#a part time job would be marvellous but what flat can be paid with that

[the-rainbow-of-doom]

(This post was sponsored by a 1+ hour commute)

#I'm so frustrated how little time and energy i have after a day is done #i didn't win the fight against depression to have lofe ruined by THAT now #lacking time and energy to go on job hunt.. it's all very small steps only #a part time job would be marvellous but what flat can be paid with that #maybe also my anxiety is stopping me from getting a new job. what if i get fired. what if it's horrible there. ahh.. i need more courage #mine capitalism #anti-capitalism #work

[teawaffles]

The Adventures of John: Chapter 4, Part 2

TW // Mention of abuse

Also, a note for language.

Without even an opportunity for Laura to resist, Sherlock pulled his hand out — and revealed a gorgeous necklace. It wasn’t as if John could remember that necklace itself, but from its elegant sparkle, he judged that it’d been one of the items from their flat.

The despair on Laura’s face only deepened. Beside her, the detective spoke.

“This was stolen from my flat. Since the jewellery was in such a mess, you probably thought it wouldn’t look amiss if just one piece went missing — but that was naive of you,” he said. “Because I have a full grasp of everything that was put there.”

When Laura arrived at their flat, Sherlock had made a show of being indifferent to her request, while making sure that she had taken one of the stolen goods.

To have fully comprehended that chaos — John marvelled at the strength of Sherlock’s memory. During the conversation in the flat, he had persisted in looking out the window, away from Laura: that must’ve been to create a deliberate opening, and test if the girl would help herself to the pile.

Laura had stolen a piece of jewellery from their apartment. Moreover, she’d made up the request to find Dolly. Inevitably, from the two points above, it followed that her goal from the start had been to steal the jewellery. Hence, it formed definite proof that she was one of the thieves’ accomplices.

Confronted by that irreversible reality, Laura was stunned. As for the man, his eyes went bloodshot from anger.

“Y-You’ve gotta be kidding me, you good-for-nothing……. I told you to do it without exposing us—”

Hearing that, Sherlock piped up in a cool voice.

“Shall I take that as a confession? Though, there is still the argument that this kid Laura here is just another one of you vagrants, and you guys have nothing to do with the ring of thieves.”

The man spat on the ground.

“Hmph, I’ve no interest flogging that argument anymore. ——Let’s settle this the fast way.”

Saying that, he drew a small revolver from his pocket, and levelled it at Sherlock. Following suit, a few men among the group also whipped out knives and guns. The remaining crowd cried out softly in fear.

“If we dispatch the both of you right here, the truth’ll remain buried, eh?”

At that unsettling line, his armed accomplices also broke into twisted smiles.

But despite being held at gunpoint, Sherlock seemed particularly unmoved. He observed their actions, and narrated his own view.

“From the looks of it, you lot are the ringleaders, while the rest seem to have been threatened into compliance.”

“Yeah: with just a little bit of a beating, they’ll do anything we ask,” the man smirked.

But Sherlock was calm as he replied.

“From that, I gather not all of you are friends. And seeing how you resort to violence to settle things right away: you’re probably a hoodlum accustomed to crime, aren’t ya?”

“Hoodlum? You’re not wrong, but call us a group of clever thieves if you can. After all, I’ve skilfully manipulated these scum and carried out some brilliant thefts.”

Drunk on his own accomplishments, the man threw a glance at Laura. She hadn’t budged from where she stood; protecting her head, she cowered on the ground in sheer terror. From that, one could easily imagine what maltreatment she and the others had suffered at the hands of these thugs.

His heart filled with rage, John glared at the man.

“That means you forced them to commit crimes, didn’t you?”

“Call it making effective use of them, Doctor Watson,” he drawled. “These people all live on a pittance of a daily income. No one would care if they’re gone. I’ve given them a rather fine job until now, but this time, she just had to screw up. ——As I thought, brats are useless after all!”

“……I-I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

He shouted at Laura, and she repeated that apology over and over as she sobbed.

“You……”

“John, you’re right to be angry, but please calm down.”

At the unforgivable sight before him, the detective’s assistant had balled his hands into fists, but Sherlock persuaded him to keep his cool.

“Ah…… Sorry to get back to the topic, but let me give you some clarity on this case.”

“Huh?”

As before, Sherlock’s demeanour lacked any sort of tension, and his opponent frowned. But the detective paid no heed to that as he continued.

“To sum up the story thus far: the bunch of louts brandishing their weapons here are the ringleaders behind the thefts, and the other vagrants and street merchants were forcibly…… ‘used’, if I were to borrow your words?”

“Yeah, that’s right. You could say that they’re all expendables to be exploited as I please. To have so skilfully manipulated them — I bet my abilities rival those of that rumoured ‘Lord of Crime’ or something.”

“……Well.”

At that name, Sherlock’s eye twitched. But he showed no further reaction than that as he replied.

“In other words, to you guys, their names and faces aren’t even worth remembering?”

“That’s an odd way to put it, but exactly. They’re all disposable — do you really think I can remember all of them? ……That said, how long are you gonna keep prattling on like that? I don’t know if you’re just trying to buy time, but it’s time for you to die.”

Running out of patience, the man broke off their conversation, and moved to pull the trigger: fully intending to shoot the detective and his assistant.

However, Sherlock’s smile remained bold as ever.

“——That’s it then. I’ve gotten your word.”

That instant, John couldn’t believe his eyes.

Among the crowd of vagrants, the ones who were shrouded in hoods — separate from the ringleaders — were now aiming guns at the criminals.

“……Huh?”

“——Don’t move.”

One of the mysterious figures commanded sternly, keeping his gun trained on the lead criminal. Stunned by this sudden development, the man complied; and with his other hand, the figure slowly drew back his hood.

