings Hawk to allow him to deliver a kick using their handshake as a lever. And how they keep fighting together, shaking each other's hands even when they're out of focus and the attention is on Miguel vs. Kyler.

- How they're standing so close at Miyagi Do, in comparison with the other Red/Blue partners.

In conclusion, this kind of relationships are engaging and entertaining to watch, and they make us wish the best for the characters. They make us hope that, in the end, as Miguel puts it, love really conquers all (and what is friendship if not a form of love?), despite all the hurt they did to each other.

So this is it. I hope you enjoyed my Ted Talk. Feel free to share it with whomever you want, especially if you need some solid reasons why this ship has got some good potential.

And remember: the ship is in the eye of the beholder.

F.

[blackmagicforever]

red spots & black canvas: chapter two

Chapter Two: Everything Has Changed | Master List | AO3

Well, not everything. Marinette was running late. Again.

She could hear the snickers of her boys in the back of her mind as she rushed down the stairs into the kitchen where her parents baked the goodies.

“Marinette!” her mother called, alarmed at the speed her daughter was going.

“Sorry! Can’ttalkI’mlate! Again!” she rushed her words as she picked up two croissants and a bottle of water while managing not to drop the schoolbag that was hanging precariously on her elbow. “Bye, mom! Love you!”

“Love you-” Sabine Cheng huffed a smile when the door jingled and closed, “too, honey.”

“She also ran over you?” Tom peeked from the door of the kitchen at his daughter running towards the front doors of her high school.

Marinette huffed as she made it with ten seconds to spare. Thank Kwami for small mercies.

Standing right outside the classroom door, she saw that (surprise! surprise!) Lila was holding court.

She made her way towards the back, of the class. Marinette looking like she resigned herself to sit on her spot like last year. Her phone buzzed on her back pocket. As she sat down, she snagged her phone and took a bite of her croissant.

[ sleep deprived people and one gremling ]

Demon: Is the Principal and Teacher always this…

Angel: yes, they are.

Marinette giggled, she knew that Damian was internally pouting. And what an image it made.

“Oh, Marinette!” Marinette snapped her head up while locking her phone swiftly. Lila was eyeing her phone speculatively as Adrien made his way to the back. “Hey! How was your summer?”

“Great.”

Adrien’s smile wavered at Marinette's blank tone. The model looked at Marinette properly, and noticed a few things that weren’t there before.

Marinette was wearing a light pink spaghetti strap shirt that stopped about half an inch mid stomach, paired with a high waisted black with white sprinkled paint short skirt. It had two slits that were ‘sewed’ with silver strings that had a small bow at the end.

The pigtails were long gone, Marinette wore twin braids with pink highlights on her hair. And she was wearing makeup! A light pink winged eye with dark mocha lipstick.

She also wore her usual black studs, but added a choker with a silver charm on it. The choker also had silver necklaces hanging down from it.

Adrien thought that Marinette looked great.

“That’s great to hear, Mari!”

Marinette hummed, opting for sliding her phone on her pocket and turning to face the boy better. Her crush had died tragically when the model told her to ‘take the high road, the lies aren’t hurting anyone’. She took another bite.

Adrien’s smile wavered until it slipped off his face. “My summer was incredible as well!” he tried again.

“Oh?” Marinette raised an eyebrow at Adrien, “That’s great to hear, Adrien.”

He felt himself stumble a bit at his own words thrown back at him. He faked a smile.

“Yeah,” Adrien felt that Marinette didn’t want to talk to him, but that was ridiculous, wasn’t it? “Did you hear about Lila’s summer?”

Marinette internally rolled her eyes as she faked a smile, “No, Adrien. I didn’t.” she said sweetly.

Adrien relaxed at the tone of Marinette’s voice, it was fine! Marinette wasn’t going to suddenly cut him off, she was the same Marinette as always despite the change in outfit. His Everyday Ladybug.

“Well, she went to a few concerts of Jagged, and volunteered for a new green world organization!” Adrien tried to enthusiast Marinette.

“... Right.” Marinette said.

Adrien frowned at Marinette, but before he could push again the stale conversation, Lila called him over.

“Talk to you later, Mari!” the boy smiled again before leaving the girl for Lila.

Marinette rolled her eyes, the fact that she had a crush on him made her cringe. She knew that Tim and Damian had fun burning all the Adrien photos and posters she had, as well as the calendar.

She finished her croissant.

Mme. Bustier entered the classroom as the others settled down. A familiar face entering right after her.

Marinette smirked.

“Welcome back, class!” Mme. Bustier said, “Today we have a new student, I hope you all treat him fairly and welcome him.”

He was tall, black hair with an undercut, and the sharpest emerald green eyes no one had ever seen. Emerald green clashed against bluebell azure, they both simultaneously smirked.

“I’m Damian Wayne, pleased to meet you.”

At the surname Wayne, Lila snapped her head away from where she was giggling with Alya.

The Waynes were even richer than the Agrestes!

And he was better looking than Adrien.

Damian’s eyebrow twitched at Marinette, she nodded slightly. They both had seen Lila’s reaction to his name.

Damian made his way towards the back, and sat down next to Marinette.

That’s when Lila and Adrien noticed they were matching.

Damian wore black pants with white detailing and a red button up shirt with silver detailings. He also wore a very expensive looking wristwatch. Which, coincidentally, matched in color with Marinette’s choker charm and necklaces.

They both looked amazing.

“Have a croissant,” Marinette pushed the second croissant she had picked up.

“Thank you,” Damian muttered lowly.

“I also got you water,” Marinette giggled at Damian’s huff. The undercover student rolled his eyes dramatically. “Are we going to mine’s for lunch? Or yours?”

“Drake is already crashing at yours,” Damian pointed out.

“He nearly made me come late,” Marinette complained.

Damian nodded in agreement, “Same.”

Mme. Bustier was taking roll call as the two of them spoke.

“Marinette? Are you here?” Mme. Bustier called out.

“Present!” Marinette raised her hand. Damian looked bored next to her.

“Oh, Marinette, will you be running for class president again?” Mme. Bustier asked.

Marinette grinned, “Not this year, I’m afraid.” she said.

There was silence. Damian counted down from ten mentally.

Three… 

Two… 

One… 

Chaos ensued.

Sleep Deprived Dumbass: why do I have a feeling I missed something?

[lu-undy]

Valentine’s day 5 - Alternate Universe

My choice went to have Lucien be a baker in Paris while Mundy is visiting the city with his parents!

Here it is on AO3!

"Micky, please tell your mum I'm starvin'."

"Mum, Dad's starvin'." Mundy's head swung from left to right.

"Micky, tell your Dad that I'm done with this cathedral now and we can get some lunch."

Both father and son cheered as they exited the impressive Cathédrale Montmartre. 

It had been a few days now that the Turner family had travelled from their native Australia to Paris, France. After years of saving, the farmers and the hunter managed to gather the amount they needed to take some very well earned holidays and see a part of the world that Caroline, the mother, had always dreamt of visiting. 

And it was Mundy, the son, now close to forty years old, who had suggested the idea of the trip. In his line of work, travelling was usual and he had seen a few places, and a lot of species already. He knew that his mother had always dreamt of seeing the City of Lights and so, he pushed for the idea to become a reality. 

At first his parents thought it was way out of what they could afford not only financially, but physically. They were getting close to their seventies! But Mundy insisted and told the tale of a lot of his patrons who were that age and older, yet still roaming the world. 

Caroline and Mike, mother and father, eventually accepted the idea, and Mundy worked extra shifts in pubs, playing the saxophone in some bands here and there, to add a few notes in the piggy bank. 

There they were now, the three of them, in the capital of romance. The cathedral they had just visited was on the top of a hill from which they could see the entire city of Paris splayed out and spread in le Bassin Parisien, the valley in which the capital was planted. It was easy to distinguish the business district with its towers of black and blue-ish glass, from the more residential or commercial areas. The Eiffel tower obviously pointed to the sky further away. 

Mundy had turned out to be the official photographer for the trip. He just enjoyed seeing the delight on his parents' faces and took pictures of them doing absolutely anything. They had never travelled much and he wanted them to have physical memories of it. On some pictures, they were pointing at a monument, on these ones, they were trying to decipher the names of the streets with a map wide open under their eyes, or just sitting on a bench and enjoying a cone of ice cream. Yes, it was July and peak summer in France, which was quite a surprise for the Aussies, but a welcome one. They all preferred hot and sunny weather, and were used to it.

"Let's try this bakery maybe?"

Caroline pointed at a reasonably small shop. The front of it was Burgundy red with the name shining in golden letters. 

"Chez Lucien". 

[Lucien's.]

Mundy pushed the door and let his parents through. The jingle of a bell rang and immediately after, a wave of delicious smells washed their lungs and made their mouths water even more. 

"Bonjour." The baker greeted them. "Que puis-je faire pour vous?"

[What can I do for you?]

"Bonjour." Mundy tried his best accent. "Do you speak English?" 

"Oui, I do." The Turner family sighed in relief. They were now used to communicating in sign language but finding someone who could understand even a bit of English was just their luck. "How may I help you?" The baker answered with more than a hint of a French accent. 

"Just give us a second, son. I mean look at all these good things, the smell's amazin'!" Mike said, his eyes running through the sandwiches, the quiches and pastries. 

"Merci. Will it be to eat here?”

“Yeah, think so.” Mike answered.

“In that case, you may make yourselves comfortable at a table.” The baker suggested.

Mundy noticed there were only two tables inside and one on the pavement. They relieved themselves of their backpacks and came back in front of the glass. 

“Do take your time and don't hesitate to ask me if you need me to explain anything." 

"Thanks, mate." Mundy answered.

Caroline held Mike's arm dearly as they chatted and pointed at sandwiches here and there behind the glass. Mundy gave them a bit of space and had a look at the desserts. 

The colours beckoned his eyes. Red strawberries, all the shades of brown chocolate, white sugar, green pistachio, orange apricot tarts, yellow lemon ones. And the textures looked very different too. Mundy wished he could try a few. 

And what a powerful yet pleasant mix of smells. The smell of hot flour was drowning Mundy entirely. As he raised his eyes and looked behind the baker, bread of different shapes, sizes and colours were neatly arranged in wicker baskets. It was impressive. 

"What's this one, son?" Mike asked, pointing at a sandwich. 

"This has goat cheese, salad, and a drop of mustard with honey." The man in the white apron answered, and Mike and Caroline nodded. "Do you have any dietary requirements maybe? That might help you make the choice easier."

"Mike here has to watch out for sugar and cholesterol." Caroline said.

"Bah, I'm fine." Mike answered. 

"Mike, the doctor said to watch out…! Micky, tell your Dad…!"

"Dad…" Mundy started. 

"C'mon son, don't side with your mum! Men's solidarity!" 

The baker smiled. 

"I can recommend a classic French one, if you want a full French experience." He suggested. 

"Sure!" Mike answered. "We haven't come all the way from home to stop at sugar and cholesterol!" 

"In that case, I would suggest the classic jambon-beurre." 

"John what?" Mike repeated. 

"Jambon-beurre." The baker said. "Ham and butter. Now, I can make one with a light butter and lean ham for you." 

"That sounds great, what d'you say Caroline?" Mike looked at his wife. "Can I get that?" 

"My father himself used to have those when his diet became more strict." The baker explained.

"Oh that's very kind of you." Caroline said. "Sure, go for that. I will have the goat cheese and honey one, I never tried that combination of flavours."

"Very well." 

Mundy had been watching the whole scene unravel before his eyes and was grinning. He was over the moon to see his parents so relaxed and enjoying their time. They had worked hard all their lives to provide for their only son and had rarely taken a holiday as significant as this. 

"And you, Micky?" 

"Huh?" 

Caroline's voice had broken her son's daydream. 

"Oh, uh, I'll get the ham and butter, the normal kind is fine for me." 

"Very well, give me an instant." The baker gathered his ingredients and a bread knife. He prepared the sandwich in front of his hungry clients as they watched him. 

Mundy found himself staring. The baker was a bit shorter than him by half a foot or so. He looked a bit older too. His temples were grey and his front tuft, which swung between his eyes as he cut the bread, was greying too. However, his eyes shone with a kind of vivacity, of life, that Mundy found made him younger than himself maybe. He had very light blue eyes with dark eyelashes - beautiful - a slightly hooked nose and thin lips. His hands were trained and used to his work as his efficiency showed, but Mundy guessed that he hadn't been a baker all his life. His fingers were too slim to have done manual work all their lives like his parents'. 

"I guess you are visiting France for the first time?" 

"Yeah, first time out of home since a long time, son." Mike answered.

"Where are you from, if I may?" 

"Australia." 

"Ooh, that is indeed a long way from home." The baker chuckled and Mundy saw a flash of his pearly white teeth. 

"Yeah, the wife's always wanted to come and see it here, y'know, with it bein' the city of romance and all…" Mike explained and he held his wife's hand dearly.

"But of course." The baker placed the sandwiches on a tray. "Will that be all for you today?" 

"Micky, ask your mum if we can get desserts." 

"You could ask me directly." Caroline answered. 

"Yeah but you'd say no to me, honey." 

Caroline rolled her eyes and smiled. 

"Fine, let us have a look at what you have, uh…?" Caroline adjusted her glasses, looking for a badge or anything to address the shop owner. His name was sewn on his apron, in black, cursive letters. "Lu…?"