“……Inspector Lestrade?”

Out of sheer astonishment, John murmured the person's name.

The man in the hood, was Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard. Facing the lead criminal, he spoke in a determined voice.

“From the conversation earlier, it’s clear that you have threatened the poor and coerced them into crime. I’ll hear the details at the station. Don’t even think about resisting.”

Then, the other figures removed their hoods and revealed their faces. One after the other, they confiscated the weapons from the stunned hoodlums. Though they weren’t wearing uniforms, from their practised actions, it was clear that they were police officers.

“W-What the devil is going on……?”

Tonight had been a night of many surprises for this detective. John was yet unable to wrap his head around the situation, and once again, he asked himself a question he’d thought about countless times today.

“Everything’s exactly as you’ve witnessed, John. When I identified this place, I contacted Lestrade at the same time, then got the officers to disguise themselves as tramps and hide among the crowd.”

“But why?”

“If I’d just called in the Yard as usual, we wouldn’t have been able to identify the ringleaders among this large a crowd.”

Sherlock stated that conclusion in brief, then began to explain.

“As I thought about the thieves’ actions, I judged that there was probably a mastermind separate from the ones committing the actual crimes, who was controlling them from behind the scenes. Hence, there was a need to identify this mastermind; but even if the Yard were to round up the entire group of vagrants, like what that ruffian told me earlier, they could just say that they had no relation to the ring of thieves — and that would be the end of it. Moreover, it still wasn’t clear who the ringleaders were, and the ring members who were being threatened would’ve likely been warned not to blab. So, in order to smoke out the ringleaders and elicit a confession, I added a bit of an act.”

Then, the detective looked at Lestrade, and the corners of his mouth twitched upward.

“——Well, about the disguises: I’d thought about where the police squad could hide themselves, and decided it would be better for them to mingle with the crowd, so they wouldn’t have to sneak about all weirdly.”

“W-Wha— What a stupid……”

Upon hearing the truth, the man’s earlier triumphant attitude had devolved into a disgraceful, incredulous one. This time, Sherlock laughed out loud.

“Sure, you can make people follow you, but you’ll also have to keep tabs on them properly. In the first place, when this location was discovered, didn’t it occur to you that I would call in the Yard? You can pretend to be a mastermind, but with your lack of foresight, even the Lord of Crime would laugh.”

“S……Shite.”

“Oi, watch what you say from here on. It’ll be used as evidence against you in court.”

Lestrade warned the man as he clapped him in irons; accepting his defeat, he hung his head bitterly. For a villain who’d exploited people in poverty, and boasted of rivalling the Lord of Crime: it was a downright dreadful ending.

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦

“I’ll always be in your debt, Holmes. And the same goes for you, Dr Watson.”

As he watched the arrested criminals being taken away, Lestrade thanked the detective duo.

However, in contrast to the inspector’s earnest attitude, Sherlock put a hand over his mouth as he tried to suppress his laughter.

“Lestrade. Sorry for saying this when you’re being so serious, but…… you looked surprisingly good as a tramp.”

“H-Hey! That’s rude, Sherlock!”

“By Jove, Sherlock……”

John chided the detective, and Lestrade let out an astonished sigh.

“……Anyway, I’m grateful for your help in resolving this case.”

“Yeah, let me know when you have another interesting mystery next time.”

After that simple exchange, the inspector left to join the other police officers.

Then, Laura — the central figure from today — and an old woman from among the vagrants walked over to them.

“——U-Um, Dr Watson.”

The girl stood right before John. She bit her lip, and sank into a deep bow.

“I’m so sorry for tricking you!”

Laura blurted that out in a loud voice. Then, the old woman also bowed solemnly.

Met with their sincere apologies, John spoke up in a kind voice.

“It’s alright. You had no choice — all of you were being threatened.”

“B-But…… I……”

“Don’t worry about it. In any case, won’t it be tough for you all from here on?”

With a start, Laura realised what he meant, and dropped her gaze. Though they had been coerced into thievery, it was still a fact that they had broken the law. Hence, in order to furnish the details to the Yard, all of them would be taken in for questioning.

The atmosphere turned slightly gloomy, and Sherlock piped up.

“You don’t have to be so serious about it, y’know. Seeing as all of you had been forced into those crimes, the Yard’ll treat you more leniently.”

“Y-You’re right.”

John knew that Sherlock was deliberately being optimistic, in an effort not to worry them both. Hence, though it was a little awkward, John agreed with him.

Perhaps the matter wasn’t as simple as Sherlock had described, but the events from now on would be out of their hands entirely. Hoping that Lestrade would speak well in their defence, John changed the topic somewhat forcibly.

“……By the way, is this lady a relative of yours?”

Hearing that, Laura brightened up, and introduced the old woman.

“Yes, she’s my grandmother; we’ve been making a living together selling food.”

“Truly, please accept my sincere apologies for what happened.”

Hearing the old woman’s husky voice, John finally understood the awkward exchange he had witnessed between them at the park. Seeing as they were family, it was only natural for Laura to be more relaxed around her; moreover, the old woman’s faltering tone had surely been due to her guilt at deceiving him.

John nodded in understanding. Then, Laura took out a small pouch.

“That and this…… Here’s the full amount we’ve taken from you, Dr Watson. Please accept it.”

“Ah, I see. I’d forgotten all about the money. Thank you.”

John was about to reach for the pouch, when all of a sudden, a thought struck him — and he stopped.

“……Um, is something the matter?”

Seeing him freeze up, Laura tilted her head. Then, John withdrew his hand, and instead held up the bag full of items he’d bought from the street merchants.