"Lucien." 

"Ooh, original name. Sounds very French, beautiful!" Caroline said. 

"Thank you, Madame." Lucien bowed his head politely. "May I suggest the strawberry tart for Monsieur? It is mostly fruity and the dough has very little sugar. My most faithful customers do like it particularly." 

"Yeah, looks very good." Mike said enthusiastically. 

"I'll have one of these, uh…" Caroline pointed at the glass. 

"Oh, éclair au chocolat. Do you know what éclair means in French?" Lucien asked. 

"No?"

"It is a lightning bolt. As a child, my mother used to make me believe that they were called that way because of how fast I devoured them." 

"Ooh, that is sweet…!"

Lucien put the mini tart and the éclair on the tray.

"And for you, Monsieur?" He turned to Mundy, who blushed under the piercing gaze. 

"Oh, uh, I mean… Maybe one of these…?" 

"Cannelé, they are called, because of their shape. They are typical from the South-West of France, where I come from. Have you ever tried them?"

"No, why?" 

Lucien smiled. 

"They are rarely a tourist's choice." He simply answered. "Here for you. I recommend enjoying those desserts with some coffee. Pray take a seat, I shall bring you your tray."

"Oh, thank you, dear." Caroline said and the Turner family sat around the table. Lucien closely followed. He added a jug of fresh water and glasses.

"Enjoy your meal, or as we say here, bon appétit." Lucien bowed his head and left his customers to enjoy their meal.

"Mum? Dad?" Mundy was holding the camera and took a picture when they both bit in their sandwiches. "There we go." 

The Turners enjoyed their sandwiches and the fresh water. After all, it was summer and it was hot. Caroline reminded Mike to take his pills as usual and Mundy was sitting next to them. He loved his parents more than anything or anyone else and in truth, they were all he had. He had a few friends back in Oz, not a lot, but good ones. 

"Son?" Mike's whisper pulled Mundy out of his daydream. 

"Hm?"

"Can you please tell your mum to stop starin' at the baker like that."

"If I was a few decades younger…" Caroline whispered. 

"Yeah, well, if you were a few decades younger, you'd remember that ring on your finger maybe, eh?" Mike teased. 

"Mum, please… You're makin' it obvious…" Mundy nudged his mother's elbow gently. 

Lucien was behind the counter, leaning on the wall on his side and reading a newspaper. 

"C'mon, Micky, tell your Dad that he's handsome!" Caroline nudged her son back.

"Mum…!" He blushed.

"Yeah well, go and have sandwiches with him, then!" Mike answered. 

"Oh I would!"

"Caroline!"

"Mike!"

"Mum, Dad, please…!"

"Nah, son, I've seen her stare at enough guys here. Since the moment we landed here and now, her eyes jumped from bloke to bloke like a bee from flower to flower!"

"Not my fault that they all look so charming! And I didn't say anything when you stared at that young sheila in the short skirt in the cathedral…!"

"Well…" Mike blushed, ashamed. "I'm a simple man…!"

"Besides, I'm not the only one who's starin', Mike." 

"Hm?" 

Caroline nodded in direction of Mundy, for whom the whispers of his parents had dissolved in the air. He had eyes and ears only for that baker. God, his mother was right, he was handsome! 

Caroline was right on that people there in France were quite good looking and it made the journey all the more pleasant to the eye. 

"Micky?" Mike's voice pulled Mundy out of his staring. 

"Huh?" 

"Well, I can't tell you to stop cause you got a ring on your finger but uh… make it a bit more, y'know, discreet…?"

Mundy blushed beyond his ears and lowered his head. 

And that was the first encounter with Lucien, the baker. From that day on, the Turners would try to have their lunch there everyday. Caroline was the one to push for it. Not only did Lucien turn out to be an incredible guide for them, recommending good and inexpensive restaurants as well as little corners of paradise within Paris, but she could see the blush on Mundy's cheeks whenever Lucien talked to him. 

In the evenings, Mundy would take a stroll outside, to give his parents some space. He would walk in the streets of the city, under the lamp posts, letting his feet decide where he should go. More often than once, he found himself not far from the bakery. On one occasion, Lucien was smoking outside of his bakery, as the sky was still bright. Mundy was paralysed with fear. He wasn't supposed to be standing there! He was supposed to be in his shop, and then Mundy could casually look through the window as he passed it, maybe even wave if he made eye contact with him. Yeah, that all made sense, but not Lucien being outside and-!

"Bonsoir, Mundy, wasn't it?" 

[Good evening]

Mundy's blood froze. As he was panicking internally, his feet had continued walking until he was within a few feet from the baker. 

"Y-yeah, hi." 

"Do you smoke?" Lucien asked. 

"Yeah, I mean, sometimes." 

"Here." Lucien offered one of his cigarettes and Mundy accepted it. 

"Thanks, mate." 

"Come closer." 

Mundy blushed when Lucien closed the gap between them and lit his cigarette up. He closed his eyes and all he could feel was the smell of the Frenchman's cologne, mixed with pastries and fresh bread.

Gosh… He thought as he felt his insides melt. 

"Voilà." Lucien chimed as he put his lighter away. Mundy opened his eyes and he felt as if he had emerged from a dream to another one. Now, the ice blue eyes of the elegant man were on him. 

"Y-yeah, thanks, heh." 

"You like to walk at night?" Lucien asked as they both exhaled the bitter smoke.

"Yeah, it's nice and calm."

"And I guess it is your break from your photography duties?" The Frenchman chuckled. 

"What?"

"You are the one carrying the camera all the time, and taking pictures of your parents. Do you have any of you?" 

"Uh, yeah, we do have a few of all three of us together."

"I would be delighted to take more in my shop next time you have lunch here."

"Ah, thanks." 

They stayed in front of the shop and smoked in silence, watching the few people in the streets come and go. 

"Mundy?" 

"Yeah?" 

"I will soon close the shop. Would you like anything?" 

"Oh, uh, no, I'm fine, thanks." 

"Very well." Lucien put the cigarette between his lips and entered the bakery. Mundy wasn't sure he could or should follow him so he stayed on the threshold. He watched as Lucien disappeared through a door behind the counter. Soon after, the lights switched off in the shop and Lucien emerged. Mundy couldn't see him clearly in the dark but his silhouette stood out. 

"Very well. This is it for today." He said as he came out and locked the shop. "I could do with some good coffee, would you like to join me, perhaps? I know a quiet café." Lucien turned to Mundy who was staring at him. "Mundy?".

He had never seen the baker outside of his natural habitat and a bit like a schoolboy who couldn't imagine his teacher living outside of school, Mundy was taken aback. It turned out that underneath the apron was a white polo shirt and now a beige linen jacket, with a matching hat and trousers. 

"U-uh? Yeah? Sorry, you said somethin'?"

"You daydream a lot, hm?" Lucien chuckled.

"Sorry…" Mundy looked away and felt the heat of the embarrassment on his cheeks. 

"It is alright, I do like to daydream too." He smiled as Mundy raised his eyes to him and the Aussie immediately averted his eyes. Oof, that grin…! "But you haven't answered my invitation."

"Y-your invitation?"

"Oui, coffee, with me?"

"You sure? I mean, I guess you're tired after work and maybe you want to go back home to your family or see your mates…?"

"I don't have one or the other." Mundy's eyebrows jumped. "You and your parents are the closest I have got to having friends for a long time. So, what do you say? Un café avec moi?"

[A coffee with me?]

"Oh, uh, alright. I mean uh, oui?" 

Lucien smiled. 

"Très bien, follow me."

[Very well]

The Frenchman led the way through the streets.

"So you left Maman and Papa at the hotel?" 

"Uh, yeah. I try to give them some space. Mum's always dreamt to come here with Dad."

"Not with you?" Lucien asked.

"No, I didn't want it to sound so bad… I mean that she'd wanted to come here even before they found me."

"They… found you?" Lucien repeated as they took a turn. 

"Oh Gosh, I can't keep my mouth shut…" Mundy mumbled to himself. "Sorry, mate, I-I meant… Ugh… Nevermind." 

Lucien didn't insist. 

"Here is the café." He pulled the front door and held it open for his tourist friend. 

"Oh, thanks." 

And it lasted for a couple of weeks, the nights out, sometimes in a café, sometimes just a tour of a neighbourhood with an incredibly patient and passionate guide. 

"You like Paris quite a bit, eh?" Mundy asked under the dark blue sky lit by the Eiffel Tower. Lucien had taken him to the Champs de Mars, an open park just in front of the beautifully lit, iconic tower. They were both sitting on the grass.

"Believe it or not, I do not like it much."

"Really?"

"Oui."

"You know it well though, historical stuff and all."

There was a slight smile on the Frenchman's lips. 

"Oui, unfortunately so, for some part of it. Non, what I have come to appreciate about this city recently is how you like it."

"What?" Mundy asked, embarrassed and confused. Lucien chuckled. 

"You enjoy visiting Paris."

"Well, there's a lot of monuments to see, lots of history behind it, and it's a proper city. The Outback's very different."

"Tell me about it." 

They exchanged a glance and Mundy's throat tightened. He could see all the lights on the Eiffel Tower shimmer on the Frenchman's eyes, like stars in a clear blue sky. 

"Well… Uh…" Mundy looked left and right. "See everythin' around us?"

"Oui?"

"Imagine there's nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Yeah, and imagine there's no grass but just orange dust."

"Hm…" Lucien looked keenly around him.

"Now add a few cacti, not too many, eh? And boulders. Just big rocks, basically."

"What shapes are they?" 

"Any weird shape you can imagine. They're a bit like clouds, if you stare at them, you start seeing that they look like stuff but they don't really…"

"Oh… And what shapes have you seen?" 

Mundy looked at Lucien sitting next to him. He had removed his hat and jacket. His polo shirt was white with dark blue stripes and he wore matching dark blue chinos trousers with beige loafers. Elegant, he was just so elegant…! What's more, he was lying on his side on the grass, resting part of his weight on his forearm, with one leg folded. Gosh…

"Uh… I usually see animals."

"What kind?"

"Sometimes, it's a gigantic wallaby, or a koala. But sometimes, it's stuff that doesn't even exist."

"Hm, like what?" 

Like you, Mundy thought. No one had taken the time to go out with him, take the time to know him, go to cafés and odd little bistrots with him. No one had ever listened to his life in the Outback, no one had ever asked. And certainly, no one had done all that and looked half as gorgeous as Lucien. It was to the point where Mundy struggled to maintain eye contact with him for long. He would sometimes cross Lucien's eyes and avert his gaze the split second after. His feline, light blue irises were too much to take, especially because each time Lucien graced him with a gaze, Mundy could feel a punch to his guts and the blood rush to his cheeks.

"I-I don't know, it's a bit silly…" He answered, blushing and looking down between his crossed legs. 

"Mundy…" 

He froze when he felt a finger under his chin, pulling it up. 

"Huh?" 

"Please, tell me." 

Gosh, not those eyes…! Oh and fuck it… Mundy couldn't refuse or ignore anything to those ice blue irises.

"Sometimes it's a mix of animals… Like something with the head of an owl, the body of a falcon, but legs like a wild cat. I know, it's ridiculous, ahem…"

"Non, not at all." Lucien answered and maybe it was all in Mundy's head, but he felt the Frenchman's index linger on his chin a bit before parting. The Aussie's jaw was electrified. "I find it poetic." 

"D-do you?" Mundy's surprise was so obvious, so naive that it made Lucien grin sweetly. The Aussie uncrossed his legs and let them flow in front of him.

"Oui." Lucien laid down and rested his head on Mundy's thigh. 

"Huh-?" Mundy gasped.

"Oh, am I weighing too much on you?"

"N-no, it's fine. I'm just-I'm just surprised, is all." The truth was that Mundy felt the heat in him surge as unexpectedly as Lucien lay on him. Was he just tired of holding his head on his palm? Was it friendly? Was it more? Was it a French thing?

"Hm. Look around you." Lucien said and Mundy did as he was told. It was the dead of night and not many people were out. "The city is almost empty. The Paris of the night is waking up and claiming the streets now." 

"The Paris of the night?" Mundy repeated. 

"Oui, people who shun the naked light of day because society shunned them first. Those are people whom morality and customs do not understand yet, people who are too free."

"What d'you mean?" 

"Look at the pavement there." Lucien pointed and Mundy saw a few women wearing short skirts. 

"Yeah?" 

"Do you see these women?" 

"Yeah."

"They are not women."

"What?" 

"They are not women in what is most commonly accepted as the definition for it. They need the cover of the night to exist as they want to. I find it tragic yet strongly inspiring." Lucien went on. "They need the blanket of the dark night sky to wear the dresses, skirts and make-up that they want. We are not too different from them, you and me."

"How? You wanna wear a dress now?" Mundy joked and Lucien chuckled, his head still using the Aussie's thigh as a pillow. 

"Non, we too are taking advantage of the night to be what the light of day prevents us from being."

Mundy's heart pounded in his chest. He was afraid he was understanding what Lucien meant, or maybe he wasn't at all and he was just hearing what the thin voice at the back of his head was whispering. 

"Huh?" 

"May I?" 

Mundy sweated. Lucien had taken his fingers in his. 

"Y-yeah, I think." 