“‘Taken’? What’re you saying? I bought these of my own accord. I can’t see any issues with them, so I’ve no intention of getting a refund.”

“……Eh?”

“Isn’t that right? I negotiated properly with the merchants in the parks, and bought these items as a customer. There was no trickery at all.”

John asserted that proudly, and beside him, he heard Sherlock chuckle.

Of course, what John said was by no means a show of bravado that he hadn’t been tricked. Laura had been moved by his kindness throughout the day; in an instant, she sensed the emotions imbued in his words. But even so, she knitted her brows, looking troubled.

“Still, I really should return this to you.”

She then offered him the pouch again, but John gently pushed it away.

“Laura, in all honesty, the walnuts your grandmother sold me were delicious. For products that good, it’s only right that I pay a fair price for them.”

His smile was full of warmth as he continued.

“If I happen to see your stall again, I’ll be sure to buy from you.”

“Dr Watson……”

This time, Laura did not press the matter.

She held the pouch as if it were a treasure, and her face brimmed with smiles.

“——Alright. When we see each other again, I’ll be sure to prepare lots of walnuts for you.”

“Yeah, I’m looking forward to that.”

Then, John bade goodbye to Laura and her grandmother; and with his “loot” in hand, he left the scene with Sherlock.

#moriarty the patriot #yuukoku no moriarty #yuumori #english translation #a study in scarlet

[thenovelartist]

Burned Beginnings, Chapter 5

<<Previous  Next>>  

13. Family

“Yes, Maman, Adrien and I arrived safely. Now please go to bed.”

“I just wanted to check up on you,” her maman said from the other side of the phone. “It’s your first time out of the country, so you’ll have to excuse me if I worry about you.”

“We’ll be fine,” Marinette assured, glancing over at Adrien as he snatched one of their luggage bags off the carousel. “And tell that to Papa, too. I know he’s more worried than you are.”

“Why do you think I’m the one making the call and not him.”

Marinette laughed. “I’ll keep you updated.”

“All right. Thank you, sweetie. Enjoy your trip.”

“Thank you, Maman. Love you. Tell Papa I love him.”

“Will do. Love you, too.”

With that, Marinette ended the call.

“Got our bags,” Adrien said, pulling the two suitcases behind him. “How’d the call go?”

“Fine,” Marinette said, putting her phone in her purse. “My parents are just worried about me, so it was me doing what I could to settle them.”

“You have a close family, so I understand that.”

Marinette took her suitcase from him. “So where to, now?”

“Taxi to the hotel, drop of our suitcases, find a place for dinner, maybe walk around the city a bit if we’re up for it, and then crash out for the night.”

“Doesn’t sound like too bad a plan.”

“Then let’s go, milady.”

Once they’d secured a taxi, Marinette looked out the window to take in the sights.

“Have you been here before, Adrien?” she eventually asked.

“Couple times for modeling jobs and once for fashion week,” he confirmed.

“Do you like New York City?”

Adrien shrugged. “It’s novel. It’s kinda like Paris, being a bustling city, but it’s just so modern and feels like people just don’t appreciate the history behind their city, you know? And the natives here are like a whole different breed of human. But they feel the same about us, so feeling’s mutual.”

Marinette nodded, turning back to the window to marvel at the sights.

When they got to the hotel, Adrien checked them in. Marinette only knew basic, school-grade level English, but Adrien seemed comfortable with the language. He did promise to be her translator for everything.

“Here’s your room key,” he said, handing her a room key once he’d finished at the front desk. “I got two rooms right next to each other.”

“I still can’t believe you paid for all this,” she said, taking the keycard. “This is so much, Adrien.”

Adrien shrugged. “I wanted to,” he brushed off. “And it’s not like I’m going to go broke from this trip or anything. It’s fine.”

Marinette still wasn’t fully comfortable with all of it, and she still knew that one day, she’d have to pay him back somehow. But for now, she’d smile and thank him for the millionth time.

Once they dumped their suitcases, they started to wander around town until they happened across a food shop that smelled amazing. They wondered inside the bustling shop and found the line was conveniently long enough for Adrien to read off most of the menu for her. Once Marinette told him what she wanted, he was kind enough to order for her. But before Adrien could pay, Marinette quickly held out her own card.

“I can get it, really,” she said with a grin.

“You don’t have to.”

“Please,” she said with a pout.

The cashier laughed and made some comment about her that got Adrien to smile and put away his card.

“He said that you sure know how to guilt trip a guy,” Adrien translated as they walked back to their hotel, bag of take-out food in hand. “And I couldn’t help but agree.”

Marinette grinned at that. “I’ve had good practice manipulating you. It’s almost like you just let me do it at this point.”

Adrien snorted a laugh. “Yeah, you’d think I’d have learned by now that you’re a little minx.”

“But you love me,” she said, batting her eyelashes at him.

She meant it as an offhand comment. One that could easily be brushed off, but that wasn’t its intent. She was probing, like the ‘little minx’ she was.

And she liked the hesitant response she got, his pause followed by a soft smile and gentle shake of the head. “Yeah, I do.”

 14. New York

He forgot just how much he hated New York Fashion Week.

I’m doing this for Marinette.

That was what kept him going. That, and her smiles. She was happy and enjoying herself, which made this whole trip worthwhile.

The last thing that made this easier to bear was the fact he was strictly a spectator. While he’d debated using what contacts he had to see if they could have special access, he ultimately decided not to. When his father kicked him out, it wasn’t something that was just kept quiet. Back when he still was in contact with Chloe, she told him he was the buzz of the fashion world. Even recently back in Paris, he had been spotted by cameras and had come across an article written about him. Whatever contacts Adrien had would likely be unwilling to work with him, and he wasn’t willing to take those chances to find out for certain. Not even for Marinette. If she decided no after this, Adrien would still feel confident that he did everything her could to help her make her decision.