"Are you sure? I wouldn't want to force you - oh?" Lucien's eyebrows jumped and he then relaxed when Mundy pushed his trembling fingers shyly between his. Lucien held on to his hand dearly. "Mundy?" 

"Mh?" The Aussie was screwing his eyes shut hard and was trying to calm his pounding heart and the rush of blood through his body. 

"Merci." 

[Thank you.]

His eyes snapped wide. 

"What?" 

"I said thank you."

"For what?" 

"Everything." 

And that night, they stayed on the Champs de Mars all the way up until the sun showed its first rays of light. At that point, they were both lying on their backs. The wide lawn was their mattress and the early hours of the new day captured the murmurs of what no one else but them should know.

It lasted for weeks, enough to make a habit out of it and to make Mundy think that it could last forever. Unfortunately enough, the holidays were coming to an end and Australia was calling the Turners back. 

"You're not going out tonight? You should take a walk, Micky." 

In their hotel room, Caroline and Mike were talking to Mundy. 

"Your Mum's right, son. You could do with some fresh air."

"We spent our day outside. I'm tired."

Mike and Caroline exchanged a glance and went to the bathroom. 

"I'm tellin' you, Mike, we have to push him out." She whispered to her husband. "He's as sad he could be."

"Yeah, I know, I know… But you're absolutely sure it will do him good?"

"Mike, I'm a sheila. We feel those things. Look at him…" 

Caroline held the bathroom door ajar and Mike peeked through the slim opening. 

"Doesn't he remind you of someone?" She asked. 

"Hm. Yeah, course he does. Look at him lyin' on his bed, starin' at the ceiling. His body is here, his heart is elsewhere. He's exactly like me when I first met you, honey." Mike sighed. "Right, I'll get him out of this room. But you gotta help me." 

"Ok, what's the plan?" Caroline asked excitedly. 

"Follow me."

Mike took his wife by the hand and they exited the bathroom.

"Uh, Caroline, darl', d'you mind waitin' in the bathroom. This is guys' only talk." 

"Fine." 

Mike went to sit on Mundy's bed, next to him. 

"Look, son. Uh… Your mum and I… Uh… We could do with a couple of hours alone if you… uh… If that's ok with you…?" 

Mundy's eyes snapped wide and he sat up, looking his father in the eye and blushing. Mike was averting his gaze from his son, a bit ashamed. 

"Oh…" Mundy answered. "Right, fine, I'll uh… I'll go have a walk. I'll be back in a couple hours then. Sorry." 

"Good boy, no, no, don't apologise, it's fine." Mike said as Mundy put on his shoes and hat. "Take a bit of money with you and stay safe, eh?" 

"Will do. Thanks, Dad." 

"No, thank you, son."

Mundy exited the hotel and soon found himself in the streets. The sun was gently setting and the sky was orange with a few streaks of pink. The next day would again be very sunny.

Mundy didn't see it. His eyes were riveted on his shoes, his hands in his pockets, and his back hunched. He was in his own bubble and wanted to stay there, have some time alone to think. 

About what? The obvious, of course. He was about to leave Paris, to leave France, to leave Europe, the Northern Hemisphere. He was about to leave Lucien and hadn't told him the dreadful news yet. Why? Because he didn't know how to tell him, especially now…! 

Mundy sighed as he recalled the events of the previous night. They were on the quays of the Seine, the river that slithers through Paris. 

"You can see almost everything from this river, eh?" Mundy realised. 

"Oui, most monuments and important buildings you can see from here." 

"Impressive… Oh…" 

Lucien had slid his arm around Mundy's and his hand glided down until his fingers laced between the Aussie's. Mundy clenched his hand. He liked it way too much. Oh, hold on, maybe it was too much? He could feel his hand sweating…!

"S-sorry…" He pulled his hand off and wiped it nervously on his trousers. 

"There is no problem." Lucien took Mundy's hand again. He pulled it up to his lips and kissed it. 

"W-woah… Uhm…" 

Lucien chuckled. 

"You are such a delightful hint of the exotism I used to love…"

"What's that mean?" 

They stopped walking along the river banks. Lucien went to the edge and looked at the streamflow for an instant. He removed his loafers elegantly and rolled his trousers' ends up along his calves. Mundy blushed. Contrary to him, Lucien didn't have a tan and being lighter in skin tone than him, he appeared almost snow white compared to Mundy. The Aussie watched as Lucien sat at the edge and let his feet dangle down. They were in the water up to his ankles. Mundy copied him and they were soon sitting side by side, their feet in the river. 

Lucien leaned on Mundy's side and took his hand again. He held it dearly between both of his own. 

"Mundy?" 

"Yeah?" 

"You are leaving a strong impression on me." 

Mundy's eyebrows jumped. 

"Y-you too." He removed his hat and leaned his head on Lucien's. 

Silence fell for a while. It was soothing, hearing just the lapping sounds of the cool water licking their feet and their breaths. 

"Lucien?" 

"Oui?" 

"Can I ask you somethin'?" 

"You just did, and yes you may." 

"How come you uh… I mean I don't want it to sound bad but… How come you spend all your nights with me? I mean, don't you have anyone waitin' at home? Family, friends? Even the weekends you spend with me. Y'know, it's ok if you wanted to not see me for a few days, I'd understand."

"I have very few friends. To be truly honest, I have none. The only person waiting for me back home is Perle." 

"Oh, who's that? Family?"

"Better than that, she is my cat." 

"Oh, you have a kitty?" 

"The best in the world." 

"What does she look like?" Mundy asked. 

"Look here, I have a photograph of her." Lucien took his wallet off of his inner pocket and retrieved a small rectangular picture. It wasn't much bigger than a stamp. He handed it to Mundy. 

"Oh, woah… Expensive she must be, eh. Gorgeous, long, snow white fur and light eyes, like you almost - huh, I mean…"

"Oui, she has blue eyes." Lucien simply answered. "You wouldn't know on the black and white picture. And I had no idea she was expensive, even though she is priceless to me."

"You didn't buy her off a shop or someone?"

"Non, I rescued her when she was a kitten, cold, shivering and skinny. Poor baby, she barely had the strength to mewl."

"Oh, woah…" Mundy handed back the picture and as Lucien stored it safely in his wallet again, the Aussie was devouring him with his eyes. 

"I raised her as best as I could and we understand each other pretty well. She is my little baby, or as I like to call her, mon petit bébé."

"Uh… I… I mean…" Gosh, words jangled and mixed in his head. He had found a man gorgeous as a God, patient with him, who respected his shyness, didn't take advantage of it, didn't force him to do anything and loved his cat? 

"Oui?" Lucien raised his fair eyes to Mundy and that didn't help the Aussie at all. His thoughts were broken, everything broke under those eyes. 

"Uh?" 

Lucien chuckled. 

"It is fine. You don't have to say anything." He leaned his head on Mundy's shoulder and held his hand. "What about you? Do you have any relatives besides your parents?" 

"Uh, no. It's just them and me. I got a few uncles and aunts. See them for Christmas with my cousins and their kids. And for the pets, we got a few dogs to keep the beasts away from the hens and geese. Mum has a cat too, Percy, he's black and white, with green eyes."

"What kinds of dogs?" 

"An Aussie shepherd and a border collie. Good girls they are. We had a few through the years but dogs don't live as long as we want them to, eh?"

"Indeed." 

"How old is your cat? What's her name again?"

"Perle, or for you, Pearl. She is now seven years old."

"Oh, a big girl." 

"A wise lady indeed. My only companion since… A long time." 

"Fair enough. Haven't had anyone to talk to for years too. I mean, apart from my parents."

"You don't have friends in Australia?"

"I do, yeah, but… Uh… Not like you." 

"Well I don't imagine you have bakers who have become part time tourist guides there, hm?" Lucien teased. 

"Nah, that's true. But uh, yeah, I mean… We've talked about anythin' for the past few weeks, right?" 

"Oh oui, from cacti, to desert, to wild animals, Australian beers, dishes, weather, slang…."

"Yeah, and now I feel like I know Paris almost better than where I come from!" Mundy chuckled. 

They looked in each other's eyes. 

"We indeed have had conversations about anything with baffling ease." 

"Yeah…" Mundy confirmed.

"Merci. It had been ages since I last felt such a pleasant connection with someone." 

"Same for me."

Lucien had looked up at Mundy and stared. The Aussie hadn't noticed that the Frenchman's pupils dilated as they sank from his lagoon blue eyes, down his long, straight nose, to his rough, thin lips. Mundy was lost in the ice blue irises and time had stopped. Lucien did half of the work and pulled his neck up. Mundy could smell his perfume and his cigarettes, maybe a lingering faint aroma of hot flour too. But the Aussie had been oblivious and didn't meet the Frenchman half-way. 

It had been roughly twenty-fours hours after these events now, and Mundy couldn't have got any of it out of his head. He was stuck there and then, his hand between Lucien's, his head leaning on the Frenchman. 

And he found it ridiculous! Dinners in little, hidden bistrots, holding hands on the banks of the river Seine, pulling an all-nighter on the grass under the Eiffel Tower… What the hell had he become? 

If his parents knew of it, if his friends knew of it, what would they all think? A holiday romance, nothing much? Pfff… 

What hurt Mundy wasn't any of that. It was the fact that he had grown attached to Lucien. For him, it wasn't just a holiday matter, he wanted it to be more. Why? Because where on Earth would he find someone that would treat him so well and with whom he felt that he could share his everything? He felt safe with Lucien. He felt safe in a way that the hunter never thought he would one day experience because what that meant is that he was much more insecure about himself than what he let on… 

Most people he knew would describe him as a nice bloke if not very talkative. They assumed he was just like that. But now, Mundy realised that he was just… shy. Part of him even thought that he was afraid. Of what? Of people, constantly watching and judging him. 

He didn't like people and preferred animals in that respect. Animals didn't care that you were still mostly living with your parents, driving your father's van around the desert. Animals didn't ask about his job only to fantasise about it, use him for the night and throw him away. Animals didn't think they couldn't build anything with him because of his almost nomad way of life. No, animals cared for him because he cared for them, end of story. 

"Bonsoir, Mundy. You took your time tonight, I thought you wouldn't come." 

[Good evening, Mundy.]

The voice with the French accent broke Mundy's train of thought abruptly and he winced. He looked down at his feet and gave them an angry glance. 

Well thanks for that… He was thinking. While he had been pulling on the thread of his thoughts like a cat on a ball of yarn, his feet had guided Mundy to the bakery.

"Oh, uh, y-yeah, sorry…"

"Are you alright?" Lucien asked, as Mundy still hadn't made eye contact with him. 

"Yeah, I'm fine." 

The Frenchman could have smelt that it was a lie from a mile away. He nonetheless ignored it and they both walked together along the street.

"What would you like to do tonight?" He asked.

"Don't know. You choose." 

"In that case, there is somewhere that we could try." Lucien took Mundy's hand and led the way. He had an idea to cheer up his more-than-friend.

The walk was silent as Lucien decided against insisting. Mundy seemed the type to like silence and solitude well, which the Frenchman respected. He too had his moments where he would rather be alone. 

Soon enough, they entered a café. Lucien quickly found a table and they both sat down, opposite each other. A waiter soon came. The Frenchman placed their order while Mundy was still brooding, somewhere between his own mind and nowhere… The waiter placed two mugs on the table and disappeared again. 

"Here." Lucien took Mundy's hand and pushed it to the mug gently. 

"Huh?" When his fingers registered the heat from both Lucien's hand and the mug, Mundy's eyes snapped wide and he landed back on Earth.

"Drink this." 

"What is it?"

"Can't you tell?" 

Mundy's sense of smell woke up as he raised the mug closer to his lips. 

"Hot chocolate?" 

"Oui, but not any kind. Try it." 

Mundy did as he was told and took a sip. 

"Hm… Very soft but not too sweet."

"As my mother used to do to me whenever I felt low, as a child. I kept the habit of coming here and having one whenever I felt like nothing else could help." 

"Mh." 

"Are you sure you don't want to talk to me about it, whatever it is?" Lucien asked after Mundy took another sip. 

"I… I don't know…" 

"Is it your parents? They seemed fine for lunch today." 

"No, it's not them. It's me." 

Lucien tilted his head on the side and his hand slid on the table until he cupped Mundy's, against the mug. 

"Tell me, please."

Mundy sighed. 

"I'll be goin' back to Oz. I-I'm gonna leave and… I… I kind of… I don't wanna." He mumbled, his eyes riveted on the hot chocolate. Lucien looked at him distraught. 

"I see." He answered. "Do you really wish to stay here?" 

"Y-yeah." 

"You like Paris that much?" 

Obviously, Mundy couldn't care less about the city. What counted was Lucien, and Lucien was staying there. 

"Mundy…? Talk to me, please. I hate to see you distraught." Now, both of Lucien's hands were on Mundy's, wrapped around the warm mug. 

"I don't wanna go, is all. It's childish and just plain ridiculous. But I wish I could stay and have… Have more tours of Paris.. With you." 

Lucien's thumbs brushed Mundy's hands. 

"I wish you could stay too, Mundy." Finally, the Aussie raised his head and met Lucien's sad eyes. "I have rarely felt the peace that I do with you. Your company is soothing for my now fragile nerves." 

Mundy raised an eyebrow. 

"What d'you mean?" 