“You look tired. No, more like completely drained.”

Adrien looked down at the lovely lady standing beside him and forced a smile. “I’m fine. Are you enjoying yourself?”

Marinette paused. “I am,” she answered.

“That’s all that matters, then.”

“Adrien?!”

Both he and Marinette turned their attention towards the voice.

And Adrien’s heart dropped. “Chloe.”

The woman rushed over to him, heels clacking on the pavement. The fiery look in her eye was one he was all too familiar with: she was on a mission. “Adrien, I have so many questions for you, but let’s start with what the hell you’re doing here with her.”

Adrien gave Chloe a flat look. “I thought I told you I no longer want to be in contact.”

“Yeah! What’s that about?” Chloe screeched. “You text me out of the blue and tell me we’re done?”

Adrien nodded. “Yup. Because if all our interactions after my dad kicked me out weren’t enough to convince me, Marinette here told me everything. I was already fed up with your lies and how cruelly you treated people, but telling people we slept together when we never did takes the cake.”

Chloe froze, her eyes wide with horror, and Adrien knew why. Was he being an ass on purpose? Absolutely. He knew full well what he was doing talking in his best English loudly enough for anyone and everyone around to hear.

In the blink of an eye, camera flashes started up, and Adrien knew that meant paparazzi were here, ready to cash in on this drama. He pulled Marinette close, knowing it was likely too late but still trying to hide her face against his shoulder.

“Adrien,” Chloe began, voice dripping with fake honey. “What are you talking about?”

“Our friendship is over, Chloe. Don’t try to lie your way out by saying I just used you for sexual favors, either. Because that never happened. We never happened. Just leave me alone, and don’t bother contacting me ever again.” He hoped he didn’t butcher the English in that, but even if he did, he didn’t particularly care. His point got across, Chloe was redder than a tomato, and security was doing their best to shoo the paparazzi away.

Now, it was time for him to leave, if for no other reason than getting Marinette out of here. “Head down, cover your face,” he whispered to her.

She already had her hand over her face, but she still nodded in understanding.

“You think this is over, Adrien? Just like that?” Chloe yelled in French.

“Completely,” Adrien asserted.

How Chloe’s face turned redder, he didn’t know, but it did. “And you never answered my question of what you were doing with her!”

Adrien was going to leave it, but Marinette turned around and snapped. “I’m treating him with more respect than you ever did, entitled bitch!”

His heart went thud in his chest, and he quickly slapped his hand over the grin that couldn’t be suppressed. As he ushered Marinette away as quickly as he could, he snuck a glance behind him at an absolutely enraged Chloe, her security coming to her aid and trying to get her in the car. He hated to say it, but served her right.

 15. Dreams

“I’m not doing this.”

“Hmm?”

Marinette looked over at Adrien. Currently, they were resting in Adrien’s room while eating pizza from a little place close to the hotel. “I’m not going into this industry. At least, not this section of it.”

Adrien’s expression fell. “Was it because of Chloe?”

Half of Marinette’s lips pulled up in a twisted, bitter way. “Yes and no,” she said. “Chloe wasn’t the only reason I came to this decision, but she’s a good reminder that people like that will always be a part of it. People who would gladly manipulate you to advance themselves exist here, and you will always have to be careful about who you can and can’t trust in this industry. Who can you trust to give your designs to, who do you have to hide from, when do you let go of your designs even though they won’t be under your name, and when do you cling to them in the hopes that one day you’ll be able to use it? I just…”

She shrugged, giving Adrien a pitiful smile. “I don’t have the energy to gamble on this trust game,” she finally managed. “And I don’t trust easily in the first place. Which, in a profession that requires you to be social and stretch yourself out into, that would take so much out of me. And in the end, I just don’t want to. Maybe things would have been different had I not been walked over by Chloe. Had things not gone in such a way where teachers and students automatically began to assume the worst out of me just because of my reputation that I didn’t even get to shape myself. I don’t want to go in an industry that demands those parts of me that I’ve learned not to give out. I can’t.”

The pain on Adrien’s face physically hurt her. He’d given so much to encourage her, and here she was, practically throwing it back in his face.

Yet, despite that, he smiled sympathetically. “If that’s your decision and your reason, I won’t challenge you on it anymore.”

At the sight of his forced smile, her heart hurt, and the guilt soon became so much to bear. She wouldn’t cry, though, not even as she felt the pinprick of tears in her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

His brow furrowed. “What for?”

“I feel bad for making this decision, because you brought me here to New York Fashion week. You spent time and money planning this trip just to encourage me, and here I am throwing it back in your face. I’m really appreciative of what you’ve done for me. Really, I mean it. So, I’m so sorry that I can’t… I can’t move forward and prove your efforts weren’t in vain.”

She hadn’t been expecting the shock on his face at her words, like they’d caught him off guard. But soon, that faded away into a soft, sympathetic smile. A real one that she liked so much, that could ease her worries and calm her down.

He stood from the bed and started walking over to her, his arms open. At this point, she gladly took the invitation, standing from the chair she’d been curled up in and meeting him half-way. When he wrapped her up tightly, she clung back, relishing in the warm comfort that being cocooned in his arms, protected from the world, provided.

“I’m not disappointed,” he spoke softly. “Not at all. It’s clear you thought long and hard about your decision, and so, if you decided you didn’t want to go into this field, then that’s perfectly fine. I just didn’t want you to give up on your dreams just because you saw only the negative. And I know I was part of that, telling you my own horror stories. That’s why we came, as one last encouragement to feed your dreams before you decided on your future.”

By now, Marinette could feel the tears well up in her eyes. She sniffed, hoping to bite them back.

At that sound, Adrien squeezed her tighter with one arm and rubbed her back with the other. “Oh, Marinette,” he whispered soothingly.

That was all it took to break her. The tears spilled over down her cheeks, and there was no stopping them. She buried her face against his chest, clenching his shirt tighter as she hiccupped out choked sobs. “Thank you,” she managed to squeak out in the midst of her tears. “Thank you so much.”

“You’re so welcome, Marinette,” he whispered.

Still, he never let go, continuing to hold her as he gently swayed back and forth. And Marinette gladly stayed in that warm embrace, unwilling to leave the comfort he so willingly provided, even after her tears had stopped falling.

#miraculous ladybug #fanfiction #AdrinetteApril2021 #adrienette #fluff #a little angst #but this is as low as we go #only up from here

[pendragonfics]

Thief Stole Your Heart

Paring: Bilbo Baggins/Reader

Tags:  gender neutral reader, no pronouns for reader, alternate universe - bookstore, alternate universe - modern: no powers, actual thief Bilbo Baggins, bookstore clerk Reader, knitting, marriage proposal, awkward flirting

Summary: Bilbo met Reader at a bar, and years later, they're still going strong. What happens when he enters their bookstore and starts acting strange?

Word Count: 1,616

Current Date: 2020-12-22

The first time that you met Bilbo, it was at a pub that both of you didn’t want to be in. With your cider in hand and his beer, you bumped into one another during a kerfuffle at the bar. Something to do with a drinking game between two young men, a tall blonde and a tattooed construction worker gone too far. Whatever it was, you were left wearing his brew, and he yours. Which led to introductions, apologies, and frankly was a tolerable exit from being the third wheel. When you explained you worked in a book store, he had introduced himself as an adventurer.

He didn’t appear to be the sort of man who was an adventurer. He had a trim haircut, clean face, and earnest smile. Wore an unembellished sweater, had a novel tucked under his arm and drank the same beer the whole night. Adventurer. It wasn’t until you realised he had come in the company of a notorious motorbike crew when it sunk in.

This man you had met, the kind-faced, soft, polite man was their…er…handyman. A man who was handy with his hands. In all honesty, didn’t bother you. You were quite the unadventurous type; you drank the same thing every time you visited the cafe, read the same magazines and lived a boring, safe life that kept you in a box. And Bilbo didn’t — and it was for that fact which made you intrigued.

Intrigued enough for the pair of you to remain in each others company for years. Three years and eight months of many a run-in and unplanned shenanigans, somehow, you and Bilbo were still together. You had seen each other in some strange places, too. He had cancelled plans to nurse you back to health (that time after food poisoning, or that time you had the flu or that time with that stomach bug), and you had been his plus one to his unpleasant and estranged extended family gatherings. But mostly, in all that time, you had worked your way from sales clerk to finally, the owner of Shire Softcovers & Hardback Bookstore.

Which led to where you were present. Sitting behind the register on a quilted soft stool, you perch with a ball of yarn between your feet, on the floor. It’s hidden to customers who enter the store, but to those who can hear the telltale cli-click, cli-click’s, you’re knitting. Usually, there were chores, but they were done. Usually, there were customers, but on account of the blustery mid-autumn Sunday afternoon, there were none. Usually, you would be on your phone, but it was flat — and you had forgotten the cord.

It was supposed to be a scarf, but no matter what you did, it wasn’t seeming to grow longer at all. If anything, you swore that the yarn was cursed. An artefact from a horrid hag from a long-gone era who hated knitting. But whatever it was, you kept at it; because it was better than staring out the window, and watching Doctor Peredhel chasing unruly teenagers from his clinic (although you knew you should agree with the older healthcare professional’s actions, it was amusing to watch aspiring graffiti artists misspell gonorrhoea).

It wasn’t until you realised the scarf was growing wider, not long when the little bell at the door tinkled. Glancing from your accursed craft, you met eyes with the newcomer to the store. But instead of it being a customer, it was none other than your boyfriend, and partner in crime.

“Bilbo, thank goodness you’re here,” you gasp, abandoning your knitting to rush to him. Dramatically, you kiss his cheek and pose like a starlet from the silent film era. “I don’t know what I would have done with myself if you hadn’t arrived.”

“Slow day?” He chuckled. Untying his scarf, Bilbo pecked at your cheek.

“The slowest, ” You agree. Straightening the already perfect display of political autobiographies, you add, “I honestly can’t believe it, Bilbo. Nobody at all today. Not even Mister Radagast or Tauriel.”

He raises an eyebrow and sheds his coat onto the desk. He’s wearing a dark green sweater underneath, and the collar of his shirt beneath is rumpled and not on the top. The pockets of his trousers seem full, with an outline of a phone and keys, but there are other lumpy shapes you don’t recognise. At the moment between your remark and the next to follow, he scratches at his left palm idly, his fingernails short and clean. Either his eczema is back, or he’s true to his word and truly has quit smoking.

“I don’t know about the old hippy,” Bilbo says. He takes your hand in his, and swings it somewhat awkwardly — to someone else, yes, but to the pair of you, it’s comforting — at his side. “But I saw Tauriel in the ’shop today. I think Kili invited her.”

You pause. “Tauri and Thorin’s nephew?” You bite your lip, mind full of unpinned threads working their way to conclusions. “I didn’t see that one coming.”

“They seem quite oblivious to it all, however,” Bilbo continues. “Maybe they’ll realise their feelings. Maybe not. They are young.”

“Is this your way of saying that we are not?” You inspect him, part curious, part suspicious.