"There was a time where I was able to withstand a lot of pressure on my shoulders; the pressure of an entire country even. The moment it was gone, my body and mind collapsed. I didn't know anything anymore, even my own identity, what I was, who I was, was hard to grasp. It took years to come back from there. Years that I wouldn't have survived if not for Perle. I focused my time and energy on her. I devoted my attention to her and it distracted me from thinking too much about myself." He paused to catch his breath. 

"Y-you got ill?" Lucien raised his eyes to Mundy. 

"Oui, a kind of illness that no doctor knows exactly how to cure. A lot of soldiers go through it. They come back from the battlefields and they find it very hard to adjust back to civil life."

"You were a soldier?" 

"Worse, but oui, I belonged to the army." 

"How did you become a baker then? You were already one before you went to the army?" Mundy asked. 

"Non, I was not. I had no skills besides those that I learnt in the army, or so few. You will mock me, but the idea came from Perle."

"Your kitty?" 

Lucien nodded. 

"One day I took her out to buy some bread with me. She was lying on my shoulders and when I was queueing to get my bread, she jumped out and into the back of the bakery." Lucien smiled as he remembered the events. "The baker let me through and we looked for her together. When we found her, she was asleep on a tray of still warm brioches." 

"Aw, was that a long time ago?" 

"She was somewhere between a kitten and an adult cat; a teenager, if you will." 

"Ah, right. But how did you become a baker?" 

"I apologised profusely to the baker and told him I would pay for all the damage and the pawprints… He told me he'd rather have someone to help him make all that again rather than take my money. So I offered my help. He taught me most of what I know now."

"Wow… Talk about finding work randomly, eh…"

"Oui, indeed. Since then, I have felt much better. Working put my attention and energy into something that brought smiles to the customers and apparently, to me too." 

"So you got your own bakery goin'?" 

"The previous owner of my bakery happens to be that man from the story. He was very old and decided to retire a few years later. He offered to let me buy the shop from him, which I did. I then changed the name to mine and redid some parts inside, the decoration mainly." 

"Oh, I see… Wow… Great story you have." 

"Merci." Lucien took a sip of his hot chocolate. "What about you? You said you were a hunter?" 

"Yeah, but work is more and more rare now when you mainly do pest control and poacher scarin'." 

"What do you mean?" 

"I don't hunt beasts for trophies, fur or fun. I hunt and tranquilise whatever happens to be a bit too far from its natural habitat, load it on my van, and drive it back where it should be or in a reserve. As for the poachers, I scare them off of endangered species." 

"So you don't kill animals?" 

"Very rarely. Only for food when I'm out for days and far from home." 

"Oh…" Lucien's eyebrows jumped. "I did not expect that. In fact, I didn't even know that this job existed." 

"As far as I know, I'm the only one who doesn't actually kill the beasts. I get contracts that get me travellin' through the world quite a bit."

"Very exciting." 

"Seein' the sights is nice, yeah. But uh, I miss my family quite fast and uh… It's not so much my family but… I feel a bit… Uh…"

"Lonely?" 

Mundy nodded. 

"Yeah…" 

"I would recommend getting a cat," Lucien said. "But I am afraid that it doesn't completely fill the emptiness that you feel inside." 

"I'd imagine so, yeah…" 

Silence fell for a while as they both drank more of their hot chocolates. 

"I would love you to stay, but your life, your family and your job are in Australia." Lucien said and his eyes met Mundy. They were both distraught and could hardly hide it. 

"Yeah… And I don't know anythin' else but shooting a rifle." Mundy looked through the window. It was now properly dark outside and only the yellow lamps inside the old café provided them with some light. 

"I am immensely grateful to you however." 

"For what?"

"I wouldn't be able to put a name on it but you brought me some peace and you made me wake up in the morning with a new feeling; the eagerness of welcoming a new day that will for sure contain some spark of joy, namely, your presence, your… Hm, you." 

Mundy blushed and turned as red as a brick. 

"Y-you do the same. I mean, for me. I uh… I'm not just happy to visit the city with my parents. I'm uh… I'm happy in the evenings, with you." 

They hadn't realised until then but they were holding hands on the table, the mugs had been pushed aside.

"I wish I could stay, I really do. But uh… Yeah, without a job or anythin', I can't." 

"I understand and, for what it is worth, I would love for you to stay too." Lucien hesitated but thought that it might be his last evening with Mundy. He looked around and could see the few customers in the café were far from them. "And not just to help you visit the city."

Mundy's eyebrows jumped as Lucien had spoken quite low. The Frenchman was staring at him with a particular shine in his eyes. He slightly bent forward and Mundy mirrored him. Their faces were a few inches apart. 

"L-Lucien, I'd uh… I'd better get back. We still gotta pack a few things before leavin' tomorrow." 

Lucien's chest burnt. Hot lava was being poured on his heart. 

"Before you go, may I tell you something?" 

They were both whispering. Mundy nodded and Lucien gestured to him to get closer, which he did. The Frenchman wrapped a hand behind Mundy's neck and the Aussie froze rigid when he felt Lucien's breath on his ear. 

"Je t'aime." He simply whispered and Mundy's entire being burst and melted when he felt Lucien's lips on his rough cheek. 

[I love you.]

"U-uh…" The air was scarce in the room but it happened too fast and Mundy was left alone at the table. Lucien had dashed out faster than a shadow. "Fuck me…" 

Soon, the surge of love was replaced by boiling rage and Mundy stormed out of the café, almost running back to the hotel. That night, he cried himself to sleep as silently as he could. He didn't want his parents to hear it. 

The next morning, Mundy was woken up by his mother. 

"Micky, sweetie? You've been sleepin' a long time, it's lunchtime now." 

"Don't wanna eat." He rolled himself under the blanket and his parents exchanged a concerned look. "You can go if you want." 

"Micky, you can't travel on an empty stomach, son." Mike's voice took the decision for everyone and Mundy sighed before getting out of bed and dressed up. 

They arranged for their luggage to be transferred to the airport while they went to have lunch. Obviously, they ended up in Lucien's bakery. 

"Bonjour, Lucien!"  Mike tried his best.

"Bonjour, Mike. What will it be today?"

"Hold your horses, son, I've gotta see with the wife if I can get dessert first…!" 

"Mike, you know the answer to that…" 

"Lucien," Mike turned to the baker. "You married, by any chance?"

Lucien shook his head. 

"Non, I nearly did but it did not happen."

"Well, before you get married, ask them if you can get dessert for the rest of your life." 

"Mike…! You know why you have to be careful, the doctor said so, now be reasonable, dear." Caroline tried.

"And only get a ring on your finger if they say that yes, you can get dessert until your very last breath!" 

Lucien smiled, albeit sadly. After that, the Turner family placed their order and soon enough, their sandwiches and salads appeared on the table. 

"Lucien, excuse me, dear?" Caroline called and Lucien came to her. 

"Oui, Madame?" 

"I saw the poster on your front door. You're looking to hire?" 

"Oui, indeed. I think this is the end of a chapter for me. Time maybe to do something else." 

"Oh, that's a shame. You're very good at what you do!"

"Yeah, your sandwiches are amazin'." Mike added. 

"Thank you very much."

"Did you receive applications?" Caroline asked. 

"I am afraid not, but I have only put that poster up this morning."

"What kind of people're you lookin' for?" Mike asked. 

"Anyone, from inexperienced to confirmed bakers. In fact, I learnt this trade as a beginner and I would like to pass on my knowledge and techniques to someone else. But don't let me bother you. Enjoy your lunch." 

He bowed and returned behind his counter. Mundy hadn't listened to any of it. He couldn't even raise his eyes off of his shoes, especially not to see Lucien. It hurt too much. 

"Micky?" 

"Mh." 

"Micky, you want to eat before we go, dear." Caroline said and her son sighed before taking a bite. He chewed slowly and looked away from anyone else. 

"Don't like your sandwich, son?" 

Mundy didn't answer and didn't see Caroline and Mike exchanging a glance. 

"You can try another one, eh." 

Still no answer from the heartbroken Aussie. It was a torture. Eating a sandwich made by the hand of a man he had cried for, hands that he had spent the past few weeks holding fondly even if he had never initiated it. Gosh, now he regretted it, he should have done something, anything…! But he wasn't ready, he never was, he had never been prepared for it! In more than three decades of existence, who the hell would come to him and teach him?

"Mike, Madame Caroline?" Lucien had come to the table. 

"Yeah?" 

"I have a… an unusual request, if I may."

"Go ahead, son." Mike wiped his mouth and frowned to listen better.

"It is actually for Mundy." Lucien said and Mundy frowned too but his eyes were still low. "If you would rather make your own sandwich, you may help yourself to the fridge and the breads that I have."

Mundy didn't flinch. 

"If you want… You can… Make not only your sandwich, but… other sandwiches." 

"Oh, you mean to take away? Ouch!" Mike asked and received an elbow to his ribs from Caroline who glared at him. 

"That is lovely of you, Lucien. Yes, I think he would love doing that, if that is ok with you?"

"It is the least I can offer, Madame."

"Oh, you really don't have to…!"

"Allow me to insist. You have been lovely customers throughout all these weeks."

"And you have been a lovely guide! So, Micky, what do you say?" Caroline asked her son and he sighed. 

"Don't know." He mumbled. 

"C'mon sweetie, go and make your own sandwich. And make a couple of extra ones for your Dad and I, for the road."

"Mum…" Mundy hid his face in his hands. 

"Micky, you don't want to be impolite to Lucien." She insisted. 

"Hm…" He grumbled and pushed his chair back before standing up, not seeing his mother whispering something to his father.

"Here, wear this. It would be a shame to have flour on your polo shirt." Lucien handed him an apron. Mundy took it and put it on without looking at it. This whole show hurt and was preposterous… "Now let me show you around the house, pray follow me." 

Mundy dragged his feet on the floor and followed Lucien behind the counter. 

"What sandwiches would you and Mike like, Madame Caroline?" Lucien asked. 

"If you have that ham and butter, what d'you call it again, Lucien?" She answered. 

"Jambon-beurre, Madame." He answered. "Mundy, please take one of those in front of you? Thank you, now, follow me to the fridge. Here is the light butter and the lean ham. I keep them on this side to not get them confused with their regular counterparts. Now, you will do your father's sandwich. Here, chopping board, a fresh baguette and a knife. Go ahead." 

"L-Lucien…" Mundy sighed in front of the ingredients. "I can't." 

Caroline stood up and went to the counter with Mike, customer side, while Mundy and Lucien were on the other side. 

"C'mon, son, your first sandwich here, Micky! Caroline, get the camera!" Mike encouraged him. 

"And we get to see you make it!" Caroline added enthusiastically and readied herself to take a picture.

"Wh-what?" Mundy asked, confused that his parents were that thrilled for… him making a couple of sandwiches.

"C'mon, cut the bread, Micky, chop, chop!" Mike said and Mundy got to work, missing the point entirely. He made the sandwich for his father and added his mother's to the plastic bag. 

"I won't take one for myself." Mundy said and started undoing the apron. 

"Of course not, son!" Mike answered with a chuckle and Mundy's confusion just jumped a notch.

"And what are you doing, Micky? Keep the apron!" Caroline laughed.

"What? I'm not gonna travel with that!" Mundy answered. 

"Of course not!" She answered. 

"What the hell's been going on? Look, this is just - it's just…!" Mundy covered his face with his hands to hide his shame. At that point he thought it was a nightmare and he would wake up. 

"Ooh, we're sorry, sweetie…" Caroline hugged him. "We didn't want to upset you." 

"But why…?"

"Micky, look at your apron, son." Mike said.

"Dad, look, I'm just tired. Let's go back home." Beyond the distress of leaving Lucien, Mundy felt embarrassed, ashamed to have been put on the spot with the apron, the sandwich making… What was that all about…?

"S'il te plaît, Mundy." 

[Please, Mundy.]

Caroline and Mike stepped back to let Lucien get closer to Mundy. The Aussie turned his face away. He couldn't take any of it anymore. 

"Mundy…?" 

"Take it back and leave me alone." Mundy removed the apron completely and pushed it against Lucien's chest. 

"On one condition, you look here." 

Mundy sighed but obeyed. Lucien held the apron between his hands. 

"What do you read here?"

The apron was white with something sewn on it. Mundy squinted. His shoulders and jaw dropped when he read the word. 

Mundy

It was sewn in cursive letters. Mundy looked at Lucien's apron. His name was sewn in the same style. 

"What? What's that mean?"

"It means, and forgive me for repeating myself, that I am offering you a job here." Lucien answered. 

"What?! I know nothing of bread!"

"I will teach you, you will see, it isn't hard at all." 

"But why? I gotta go back home…" Mundy turned to his parents. 

"Micky, you can stay longer if you want." Mike said. 

"Yeah, it's fine, you're a big boy and you've stayed with us long enough. Maybe this is your chance?" Caroline added and Mundy's eyes lit up with joy and excitement. 

"Really?" His voice broke under the emotion he was trying to prudely contain. 

"Of course!" Caroline answered. She went to the tip of her toes to put a hand on Mundy’s rough, slender cheek. "Look, for the past few weeks, we realised with your Dad that we hadn't seen you that happy in years. Each night, when you come back from your walks, you smile and even when you sleep, the smile stays on…!"