He wasn’t always so clumsy with his words; Bilbo was a man of forethought, in both his private and work life. It paid off marvellously when he worked for the heist against the antisocial Mr Smaug (a rather awful venture capitalist whose hoard hurt the town for decades) and many other of the jobs carried out by the Oakenshield Thirteen.

“What?” He blinks. “N-no.”

You step around him, trying to see the side he’s favouring, but Bilbo reacts quick enough, circling you as you circle him. His left brow is raised as he watches you watching him, and you narrow your eyes, trying to read his face for clues.

But there are none.

“All right,” you hum, unsatisfied with the turn of events, “Keep your secrets.”

“I will,” he replies.

“Good.” You nod. “I’ll be over here,” you start walking toward the counter, back to the knitting you’d left, but all the while, your eyes never leave Bilbo’s. “…if you need me.”

“I’m not hiding anything,” he responds too fast, and too high a pitch. “But…if I do need you…”

“I’ll be here,” you finish his sentence.

You continue the row of stitches, not bothering to unpick the problematic extra lines of knots you had put there before. As you resume knitting, the wool on the floor rolling about the stool, you can’t help but notice Bilbo as he strolls down the otherwise empty aisles of the bookstore. His hands are in his pockets, pushed deep so you can’t see an outline of anything else that’s in there. He walks from the adventure novels, past the self-help section, and further into nonfiction. You’re trying to pearl the stitches, focusing all of your efforts onto it. But all you can think of is that he’s in the photography section, which borders onto the wedding planning—

You leave your knitting once more, rushing to find Bilbo. You dart around the shelves, trying to find him. You try to stand as tall as you can to see over the shelves, but as low as they are, you can’t seem to see the familiar honey brown head of hair that belongs to Bilbo. You stop, and turn around, hoping he hasn’t snuck behind you in an attempt at a prank, but he’s nowhere to be seen.

“Lost?” He says, behind you.

You turn once more, and standing as if he had been there the whole time, Bilbo tosses a small box in his hands, catching it with ease. His eyes are on you, but the box still falls and rises in his hands perfectly. If you didn’t know his occupation, you would be impressed by the hand-eye-coordination that goes into the party trick. But still, you are impressed, and slightly out of breath from the surprise of it, and you feel somewhat confused as to his behaviour.

“I can’t believe I messed up that segue,” Bilbo says under his breath, catching the box. He doesn’t throw it again; instead, he fiddles with it, single-handedly. “It was supposed to be —” He runs his empty hand through his hair, and slowly, sinks to his feet as if he’s to tie a shoelace.

“What are you doing?” Your voice is shaky.

He frowns, from his knees. “I suppose I’m just down here. You know. With a little box that I bought, and I thought of you and all that I love about you.”

“Bilbo…” you whisper. “I—”

He blinks, a furious blush coming across his face. He sighs and starts to stand up. But before he’s at his full height, you sink to your knees and take him in your arms. It was supposed to be something soft, something romantic; because it had taken you too long to realise what he had been alluding to, and disheartened, he was backing out of it. But instead of the gesture you wished to show, it came out somewhat…like a football tackle, or like a security guard to a thief.

“What was that for?” Bilbo asks, confused, from the floor.

You fumble for the box beside him, and awkwardly, atop him on the itchy carpet of the bookstore, you hover above him, wishing to not crush him. He laughs, softly, and you lay your forehead against his chest, the laughter consuming you too.

“I love you too,” you say, through the laughter. “And I’ll have you and your little box if that’s okay with you.”

#bilbo baggins #Bilbo Baggins x reader #Bilbo Baggins/reader #Bilbo/reader #Bilbo x reader #Bilbo lotr x reader #Bilbo lotr/reader #lord of the rings #lord of the rings x reader #the hobbit x reader #pendragonfics #chaotic--lovely #gender neutral reader

[2manyfandoms2count]

Friends who cook together...

I saw today's prompt for @auyeahaugust (College AU) and thought it would be the perfect opportunity to share the beginning of this fic I've been working on!

It's actually based on @e-milieeee's post, I couldn't resist the cooking trope 😬

Hope you enjoy!

Read on AO3 (gasp)

---

Lesson 1: Ratatouille

Adrien Agreste was the perfect man. Good-looking, hard-working, charming, he was the prime example of the son-in-law every parent wanted, and the people his age who didn't want to be him wanted to date him.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng wouldn't deny she might be classified in the latter category, although less so than when she was younger. She was good friends with the model now. Voluntarily so. You didn’t fight and defeat Paris’ number one villains for years, growing from a teenager into a young adult together, without getting close. Their respective crushes on each other had faded over time, but it didn’t mean they would’ve said no if all the circumstances aligned, although they wouldn’t have admitted it out loud.

The one thing Adrien Agreste wasn’t, though, was a good cook. Not that he didn’t have everything he could possibly need in his kitchen. The apartment he now lived in, although a huge step down from the Mansion that had once been his home (but what wouldn’t be), was still a lot bigger, and a lot more comfortable than what a normal student should have been able to afford.

It was a lot better equipped, too.

Marinette had told him the contractors were abusing his trust by installing things that were way more expensive than they ought to be, knowing he wouldn’t double check, but he’d waved her concerns away. With his father’s demise, he’d just wanted to move out as quickly as possible to avoid the crowds of paparazzi, and if signing a very large cheque could provide him with the knowledge the workers wouldn’t blab, then so be it. He couldn’t bring himself to sell the Mansion despite the knowledge it had been Hawkmoth’s lair the whole time -there were too many memories associated with his mother there- but he’d had some offers to rent it out for movie settings which would definitely cover the costs of keeping it, as well as his rent. He’d looked into his finances and put all the money he’d earned as a model in a bank account, and donated the rest to a fund to help Akuma victims. There was no way he was keeping his father’s dirty money when so many people had suffered at his hands.