"Your Mum's right, son. If you're happy here with Lucien, then stay, at least a bit more. And it's not like you were exactly earnin' a decent wage out of a few hunting contracts, eh? Folks will find other people to deal with their beasts. You deal with you, ok?" 

"Oh my God…" Mundy's tears came to his eyes faster than he could control. "Gosh…!" He hid his face and his shame with his hands.

"Aw, baby Micky…!" Caroline went to the tip of her toes to hug him and Mike tapped him on the back. 

"It's alright, son, it's alright." 

"But, you sure, though?" Mundy withdrew from the hug and looked his parents in the eye. 

"Of course! We'll make it back home and give you a call when we get there." Caroline said, pinching his cheek gently. 

"Yeah, of course!" Mike added. "Now, c'mere son." Father and son exchanged a long hug. "You make your parents proud, yeah?" 

"Yeah, Dad, don't worry."

"And you be a good boy, eh?" Caroline added. 

"Yes, Mum, I will."

"You look out for each other, alright boys?" Mike looked at Lucien. 

"We will, Mike." The Frenchman answered. "But Mundy…?" 

"Yeah?"

"Do you accept my offer?" Lucien held the apron up. 

Mundy looked at his parents who nodded, then back at Lucien. 

"Yeah… Please." 

"Fine." Lucien got closer and put the apron on Mundy. He then tied it for him as the Aussie's eyes were riveted on his parents. Caroline was leaning on her husband's side and both wore a proud smile. Mundy hadn't seen his parents smile like that for a long, long time. "There, you are ready." 

"Thanks, Lucien." They exchanged a tender gaze and didn't see Caroline's eyes light up. 

"Right, boys, I think we should be on our way." Mike said. 

"But of course." Lucien answered. "Here, your sandwiches for the road."

"Mum, you call me as soon as you can, ok?" Mundy said, as they all went to the front door. 

"Yes, dear, don't worry." 

They were now standing outside of the bakery under the beautiful and powerful summer sun. 

"You call us sometimes, Micky, eh?" Mike said. 

"Sure, I will." 

Hugs and kisses were exchanged. 

"And you, you take care of our son, alright?" Mike was shaking Lucien's hand and patted his shoulder. After that, he waved for a taxi to stop.

"I will think of him before I think of myself." Lucien answered while giving a nod. 

"And Micky, you take care of Lucien too, eh?" Caroline said as she winked, making her son blush beyond his ears. 

"Y-yeah Mum, will do…" 

"Bye, son." 

"Bye guys, careful on your way back, eh?" Mundy answered.

"We will, don't worry." 

And on that, they all waved at each other as Mike and Caroline slipped in the taxi and they went their way. Lucien and Mundy stayed for a while, even after the taxi disappeared. The Aussie was out of breath, everything had happened quite fast. 

“I’ll miss them.” He said.

“I will miss them too. You are lucky to have very supportive parents, Mundy.” 

“Yeah… But I’m glad to stay here.”

"So…" Lucien said as both him and Mundy entered the shop again.

"Yeah?" 

"Ready to learn the fine art of bread and pastry making?" 

"I guess… I mean, I didn't really think it through, eh." Mundy chuckled and looked at Lucien. "But with you, anythin'." 

The Frenchman smiled. 

"First lesson: follow me." 

They went back behind the counter and Lucien even invited Mundy in the hidden workshop, behind a wooden door. There were tables lined up in the room, fridges on one wall and ovens in the other.

"Woah… It smells incredible in here…!" Mundy said as he was hit by a wave of hot flour. 

"Indeed. You will see, you will never get tired of that incomparable smell. Hot flour and sometimes, hints of sugar."

"Yeah…” Mundy inhaled deeply and when he exhaled, his eyes were half closed. That place was heaven... “Right, so what's first?" 

Lucien shut the door and looked up at Mundy. 

"First, I have to ask you, are you sure you want to stay with me? We can still call a taxi for you and you can join your parents." 

Lucien's light blue eyes raised up to Mundy were a sight to behold for the shy Aussie. 

"Y-yeah."

"Yes, what? Shall we call a taxi or…?"

"No. I wanna… Try, with you." 

Lucien's smile made all his face beam up poetically. He closed the gap between Mundy and himself and hugged the taller man. 

"Thank you so much." Both closed their eyes and held dearly to each other. “Thank you so much for trusting me and for believing that this is all worthwhile. I do appreciate that you are leaving everything behind just for me and… I am beyond grateful.”

Mundy bent down to put his lips next to Lucien's ear.

"Lucien?" He whispered. 

"Oui?" 

"I think I… I love you too." Mundy screwed his eyes shut and buried his head deep in the crook of Lucien's neck, holding Lucien not like a friend, but like the salvation he felt God sent to him through that man. 

"Mundy…?" 

"Yeah?"

"Look at me." 

Mundy did as he was told and Lucien wrapped his arms around the Aussie's neck. 

"O-oh… Right… Y-yeah?" 

Lucien smiled before his eyelashes bowed down as he slowly closed his eyes. He pushed himself to the tip of his toes and did what he had dreamt of doing. 

Mundy's eyes rolled up in bliss and if he froze for a second, the kiss made him soon melt such that he bent down and pulled Lucien from his back and his hip, to feel more of him against himself. He yielded to the passion of the moment, he let everything explode in him, the yearning, the longing... 

It lasted for a few seconds that they both wanted to extend, but the call for air was stronger. When they broke the kiss, they stayed with their foreheads against each other. 

Neither knew what to say first, to exit that moment. 

"Hold on…" Mundy eventually said. 

"Oui? Something is the matter?" Lucien asked. 

"No but… You had an apron with my name all along?" 

"Non," Lucien chuckled. "When I came back yesterday night, I spent some time thinking and smoking. I couldn't help but repeat the discussion we had in the café on loop in my head. And then I remembered what you said, that you wouldn't be able to stay without a job. That was when I got the idea to hire you."

"Oh, woah…"

"So I woke up this morning, my mind set as hard as stone. I thought that I would ask in front of your parents." 

"How did you know they'd accept?" 

"I think your mother felt it, for a long time." 

"She felt what?" 

"Mundy, she is a woman, and your mother, she feels those things. Besides, each time you have lunch here you stare at me with such insistence…!"

"What?! No, I don't!" Mundy protested and his cheeks turned red. 

"Yes, you do, mon amour, and don't blush so much…" Lucien chuckled and tapped the tip of Mundy's nose. 

"Did you just call me-?"

"My love, oui. Now, let us go to work - oh?!" Lucien's sentence was interrupted by an intense - if slightly awkward - kiss. Mundy held him dearly, almost clawed in his sides and Lucien smiled. 

"That is quite unprofessional, hm?" The Frenchman teased.

"Well, you started it, eh?" 

"Non, I did not kiss my employer." 

"You kissed your employee, that's worse." 

"Non, you are not my employee yet."

"What?" 

"You are my apprentice…"

"Right, fair enough. What's that make you then?" Mundy asked. 

"... And my lover." 

"Oh, right, ok, uhm… I-I mean…" 

"And very shy." 

"Well…" 

They spent the beginning of that afternoon in the workshop dealing with bread and pastries as they teased each other. When the time came to close the shop and go back home, Mundy's eyebrows jumped. 

"H-hold on." He said on the pavement with Lucien.

"Oui?" 

"I… I don't have a home here… I could probably be able to pay a couple more nights at the hotel but…"

Lucien's chuckle cut Mundy's sentence. 

"Why're you laughin'? I'm telling you I'm homeless…!"

"Don't be silly, Mundy. Come." Lucien took his hand and led the way. 

"Right… I s'ppose you can walk me back to the hotel…" 

"Non, I will not and I am not." 

"Where are we goin' then?" 

"Home." 

Mundy frowned in confusion but decided to wait and see. Meanwhile, he held Lucien's hand dearly in his own. A few minutes later, Lucien stopped and got some keys out of his pocket. He unlocked the door and flipped a switch. 

"Meow…!" 

A white cloud brushed the floor and jumped in Lucien's arms. 

"Oui, mon bébé, bonsoir, Papa est rentré…"

[Yes, my baby, good evening to you too, Papa has come home…]

He kissed her countless times and carried her in his arms indeed like a baby. 

"Mundy, this is Perle. Perle, this is Mundy." 

"Oh, yeah, your kitty…! Hello there, pretty lady…" Mundy scratched her cheeks and jaw, and soon both Lucien and him heard her pur. 

"She likes you already." Lucien said. 

"I'm good with animals usually, yeah… Hold on, what d'you mean 'already'?" 

"Perle," Lucien said to his cat. "Mundy here is more than just a man who knows how to scratch you perfectly." 

"Meow?" 

"Oui, he is Papa's very good friend."

"Meow…?"

"Fine, oui, he is Papa's… Second half."

"Meow!"

"Don't worry, you are still my baby, but now, you are our baby, because Mundy here" Lucien raised his eyes to his lover. "Mundy here will live with us." 

"Wh-...? Wait, are you serious?" Mundy asked in shock at the door's threshold. Lucien pulled him in and closed the door after him. 

"I am. Now, make yourself at home, and give me an instant, someone has to feed this snow white baby."

"Meow!" 

Lucien went to the kitchen as Mundy opened wide eyes and observed every little thing in the room. The paintings, most of them abstract, the furniture, the brown leather sofa, the persian style carpet in front of it, on which was the coffee table. There was a fireplace too and on the mantelpiece, pictures. They were all about Perle, the white kitten who grew to a majestic, fluffy creature with mesmerising blue eyes, a bit like her master.

"One last thing Mundy…!" Lucien said from the kitchen. 

"Yeah?" 

"I have only one double bed!"

Mundy blushed and smiled.

[dark-arts-and-crafts-universe]

Glass Hearts (Part 1)

Glass Hearts

Note: this story is set a few decades before the canon’s present day

In which Farina Baker, prodigal daughter of a long line of witches, unwillingly reunites with her sister and meets a mysterious man. What is her sister scheming, and what is this stranger’s deal?

Table of Contents | Next

Part 1

Word count: 1,079

Content warning: toxic family members, minor verbal abuse

Farina could tell Jen was angry when she walked back into the kitchen, though she tried to hide it. Farina took a moment to fold and plate the omelet she was working on, then asked her coworker, “What’s wrong?”

“Corner table didn’t tip.” Jen put the bills, carefully counted, one by one into the till. Farina swore when she finally quit she was going to hex that till. It was probably cursed already; once money went in, nobody but the diner’s owner ever saw it again.

She put the last garnishes on the omelet, then turned with a wide smile. “I’ll go talk to ‘em. Watch my station.”

“You don’t have to,” Jen said. She said that every time. She never meant it. None of the staff could afford a lost tip, and Farina was good at making assholes pay up. You could say...she had a gift.

Just a little magical humor there for ya.

Corner table hadn’t left just yet. He was folding up the rest of his sausages into a handkerchief. Did people still carry those around?

“You know,” Farina said as she neared the table, “it is customary to tip.”

The man looked up, blinked. “Ah, shit. I can never keep track.”

Farina hid a frown. Her magical ability to read people’s emotions was not as fine-tuned as a true empath, but it usually helped identify what buttons she could push to make a stingy tipper cough up. This man’s emotions felt--muted, in a way. Like trying to read through a pane of foggy glass. She couldn’t make out any sense of guilt; that was, unfortunately, not unusual. But the average asshole felt at least a little embarrassment over getting called out in public.

“How much is customary?” he asked, perfectly placid.

It was disconcerting, if Farina was being perfectly honest. She decided to take a risk. “Forty percent.”

She didn’t need empathy to notice the way his brows climbed at that, but there was no anger Farina could feel. He didn’t even seem to disbelieve her wild statement. “Yikes,” was all he said, reaching into just about every pocket in his outfit. “Give me a minute, then.”

Speaking of his outfit--it wasn’t so dirty as to draw attention, but the pants were worn and his shirt frayed at the seams. The beat-up backpack at his feet showed clear signs of thorough use. “How much money do you actually have?” she asked. She wasn’t going to push if he couldn’t spare the change.

The man clearly followed her train of thought, because he said, “A perfectly ordinary amount for this setting. Ah, here we go.” He put the last of the tip on the table, and finished packing up his food. “My apologies to the chef.”

“Right.”

She watched as the stranger left the diner, as if that would explain his behavior somehow. It was an irrational thought. Then again, she’d been raised in a household that trusted intuition. Farina must have gotten more of it than she’d thought, because if she hadn’t been watching she never would have spotted the moment when something in his backpack lit up in a brilliant flash of color. A blink, and it was gone, an ordinary, beat-up backpack once again. A normal person would have dismissed it as a trick of the light--a glint of sun off a metal zipper angled just right to fool the eye. But Farina Baker was the scion of a long line of witches. She cast spells through her cooking and could feel people’s hearts. She knew magic when she saw it.

That was some questions answered, at least. She walked back into the kitchen jingling Jen’s new tip, and put it out of her mind. She’d probably never see him again anyways.

-Months Later-

The smell of smoke. Again. She’d burned the hash browns. Again.

“I’m sorry,” Jen said the second she entered the kitchen. “I’ve tried everything, she keeps ordering and hasn’t touched the bill. If she ditches at this point we’re hosed.”

Farina let out a deep sigh and started scraping off the pan. “I know.”

“I told her you quit. I told her you were off shift. I told her you were dead!”

That got a snort. “Oh, don’t tell her that, she’ll think she’s won.”

“Seriously, I’m sorry,” Jen said with a guilty wince. “I don’t know her like you do, but she--”

“She’s a real bitch, yeah.” Farina set the pan down. “And she’ll stay out there until closing if we let her. Might as well see what she wants.”

Farina did not like this. She did not like this. But unfortunately, it was hard to dodge an emotionally-manipulative all-knowing seer-ess. Farina supposed it was a good thing Mercy hadn’t chosen to scry her sublet.

“Why are you here?”

Her older sister smiled thinly and took another sip of tea. “Polite as always, Farina.”

“Meddlesome as ever, Mercy. Answer the question.”

She tsk-ed. “Really, I thought you were supposed to be the, what was it? ‘People person’ of the family? I can’t imagine you get many tips that way.”

“I’m a chef, not a waitress. I earn my way with my craft.”

Mercy glanced up at the diner, running a finger along the edge of the table. “A place like this doesn’t have chefs, sweetheart. You’re a line cook at best. But we’ll leave that sort of sniping to Mother. That’s not why I’m here.”

That was...interesting. Mercy and Mother usually acted in perfect concert, at least when it came to criticizing her. “Elaborate.”   

“I just wanted to let you know to pick up that double shift on Thursday. Your boy toy will be dropping by.”

Farina blinked. “My what?”

“Your boy toy,” she repeated.

“If you’re trying to set me up with your buddy Hackerman again--”

“Oh no, Hackerman is old news. It wouldn’t have worked out between the two of you, I’m afraid.” Mercy said this as if it were a magnanimous pronouncement, and Farina was about to commit murder in the middle of her afternoon shift. “I’m talking about your new man. You know who I mean.”

She really didn’t. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m single, Mercy.”

Mercy hummed. “You can deny it. But you will pick up that double shift.” Her trimmed fingernails made their way to the bill. “Now, can someone run my card already? I’ve been waiting for hours. The service here is just dreadful, honestly.”

[sandersstudies]

Espresso-ly for You - Chapter Two

I liiiiiive! Or at least, my writing does. Like I said, I can’t and won’t promise regular updates on this one, but the sweet sweet coffeeshop AU will never let me go for sure.

Chapter One Here 

***

“Hey there, long time no see!” Janus said over the top of his mug. It was the one he brought from home, with a snake for a handle. 

“I saw you on Sunday,” Virgil said, slouching his backpack off his shoulder to store in the employee cupboard. 

“Yeah, but so much has happened since then,” Janus said, and then sipped his drink loudly. “Did Logan tell you about the birds that were fighting outside on Tuesday?”

“No.”

“See, of course he didn’t, he doesn’t care about the fun stuff. God, you look exhausted, let me get you a pick-me-up, you raccoon.” He began to measure a shot of espresso.

“I’ve already been drinking way too much soda to stay awake,” Virgil said.

“I’m not giving you soda, am I?” Janus asked, turning on the steam wand. “I’m giving you sweet bean juice, it will give you things no other drink can.” The shots pulling from the espresso machine dripped like warm honey, and Virgil had to admit they looked enticing. Janus was the most skilled barista in the cafe, going to local barista competitions three years in a row, and making it to the final round the last two years. 

“One of the benefits of working here is all the free coffee you want,” Janus said. “Might as well take advantage of it.” He’d barely looked at the machine while preparing the milk and espresso, but now, with a few seconds of intense focus, he guided his pitcher across the surface of the crema to create a delicate rosetta. “There, my nicest flat white of the day, all for you.”

Virgil took the cup and sipped. Perfect, creamy foam. 

Janus picked up his own cup and slurped the last of the coffee inside. “Well, better prepare for the lunchtime rush,” he said, checking his watch. “How was it yesterday?”

“Not too bad.”

“If you want to run register and food the first hour, I’ll run bar and then we can switch,” Janus said, reaching behind himself to tighten his apron strings. “If it slows down I’ll do a restock but I think we should be fine.”

Janus had been the first barista to push Virgil to run the espresso machine solo. When the morning or lunch rush came and there was a line out the door, Janus would watch and speak encouragingly, but never step in to rescue him the way Logan did.

“See these two cups?” Janus had said one day when Virgil could barely hold a milk pitcher without shaking. “These two drinks are the only ones you need to worry about right now. All those other drinks, all those other people, they don’t exist to you. It doesn’t matter if there are three drinks or thirty drinks waiting, you’re always working on these two drinks, and two drinks only.”

Eventually Virgil learned how to fall into a rhythm where he prepped one shot as another one pulled, poured one milk as another one steamed. Janus would flit back and forth from the register to the hand-off, confidently ringing in and handing out drinks as Virgil’s hands shook too hard to stop cups from spilling.

“You don’t need me,” Janus had said. “Someday you’re gonna be stuck up to your elbows in cappuccinos and I’m not going to be here, and you’ll have to haul them out of yourself. If I rescue you now, you won’t be able to do it then.”

Virgil had burned with frustration that Janus wouldn’t help him. But when the line dwindled, Virgil found himself reaching for the next cup in line, and it wasn’t there. He’d done it, he’d seen only two drinks in front of him and had conquered a breakfast rush. The customers had become a blur, and he’d honed in on more lattes and macchiatos than he could count.

“The next challenge,” Janus had said as they shared coffee in the following lull. “Is to bring the customers into focus too. Two things matter in coffeeshops, the coffee, and the people. You can’t let either one distract from the other.”

“You want me to do all that and small talk?”

“It gets easier with time.”

The retrospect that proved Janus right didn’t help Virgil to not feel aghast at the suggestion. It was easy to envy Janus’ ease around customers, asking Wendy how her radishes were doing as he poured her coffee, telling jokes to kids, and showing them the swan he’d drawn in their father’s latte. 

Virgil tied his apron and went to the front register. He ran his fingers over the screen. Pretending to type up a long order was his key both to eavesdropping and to looking busy, especially if he furrowed his brow just enough to look focused. Whenever a particularly angry customer started to complain at the other end of the counter, here Virgil would be, tapping like he was crafting a novel and not hitting the button for “doppio” a dozen times in a row. Meanwhile Janus, usually, would be the one at the end, silver-tongued and composed, listening with raised eyebrows and a soft smile. He’d turn around only when the cafe was empty to say “could you believe that jerk?”

A gaggle of college girls in matching volleyball t-shirts approached, and Virgil glanced at Janus, who cracked his knuckles dramatically. “May the coffee gods guide me,” he said as the bell on the door jangled merrily. 

“Hi, what can I get for you?”

“Large iced vanilla soy latte.”

“Medium blended caramel coffee, extra caramel, whipped cream.”

“Small almond latte.”

And so on down the line. Janus remained unfazed, continuing to greet other customers who braved entering the store despite the line. He called out every drink he made and made eye contact with each girl who picked hers up, even (Virgil thought he saw) winking a couple times. The hum of the espresso machine and hiss of the steam wand filled the cafe, singing along to the piano playing over the speakers. Was this Logan’s playlist?

The line didn’t end, after that. The girls cleared and were replaced by tides of office workers in pressed clothes from the smattering of office buildings that hemmed in the coffee shop on all sides. Friendly receptionists and personal assistants were a favorite of Virgil’s, and were perhaps the only ones who called him by endearments that didn’t feel horribly awkward.  Most of them tipped well. 

The cafe chairs filled up, representing casual business talks, friendly meet-ups, and solitary breaks from long days. All the grind-never-stop types had the coffee to-go, and those taking a quick respite adored the cafe’s “for here” cups. Virgil liked to watch for the people who perked up or relaxed with their first sip. One of the personal assistants from the building across the street (Virgil thought her name was Jackie) put her cappuccino to her lips and leaned back into her chair, the tension around her eyes softening.

A moment came where a couple of middle-aged women paused to examine the menu, and Janus appeared as if by magic at the register. 

“Tag team, let’s go! Your turn on the bar, kid.” 

Virgil moved to the espresso machine. Janus had not only finished the drinks in front of him, but wiped down the counter and machine to leave Virgil the perfect surface to begin again. The middle-aged women put in their orders, and Virgil felt like his vision zoomed in as he began the two drinks in front of him, and the two after that, and the two-

He was getting better at this now, even managed a croaked “hello,” to most of the customers who walked in the door, and a “thank you” as they took their drinks. He let the steam wand run a few extra seconds to feel the warmth bead on his face every time he started to get anxious. 

The lunch rush came to its merciful end, and Virgil took his break to chew a PB&J sandwich before Janus left for the day. As the clock hit two, the elder barista pulled his keys from the cupboard.

“I bid you adieu and an easy close,” he said, twirling his keychain around his hand as he clocked out. The jingle of his keys was followed by the jangle of the door behind him, and Virgil was alone in the cafe.

He brewed fresh coffee - they’d almost run out during the rush, and pause to sweep the floors and wipe down the counters. Running the store for the last three hours before close, and the chance to close the store by himself was both a responsibility and a chance for peace that Virgil appreciated. He liked helping customers, more spread out then before, and in between them finding little things to clean, extra minutes to practice his latte art - damn, how could Janus draw a rosetta so effortlessly? All Virgil’s came out looking like lumps. 

He aerated the milk gently, and heard the front bell ting.

“Hey there,” Virgil said without looking up, tilting his pitcher so the foam was perfectly incorporated. He turned the steam wand off and gently groomed the milk to pour. “Sorry, I’ll be right with you.” 

The milk texture was almost perfect. He guided his pitcher over the crema and… produced a haphazard rosetta. It was lopsided and a little mangled from Virgil swirling the crema too hard, but it wasn’t one of his worst attempts.

“Hey, that looks pretty good!” 

Virgil looked up and felt his ears get hot. Roman was leaning slightly over the bar (oh wow, he was even taller than Virgil had thought), staring at the cup. “Could you do one like that for me?”

Virgil swallowed. “Yeah uh… yeah, sure.” Nevermind that it was much harder to make oat milk froth properly. Virgil grabbed his non-dairy pitcher.

“Oh, could you make it as an large cinnamon-”

“Yeah, I got it.” Oh no, I cut him off. In too deep now. Virgil felt Roman’s gaze on him as he made the latte. The cinnamon-sugar topping made a nice base to draw with, but Virgil didn’t have as much experience with oat and soy, and the rosetta was barely visible as he finished it. Roman stared into the cup.

“Sorry,” Virgil muttered. “Still practicing.” 

“Oh, that’s okay,” Roman said, but sounded a bit disappointed. He left a ten on the counter. “Thanks for trying, the extra’s for you.” 

He left the cafe, and Virgil watched him vanish down the street, but just before he was out of sight, he put the to-go cup to his lips, and Virgil saw his shoulders relax.

[quirkykayleetam]

Cursed Silence

A 3.6K Witcher Sick Fic with Ill Jaskier, Hurt and Worried Geralt and some fun plot stuff of my own; a mild reinvisioning of Bottled Appetites if Yennifer hadn’t been involved, but Jaskier’s life was endangered another way.  Behold!  The AO3 link is now here!

“Oh gods, this is it!  I am paying the price for my life as a libertine.  Luck and mercy have deserted me and I am now doomed to pain forever!”

Jaskier winced and covered his eyes as Geralt pulled back the curtain from their bedraggled upstairs room.

“See?” he moaned  “Even the light assaults me cruelly!  And sound, the call of my life, is nothing but agony.”

“You would think you’d shut up then,” Geralt grumbled.

Jaskier tried to sit up and tut in affront, but only ended up falling back to the blankets instead.

Geralt glance at his fri… traveling companion.  Judging by the amount he drank last night, Geralt figured he had a splitting headache and a roiling stomach.  It would pass.  It wouldn’t pass without dramatics--that was Jakier--but it would pass all the same.

“We only have the room ‘til lunch,” Geralt said, moving to leave.  If he slammed the door a little harder than necessary to hear Jaskier groan, that was his own business.

…

Geralt had to admit that Jaskier played the part of the hungover rake well.  When he stumbled down the stairs of the end, his doublet was artfully unbuttoned to show just the right amount of chest hair.  He blanched at the sausage Geralt offered him, opting instead for a broth so watered down it smelled more like bowl than soup.

Throughout the meal, he kept stealing glances at Geralt.  The Witcher tried to ignore him, but finally the tension became too much.

“What.”

“We don’t exactly have pressing matters in the South, do we?  We’re just moving on because that’s what we do.  More people to see, more evil to fight, more good to do for the delight of the land!”

“What are you getting at?”

“We couldn’t, perhaps, linger one more day to nurse the headache of a dear, famous bard who needs his beauty rest to sing the praises of the White Wolf of Rivia?”

Geralt huffed.

“Fine.  But it’s your coin.”

He turned to leave, wondering if there was a secluded area close enough by for hunting.  With Jaskier sick, they would make slower time when they did leave and would need more provisions for the journey ahead.

He also did not fail to notice the small smile on the lithe bard’s face even as Jaskier sunk further onto the bench.  Geralt hoped Jaskier could get some rest before he face-planted into his soup.

…

“Jaskier!”

The next morning Geralt jerked the curtain so hard it ripped off its rung.  The Witcher threw it at Jaskier, pole and all, who barely groaned as it hit him in the stomach.