Since then, Adrien had fallen into a nice little routine as he moved from Lycée to University. He made the most of his freedom by exploring every nook and cranny of Paris without anyone being able to say anything about it. No curfews, no limitations, but for his own tiredness and others’ private property, of course.

It left little time for him to learn basic cooking skills. He was often too tired to make anything when he came back from his nocturnal meanderings, so he went for the easy solution: food delivery. There were so many restaurants nearby he could’ve eaten something different every night for a month and still not have gone through all of the options. It was more diverse than anything he’d ever eaten, and it suited him just fine.

Little did he know that this habit would be disrupted by his best friend moving in next door.

Marinette had been looking for a new flat. Not that she didn’t enjoy living with her parents, but she found herself wanting a little more privacy now that she was at University. The reveal that she was Ladybug had brought a lot of attention to the Tom and Sabine bakery, which was good, but a lot of it was journalists prowling around in the hopes of getting an exclusive interview with her. She was tired of being pretty much mauled anytime she left the house, and although she could easily leave via the rooftops as Ladybug, she refused to let them dictate how and when she could get in and out. Which is why, when she’d seen the words “à louer” on a window of Adrien’s building as she visited him for their weekly game night, she didn’t think twice about calling the number. Adrien had been a step ahead of her, so the owners were expecting her call. A week later, she had officially moved into the flat across from his.

She hadn’t paid much attention to his habits at first. She was too busy settling in, and with all the planned evenings with Nino and Alya, plus the ones with the Miracuclass students who remained in Paris, she didn’t see how late he came back at night, and ordering in didn’t seem out of place. What better than a pizza for poker night? Or sushi for movie night? It was easy .

As winter settled in, though, and nights out dwindled to once every fortnight, she noticed the ballet of scooters and bikes that came almost at a fixed time every night. Generally when she was about to fall asleep, doing a grand job at waking her up. Groggily stalking up to the window one evening, she’d noticed Adrien meet the delivery person as he came back from wherever he’d been, paying his due and coming up. She’d dismissed it due to midterm season approaching, but exams had come and gone and things hadn’t changed. She kept an eye out, and after two additional weeks of seeing Adrien collect a brown paper bag, knowing fully well that he ate a sandwich every midday thanks to her father’s well-meaning gossip, she’d decided to take action. She couldn’t let her partner have such a questionable diet.

“What's it going to be tonight?” She asked, leaning arms crossed against her door frame one night as he appeared on the landing.

Adrien froze at the top of the stairs and looked at her like a deer caught in headlights.

“Er…“ He raked his mind for something, anything that would sound even remotely healthy, but nothing came. He sighed defeatedly. “None pizza with left beef.” He mumbled, his head lowered guiltily. He’d seen the meme the night before, and had wanted to try it out.

“What?”

He repeated a little louder.

“Okay that’s it, you’re coming over to my place for dinner.”

He knew from her tone of voice there’d be no arguing with her, so he sheepishly followed her inside her flat, still clutching his pizza box. He wasn’t too unhappy about the outcome, if he was honest. Marinette was a good cook. He’d have a nice meal tonight.

“What about the pizza?” He asked weakly.

“We can use it as… bread, or something.” The girl suggested, crinkling her nose at the thought. For someone who came from a long line of bakers and was part Italian, calling the contents of the box pizza or even bread seemed inherently wrong.

Adrien trailed a little behind her as she walked towards her kitchen, marveling at what she’d done with the place.

Marinette’s apartment mirrored his in terms of structure, but whereas his decoration was very minimalistic, hers was a lot more eclectic, without looking cluttered. Her furniture wasn’t a set, yet fit together very well and gave the space a cozy feel. The painted walls, as well as the coloured posters, curtains, rugs and cushions made it feel very homey. He wanted nothing more than sit on her sofa and snuggle under the knitted blanket with her to watch a movie.

Platonically, of course.

Adrien walked into the kitchen and was greeted by the pastel yellow of the walls and warm lighting. Her utensils provided nice splashes of colour that brightened up the room. He particularly appreciated the Ladybug-themed colander that was drying next to the sink.

“If you look in that bottom draw,” she indicated with her foot before reaching for a jar of dried rice in a cupboard, “you should find some saucepans, if you could take two out please, Chaton.”

He obliged, resisting the temptation to lift her up to help her. He knew she wouldn't appreciate it.

“Can I put you in charge of cooking the rice?” She asked, handing him the packet. Adrien accepted it but looked at her quizzically.

“Sure!” He replied excitedly. “Do you have the instructions anywhere?”

Marinette stopped in the middle of washing vegetables she’d taken out of the fridge and squinted her eyes as she gauged whether or not he was joking. He seemed genuinely at loss for what to do.

“Have you never prepared rice before?”

“No?”

“It’s like pasta.” His clueless face made her sigh defeatedly. “You’ve never made pasta either, haven’t you.”

“Does instant ramen count? Or pasta boxes?” He flinched slightly.

“How you’re still alive and actually fit is beyond me.” She rolled her eyes. “Right, I guess we really are starting with the basics then. Consider this lesson number one: pour some water in that saucepan.”

She moved away from the sink to allow him to access it, but stayed close enough to be able to turn the tap off for him. He clearly had no idea of how much water was needed.

“Right, now put the saucepan on the hob, and turn it on.” She saw a smirk spread on his face. “And don’t even think about making a joke, I know what it sounded like!”

“You’re no fun, Buguinette.” He pouted, pressing the button she indicated.