Jaskier was doing better, Geralt thought the night before, watching the bard cavort wildly.  Sure, he stayed closer to the fire than normal and seemed to have some trouble remembering the words to his old songs, but when Geralt turned in for the night, Jaskier remained downstairs.  Geralt’s last look saw the bard downing a toxic-smelling red concoction the innkeeper handed him while scanning the crowd with crazy hazel eyes.

“Geralt, I’m dying.”

“Dying in a grave you dug yourself, staying up half the night with a belly full of booze!”

“I happened to mention my ills to the innkeep,” Jaskier moaned.  “Aches and pains, that kind of thing.  He said he had just the cure: something about mulled wine and herbs.  It numbed everything, Geralt, and I didn’t want the pain to come back.”

“Yeah, alcohol does that.  Numbs you now, makes you feel it tomorrow.”  

He stalked to his saddle bags, feeling Jaskier’s pleading eyes on his back.

“No,” he said.

“What?”

“No, we are not staying another day for you to drink yourself to another oblivion.  I’m getting Roach.  Be downstairs in an hour or I will leave you.”

This time when Geralt slammed the door, he could have sworn he heard Jaskier sob.

Geralt was beginning to pace when Jaskier finally stumbled down the stairs.  His clothes were rumpled but decent, his eyes glazed over but open.  The biggest sign of his distress was his hair.  Usually perfectly styled, it was now ruffled in ways that made Geralt think of nights spent in sex and debautery.

When Geralt slept badly, his white hair stuck to the side of his face in greasy strips like Roach had licked them.  Of course that wouldn’t happen to Jaskier.  Half asleep, bow-legged, and weaving from side to side, he simply looked beautifully dispossessed.

As the pair began their travels, Jakier shot a wistful shot at Geralt’s horse.  Sure, the swaying movement of riding wouldn’t help his stomach, but he would give up all his gold and probably his trousers to rest on the animal rather than treading on his unsteady feet.

Geralt noticed.

“Don’t touch Roach,” he said.

Jaskier groaned.

…

Blessed silence.

Geralt never thought he would have too much of it.  Now he had to glance behind him every two moments just to see if Jaskier was still on his feet.

To his credit, the bard was still keeping up.  Geralt slowed his usual pace to give the man a break, noticing when Jaskier’s moans turned into whimpers and then heavy breathing, but he kept going.  If Jaskier was going to make his life harder with drink, Geralt wasn’t going to entirely ease his pain.  Jaskier did not complain.  He shouldered his lute and limped after the Witcher, his face set in determination and hurt.

They were deep in the forest, when Geralt suddenly heard Jaskier slow.

“Ger...Geralt...I can’t…”

Geralt swung off Roach immediately, ready to relent and let the bard ride the rest of the way, but he immediately stopped.

Jaskier was a trembling mess.  It was cold outside, chill enough to leave frost on the tips of branches and leaves, but the bard sweated through his jacket.  He huddled doubled over.  With one hand, he clutched at his throat.

“Can’t breathe, Ger...I don’t know…”

With that, Jaskier’s eyes rolled back into his head.  Geralt barely caught him before he fell to the ground.

It wasn’t just drunkenness; Geralt could tell as soon as he touched Jaskier’s paling skin.  The bard was burning up from the inside.  Even mostly unconscious, he whimpered each time Geralt had to shift Jaskier in his grip.

Cursing, Geralt didn’t know whether to spend more time settling Jaskier on Roach’s back or dashing off to get help.

There wasn’t a mage or a medic in the town they left.  Geralt could get Jaskier there in hours, but the Witcher might not be able to do anything but watch Jaskier pant in agony.  The bard needed medicine, a cooling bath, Geralt didn’t know what else.  He just didn’t want to see Jaskier in any more pain.  Or worse.

Golden eyes set on the horizon, he set off as fast as he dared.  Every pitiful sound Jaskier made echoed through Geralt’s entire body.

Hee had done shit all to help Jaskier.  Hopefully now he could persuade someone else to do more.

…

Dawn crested the hill behind Roach as Geralt finally spotted a town within reach.  The village was a sizable, a good sign, though not a certain one.  He patted the horse tiredly, glad that Roach hadn’t bucked at riding through the night.  In the saddle beside him, Jaskier did not even whimper.  The bard had stopped making even the smallest sounds long ago.  The only thing keeping Geralt going was that he could see Jaskier’s weak, stuttering breath in the cold.

Geralt swung down beside the first open door he saw, that of an inn.  The innkeeper was sweeping out the debris from the night before and took the Witcher’s coin.

“Doctor?  Mage?”  He inquired huskily.

“Mage.  North side of town.  Not sure if you can pay him though.”

Geralt jingled his bag of coin.  The innkeeper shook his head.

“He’s one for strange deals and bargains.  Some folk say he’s fair.  Others say wiley.  Keep your wits about you, Witcher.”

Geralt thanked the man with another coin, but couldn’t give a damn about his wits.  He’d lose them all if he could keep Jaskier alive.

He found the mage easy enough.  While the man didn’t set up in a castle like some magicians, he made his profession clear enough; his three-story workshop was made of shimmery black stone that could only be enchanted.  Either that or the man had spent lifetimes mining and shaping obsidian from the land’s farthest shores.  Geralt figured he couldn’t rule that out.

Tying Roach to a tree outside and cradling Jaskier in his arms, he kicked at the ornate wooden door until someone answered it.  Enough kicking, he supposed, and he could knock the bloody thing down, but it swung inward before Geralt had the chance.

“Witcher.” A spry man of indeterminate age, oaken skin, and jet black hair dressed blacksmith’s garb greeted him.  “Please, come in.”

…

The wizard could clearly see Geralt’s purpose.  He motioned the Witcher to a room on the third story with tightly shut windows, a fire in the hearth, and a bed for Jaskier.  Geralt laid the bard down somewhat reluctantly.  He wanted Jaskier to get better, but he didn’t trust wizards, however benign they seemed.

The wizard cleared his throat and Geralt turned to face him, keeping his body between the mage and Jaskier’s unconscious form.

“So,” the man began, “Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf, the Butcher of Blavikin, has traveled all this way to…”

“Do you know what’s wrong with him?”

“Pardon me?” the wizard said.  He took a step back but looked more intrigued than insulted by the interruption.

“Can you heal him?” Geralt said, his voice a low growl.

“Are you sure you can pay my price?  Surely someone must have told you…”

“Yes,” Geralt said.

“Why?”  The wizard’s eyes twinkled.

“I’ll do anything.”

The moment the words left Geralt’s mouth, he knew they were true.  Maybe he hadn’t chosen this life, but it was his and he was well suited for it.  Jaskier was soft.  He enjoyed fine cloth and finer wine.  He deserved to sing in a palace and sleep on silk sheets every night instead of cavorting around with a twice-damned Witcher.

“It’s Vale’s Fever,” the mage said.  “Comes on like the common flu, just quicker, until it steals the victims voice.  Has it gone that far?”

Geralt nodded.

“Jaskier…  He said he couldn’t breathe.”

“That’s it then,” the wizard said, turning from Geralt to examine the potions on his work bench in the corner.  “I’ll give you this, I’ll tend to your friend, Jaskier, and save his life if I can, but only for the work you give me.  I’ve got a workshop downstairs where I smelt metals important to me.  For twelve hours of manual labor, I’ll give you twelve hours of medical care for your friend.”

“And the nights?” Geralt asks.  “What happens if he needs help during the night.”

“Not my problem,” the wizard said.  “Days for days is all I offer.”

“Fine,” Geralt growled.  He wasn’t bednurse, but if he had to see Jaskier through a few feverish nights without throwing things at the bard, he supposed he could do it.  “Show me where to start working.”

“Ah, ah ah,” the wizard said, holding up a finger.  “That is simply the deal to save the man’s life.  His voice on the other hand…?”

It took all of Geralt’s control not to slam the wizard into the glimmering stone behind him.

“What about his voice?”

“Terrible thing about Vale’s Fever.  Most of those who survive never speak again.  That I can restore magically…”

“What’s your price?”

“I’m a fair man,” the wizard said liberally, showing Geralt his palms.  It didn’t soften the Witcher’s temper.  “A voice for a voice is a fair trade, wouldn’t you think?”

“Fine,” Geralt said.  “Do it.”

“Don’t you want to hear more about the process?”

“No,” he said darkly.  “I stop talking and the bard sings again.  Works well enough for me,”

No one but Roach will miss it anyway, he thought.  And Jaskier without a voice?  That would be like a bird without wings or a Witcher with purple hair.  The bard might as well be dead as mute.

He was so lost in thought that he didn’t swat the wizard’s hand away as he moved forward and tapped Geralt’s throat.

Magic flowed through the Witcher, causing Geralt to fall forward and clutch his throat.  It felt like all the air inside of him suddenly expelled itself in a whirlwind of vacuum.  He felt dizzy, but wouldn’t give the wizard the satisfaction of seeing it.  Straightening, he opened his mouth to test the spell, first trying a whisper, then a curse, then a bellow.  No sound came out.

The wizard smiled.  Geralt glared.  Together, they went downstairs to the workshop.

…

For five days, Geralt labored under the mage’s command.  For the most part, he tended the bellows, keeping the wizard’s massive fire stoked to extraordinary temperatures.  Whatever he was smelting, the mage needed it constantly, consistently scorching and he was ready to leverage the Witcher’s enhanced strength and endurance to keep it so.

By the end of each day, Geralt arms ached with exhaustion.  His hands and forearms were black with ash.  When he washed that layer of grime away, it showed only open burns from the flames that made him wince and curse.  Each day he wanted to demand leather gloves or more than the small waterskin he was given from the mage, but each night he forgot to do so in his rush to Jaskier’s side.

“Better,” is all the mage would say.  Geralt had to take his word for it.

From sundown to dawn, the Witcher sat in the hard backed chair by Jaskier’s bed.  He used clean clothes to wipe the sweat off the bard’s forehead and clutched the slender man’s arms when he seized in his sleep.  Each day it became harder and harder for Geralt to stop his head from drooping onto his chest during the quiet moments of the night, but he fought off the urge with every spark inside of him.  He couldn’t do anything else for Jaskier, so he would sure as hell do this.

On the fifth night, Geralt caved.  His limbs felt like leaden turnips.  Jaskier was making sounds again, but shivering under the sheets.  Geralt crawled in bed next to him, wrapping his arms around the bard.

“Be warm, dammit.  Be well!” he thought with force and ire as his eyes closed.

Jaskier relaxed as his fever dwindled, curling closer to Geralt in the dark.

…

As dawn flooded the chamber the next morning, Geralt awoke to a familiar pair of hazel eyes.

“Now, don’t take this the wrong way,” Jaskier said sleepily.  “But normally when I wake up with a headache in a strange room, not remembering how I got there, I’m not in bed with you.”

Geralt glared.

“I’m glad you’re alive, you stupid git,” he thought, but he couldn’t very well say it, so he got up and started packing their bags, taking extra care not to manhandle Jaskier’s lute.

“Ah, so the sleeping beauty awakes!” the wizard said with a flourish, bursting into the room.

He turned to Geralt.

“The Vale’s Fever is cured and your friend is upright and speaking.  I take it that you are satisfied with both of your deals.”

Geralt grunted his assent, trying to subtly motion Jaskier to go.  Sadly, subtle was not exactly in Jaskier’s vocabulary.

“Deals?  What are you talking about.  I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful for the curing and all.  But Geralt, what the hell did you do?  Because if it was something daring, I have a great need to sing about it and if it was something, reckless I have a great need to berate you about it dunk me in a lake.  Or something.  I’m sure you’ll come up with something.  You’re infinitely creative.”

The wizard laughed.  Geralt wanted to strangle him.  Possibly he wanted to strangle Jaskier too, but the wizard was definitely his priority.

“Nothing of the sort, my dear Jaskier.  Our Witcher friend simply engaged in a modest trade.  Your illness often leaves its victims mute.  He swapped his voice for yours, nothing fancy.

“Switch it back.”

“Pardon me?”

The Witcher stared at Jaskier as well, both because the bard was advocating for madness and because it was probably the shortest sentence Geralt had ever heard him say.

“You heard me.  Undo the deal.  I was unconscious and did not agree to it so make it, I don’t know, poof.  Vanish.  Go off into the air.  

“Yes, I tend to use my voice a bit more liberally than our dear Witcher, but it’s for publicity.  If it wasn’t for him saying things that mattered, we would both be dead four times over.  Besides, I’m the normal person tagging along here.  My songs are important, but come on, I’m not.  The last Witcher you’ll see this age?  That is.  Geralt has a purpose or a destiny or whatever you want to call it that won’t get my teeth kicked in and he damn well needs a voice for that.”

“Very well,” the wizard said.  “It’s your voice.”

He strode forward to touch Jaskier’s throat, but Geralt blocked his way.

“No,” the Witcher thought sternly.

“You heard the bard,” the wizard said.  “You’re the important one.”

Geralt shook his head.

“You really want to argue with that?”

The Witcher nodded.

The wizard looked quizzical, but stepped back, raising his hands.  With a gesture, the windows by the bed burst open and wind filled the room.

Geralt felt air rushing into his lungs.  It felt like a punch in the gut, but he was ready for it this time.

He whirled on Jaskier.

“As soon as we get Roach, I’m going to kill you,” the Witcher growled.

“Can you at least let me get a meal first?  And maybe some ale?  I’ve always dreamed of dying with a full stomach and, hey, it’ll make it harder for me to run away.”

Both travelers looked at the mage in shock.

He shrugged and smiled, easing Geralt’s aches with another gesture and soothing the burns on his hands with a wave of his palm.

“You,” he said, “have proven yourself worthy of magic without a price.  Those who would, without question, sacrifice all for another, deserve all in return.”

This time, Geralt didn’t hold back from slamming the man into the wall behind him.

“So this is what you do,” he said.  “You ‘test’ people.  Now tell me, who are you, shitbag, to determine who is and isn’t worthy.”

“Why, I’m a wise, discerning…”

Geralt pressed his forearm into the man’s windpipe.

“No.  You’re a manipulative ass who gets off on playing power games by pretending it’s authority.  You shouldn’t help people because they deserve it.  You should do it because they need it.  How many people have died from diseases you could have cured because they were too scared to pay your price?  How many children have lost their mothers because they didn’t have someone to plead for them?”

“Now be reasonable,” the wizard said, his voice slightly less bold.  “You work for pay.  You’re not just out there slaying monsters because someone needs to do it.”

“Actually, we’ve missed several meals to that ideal,” Jaskier said, moving to his pack.  “Ended up staying outside in wretched weather too.  It’s not like Geralt finds something killing people and decides to ignore it just because folks aren’t putting up a bounty.  Honestly, I think my profession gets us more money in the long run.”

“Fine,” the man said.  “Let’s say I’ve had a change of heart.  I’ll try your way.  For one year, anyone who asks an honest boon of me will get it, free of charge or deals.  What do you say to that?”

Geralt stepped back, letting the man’s boots touch the floor.

“I’ll see you in a year, wizard.”

With that, he snagged his bags and turned to go.

…

Jaskier trailed behind Geralt as he untied Roach and mounted the horse.

“Out with it,” Geralt said.

“Thank you for saving my life.  Again.”

“Contrary to what you might think, you are important Jaskier, which is why from now on you’re going to tell me when you’re sick and not just drunk off your ass!” the Witcher snapped.

“Hey, I tried!” Jaskier said.  “And have you looked in the mirror lately?  You’re not exactly the most sensitive person on the continent.  I was just trying to keep up with you!”

“Even if it kills you!”

“Apparently so!”

The pair glared at each other before Jaskier shouldered his lute and fell in perfect step behind Roach and Geralt, like he was meant to be there.

“Now, I appreciate you willing to take the extra hit for me, but I’m a little insulted that you don’t think I can make my living with just my glorious looks and extraordinary lute skills.  My songs are my strong suit, don’t get my wrong, but I don’t have to sing them.  I could sell them off line by line, the tune first, of course, then the words.  I’d have people humming tunes before they even knew what they were about!  Just think of it…”

Geralt sighed.  Once Jaskier got going he wouldn’t hear a lick of silence for the rest of the day.  The Witcher had to bite back a smile at the thought.

Thanks for all those who made it to the end of my first official fan fic! Tagging @redwingedwhump and @wanderingcas 

[crescent-quill-writings]

Café Eclair

Fandom: Hamilton - Miranda

Words: 2249

Relationship: Thomas Jefferson/Gilbert du Mortier Marquis de Lafayette

Additional Tags: Coffee Shop AU, Shopkeepers AU, Modern AU, Established Relationship, They’re husbands, Fluff

Summary: It's a sunny morning at the Café Eclair, a beautiful start to another day of baking and brewing for Thomas and Lafayette.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

Lafayette began to blink his eyes open at the bright ringing sound of his alarm and the rays of sunlight peaking through the curtains. He reached behind him, feeling around on the nightstand for the alarm clock and the button to silence its noise. He didn't need to see the clock face to know it was time to get up and start the day.

The Frenchman let out a yawn and stretched out his arms, starting to sit up and brush some stray hairs out of his face before he was pulled back into the warmth of the silk sheets by a lean arm.

"Good morning to you too, mon chou..." He murmured with a soft laugh and a smile, brushing his hand through his husbands wild curls and pressing a kiss to his forehead.

Thomas shifted a bit, murmuring a "G'morning," under his breath as he brought his husband closer so he could press his forehead against the warm width of his chest. His voice was rough with sleep and his eyes had barely opened since his husband began to move. Clearly the southerner was far from being ready to wake up.

"As much as I appreciate the affection, mon amour, I need to get up and warm up the ovens... We need to start the day at some point, after all." Lafayette then murmurs, cupping his husbands cheek and smiling down at him as he watched him stir once more and try to cuddle even closer with a grumble under his breath.

The Frenchman began to move again, and this time Thomas allows him to slip out bed and begin getting ready.

"I just need, mm... Five more minutes, and I'll do breakfast today. You okay with omelettes?" The southerner murmurs as he stretches out with a yawn of his own before settling back into the blankets and pillows.

"Of course, amour," Lafayette replies, pausing as he pulls a clean shirt over his head and holds a hair tie between his teeth so his hands would be free to pull his hair back into a neat bun, "Now, I'll be back in just a moment. Try not to sleep in too much, alright? Je t'aime." He adds as he ties his hair back and gives himself a once over in the mirror before pressing another kiss to his husband's forehead and then making his way out of the room to start the day.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

By the time Thomas had started breakfast he could already smell the beginnings of fresh bread and tarts packed full with seasonal fruits floating up through the floors. While he may not be a morning person, it was hard not to smile at the thought of his husbands shining eyes. Summer always brought the best fruits into season, and gave the Frenchman plenty of options for daily specials and extra treats for the two of them to share once the day was done.

The southerner was just finishing painting the shapes of flowers into the foam of their coffee as he added the cream before he felt a pair of arms wrap around his waist and soft lips press against his cheek.

"Affection today, are we, darling?" He comments with a hum and a smile as he sets the cream aside and pushes his hipster-style frames back up to rest on the bridge of his nose before turning around to wrap Lafayette in his arms.

"How could I not be? I have some of the prettiest little strawberry tarts baking away right now... I'll make sure to save us a pair for lunch." The Frenchman murmurs in response with a beaming smile, making his husband laugh quietly as he pats him on the hip.

"Sounds wonderful, darling. You're just in time too, breakfast is ready." Thomas replies, earning himself another quicker kiss from his husband as Lafayette grabbed a plate and a mug and took his place at the breakfast bar. The southerner followed with sauntering steps before sitting down next to him, sipping at his coffee and admiring the energy his husband always had in the mornings no matter how early in the morning he woke up.

"I still need to make the eclairs, the cakes, the cookies, and all the creams and icings to garnish them too..." Lafayette lists through mouthfuls of egg and cheese, simply making conversation as he gave his husband a chance to wake up, "Oh! And the honey buns need to be brushed with an egg wash before going in the oven. Do you think you could do that for me, mon chou?" He then asks, eyes shining as he picked up his mug and sipped at his mocha while he waited for an answer.

Thomas really couldn't say no to that face, so even as he swallowed a forkful of omelette and sighed he smiled, giving a nod in response, "Of course, I don't mind. I'll even help you decorate the cupcakes if there's time after I've set up the cafe."

"Merci beaucoup, mon chou! I do not know what I'd do without you." The Frenchman beams, pressing a kiss to the temple of his husband's forehead before he stood up to take his plate to the sink and quickly finished his coffee, though he still waits for Thomas to finish his own breakfast before taking his hand and rushing him down the stairs with a laugh.

Yeah, mornings weren't so bad with that smile in his life.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Lafayette wiped sweat from his brow as he closed the doors to the oven and set the pan of fresh bread on the counter to cool a little before it could be placed on the shelves. Smiling in satisfaction at the array of baked goods laid out in front of him, he then turned to begin whisking together the cream to fill his famous eclairs with right as the little bell by the door jingled and announced Thomas' return as he stepped back inside, wiping his hands on his apron to remove any chalk that had rubbed off from the sign he had placed outside detailing the days specials for any interested passersby.

"Just in time, mon chou!" The Frenchman cheers, tucking the bowl under his arm so he can go greet his husband and continue whisking, "The cupcakes should be cool by now, but I need to finish this up for the eclairs or our customers will be mourning the lack of our namesake sweet. Could you decorated them for me? The icing and the cherries are just on the counter over there." He then explains, earning a nod and a peck on his cheek in response from his husband.

Lafayette felt no shame in enjoying the view his handsome partner gave him, seeing how he was wearing one of his favorite outfits and his glasses framed his face in just the right way. In the light of the morning sun the scene was picturesque, but the Frenchman's favorite part was how Thomas' skilled hands piped delicate swirls of lavender frosting over each cupcake and placed a farm-fresh cherry on top. He also couldn't help but laugh as he caught his husband sneaking a few cherries for himself.

"I saw that, amour..." Lafayette teased with a grin, causing Thomas to chuckle as he spat out the pits and stems into the trash.

"Hey, fresh cherries are the best cherries, what am I supposed to do?" The southerner replied with a shrug, though he was left blinking in surprise as his husband placed a dot of whipped cream on his nose.

"Well, you can start with not eating food meant for the customers..." Lafayette paused to lick off the cream from his fingers and then from his husbands nose, knowing the little action would fluster his husband out of any smart response, "Still, I must thank you, you've been a big help today."

Thomas smiled in response with a small laugh, trying to ignore the heat that had rushed to his cheeks. "Of course, darling. Now don't get caught up with the eclairs again and forget to set up your displays before we open. I'll see you out front in ten." He replied, turning to leave again as the Frenchman gasps in playful indignation.

"That's only happened once, and it was during our first week open too!"

Thomas could only chuckle in response, waving back at his husband with a wink as he stepped through the threshold to the storefront.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A few hours later and the Café Eclair was caught up in the hustle and bustle of the lunch rush, with Lafayette switching between handling his customers and ducking back into the bakery to keep the shelves stocked with goods and Thomas painting a seemingly endless series of flowers and ferns into the foam of freshly brewed drinks. It was busy, and while the both of them barely had a moment to breathe between all the orders, they wouldn't have had it any other way. The cafe was their livelihood and a dream come true all wrapped up in one.

Soon, though, the Frenchman was able to catch a small break in the chaos and slipped back into the bakery to quickly whisk together some whipped cream and place a dollop on each of strawberry tarts he had set aside for himself and his husband.

"Thomas, mon amour! Take a break soon and come eat something, alright?" He called, poking his head out of the doorway.

"I'll be right there, darling!" Thomas called back with a small nod as he painted one last latte with a heart and handed it to the waiting customer. Tucking the money the register and telling the customer to come again he wiped his hands on his apron and placed a small sign on the counter saying: "On break, ring the bell if you need anything!" Before joining his husband back in the bakery to see him already holding out a tart for him to take.

"One strawberry tart, just like I promised! The whipped cream is fresh too, so enjoy, mon chou." Lafayette explained with a shine in his eyes, making his husband smile as he accepted the summery sweet.

"Thank you, darling... You're the best." Thomas replied, watching his husband beam up at him for a moment before peeling back the little pie tin and take a bite.

The Frenchman hummed in enjoyment, closing his eyes and enjoying the flavor before he was suddenly left blushing as his husband kissed at the corner of his lips and licked away a small bit of whipped cream from the area.

"That's for this morning." The southerner muttered with a grin, watching with a laugh as Lafayette muttered under his breath in his native tongue before he took a bite of his own tart, "I love ya too, Gil."

They had about fifteen minutes together to enjoy their lunch and share in each others company before the ringing of the service bell pulled their attention away from each other.

"Back into the fray it is then, oui?"

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Finally, it was closing time at Café Eclair, and a comfortable silenced settle on the married couple as Thomas brought the furniture in from the patio, flipping the sign on the door to 'closed' on his way back inside, and placed the chairs upside down on the tables while Lafayette wiped down the counters and put away the day's baking supplies.

"Can we watch a movie tonight, mon chou? I'll make popcorn, and we can open up that nice red wine I bought last week." The Frenchman asked, eyes tired but still shining as he watched his husband lock up.

"Sure thing, darling, I'll even let you pick one of your sappy romances this time." Thomas answered with a smile and a nod, stepping back behind the counter to wrap an arm around the Frenchman's waist.

Lafayette cheered tiredly in response, leaning into Thomas as he was lead back upstairs into their apartment. He found himself blinking in surprise as he was sat down on the couch and kissed, the southerner murmuring something about him having worked hard enough against his lips before Thomas cupped his cheek and stepped into the kitchen.

By the time Thomas came back with a bowl of popcorn in one hand, a pair of glasses in the other and the bottle of wine under his arm Lafayette had already curled up under a blanket with his feet propped up on the ottoman.

"Merci beaucoup, mon amour... You are a saint." The Frenchman murmurs with as he watches his husband pour the wine and lifted up the blanket so he could settle down next to him.

"Nonsense, darling. I just love you very, very much." Thomas replied with a shake of his head as he handed his husband a glass and wrapped an arm around his shoulders so they could cuddle before setting the popcorn on his lap.

"Je t'aime aussi, mon chou." Lafayette murmured in response with a smile as he rested his head on his husbands shoulder, humming a quiet tune as he brought up Netflix and moved the cursor indecisively across the keyboard as he thought of which movie to watch before he made up his mind.

Thomas smiled at the choice, 'From Up on Poppy Hill', remembering he enjoyed the music of this one. Really though, he'd watch any movie if it meant he could see Lafayette smile and hold him close as another wonderful day came to an end.