“Add a little salt, and then we’ll just let it come to a boil.”

Next, she handed him a chopping board and tomatoes. She hesitated before giving him a knife. “Can I trust you not to cut yourself?”

“Har har.” He grabbed the knife. “Joke’s on you, because salad is actually the only thing I know how to make. How do you want these?”

She resisted making a comment on how knowing how to make salad wasn't something he really could brag about. “Sliced. We’re making ratatouille.”

“Ooh, nice!”

He listened as she talked him through the recipe, impressed by the fact she didn’t need a cookbook to remember how to prepare it. She taught him how to prepare an aubergine, which he could recognise thanks to the emoji, but could not imagine how to bring to an edible form.

“We just want to sear them in some oil with the courgettes, then we’ll let them cook gently with the rest of the vegetables and the herbs.”

He’d been quite dainty on the amount of herbes de Provence he’d added, which had prompted her taking his hand and shaking the spice pot to cover the tomatoes with it.

He looked at her concentrated expression as she stirred the pan and couldn’t help but smile, his hand still hovering above the hob.

Marinette looked at him inquisitively. “What?”

“Nothing.” She raised her eyebrows. “I just forgot how cute you are when you’re bossy.”

Marinette stammered in response, her cheeks pinking. It didn't matter how at ease she felt with Adrien now, she still couldn't take a compliment from him. He grinned and took advantage of her distraction to steal the wooden spoon from her and taste the dish.

“Authorisation to add a little salt?” He asked, refilling the spoon with ratatouille for her.

She took it, trying not to focus on the fact his lips had been just where hers were. She let the flavours flood her palet thoughtfully.

"Authorisation granted."

She smiled fondly as Adrien excitedly added missing spices to the mix.

"See? I am a competent cook!" He added with a satisfied smile.

"Please, you're barely a sous-chef." Marinette snorted. She backtracked her slightly harsh words seeing her partner's pout. "Don't worry though, you'll get the hang of it! It's just a question of practising." She rubbed his back encouragingly. "Would making the plates pretty make you feel better?"

"I think so." He mock sniffled.

Marinette made a point of taking out her Chat Noir plates, which she'd been planning on keeping for special occasions. The way Adrien's face lit up upon seeing them made the fact they were her only dishes that couldn't be dishwashed seem irrelevant. Adrien made a mental note to try and find matching Ladybug ones, although he wasn't sure if he would be gifting them to her or keeping them for himself.

Marinette busied herself with tidying up the kitchen and laying the cutlery as he worked on the presentation. Had her phone been nearby, she would've taken a picture of him as he blepped in concentration.

"Does this look good enough for Madame la Chef ?" He asked as he presented the plates to her. He'd positioned the vegetables around the rice so as to make it look like a flower.

"It's perfect, Chaton." She kissed the top of his head as she passed behind him with a packet of smoked ham. She rolled the slices into little roses and planted them in the rice.

"A table?" She asked as she finally sat down opposite him.

Adrien dug in before she could say bon appétit .

---

When Adrien came home from his morning run a couple of days later, a fresh croissant in hand, he found a conscientiously wrapped package on his doormat. The black polka dots on the field of red were a dead giveaway as to who it was from. He grinned as he picked it up and opened the door.

Breakfast and washed hands later, he sat on his couch, facing the present. He was torn between tearing the wrapping, or being civilised about it. Before he could choose, Plagg flew nearby and obeyed his cat instincts, swiftly disappearing back into his Camembert cabinet with a grin to avoid his holder's reprimands.

"Je sais cuisiner." He read the title and laughed, holding the book in front of him. It was an old edition, a yellow hardback with a picture of the author on the cover.

A post-it note stuck out from the top of the book. He opened it to get to the bookmarked recipe.

For Adrien - saw this and thought of you! Since you're so keen on instructions, this might do the trick! Feel free to use it often ;-)

Love, Marinette

P.S.: I suggest we try this recipe next!

Adrien read through the page, and felt his stomach grumble. He was very pleased at the thought that something had reminded her of him and that she'd bought it for him. The "love" and the fact she was obviously looking forward to repeating their cooking experience were added bonuses.

He himself could hardly wait.

#auyeah2020 #mlauyeahaugust #college au #miraculous ladybug #the miraculous tales of ladybug and cat noir #mlb #adrienette #cooking trope #neighbours au #miraculous fanfic #miraculous fanfiction #elle writes

[luvknow]

in another lifetime | kim woojin

genre: ceo/iron man!kim woojin x secretary!reader | ceo au ; superhero au ; alcohol mention ; blood mention summary: you and your boss were inseparable. no one could understand how you could work ungodly hours for such an inexperienced ceo. but your job was to stick by mr. kim for as long as you were getting paid, and that meant being his date to charity balls and helping him turn into the country’s best superhero. wc: 18.9k

Secretary was your title, but you liked to think you were more than just that. Perhaps secretary was just an umbrella term for amateur sommelier slash novice multitasker slash the only employee who knew how to drive stick. Whatever your job entailed, you were sure to list all of those tasks in your updated resume when it was time to pass the torch onto some other poor sucker because you would much rather die than be a secretary for life.

It wasn’t like your boss was a total ass, or anything. That was actually the scary part - the fact that your boss was one of the kindest and most attentive people you’ve ever worked for, yet you still hated this job! What made this so horrid was the amount of walking and running your poor feet had to do. And guess what? No sneakers were allowed in the office, so you were left with walking over forty-thousand steps in a day in toe-pinching sole-aching glossy shoes that were half a size too big for your feet because shoes like these always ran out in your size in the store.

“Good morning, Mr. Kim,” you greeted, walking into his private office at 8:00 am on the dot as normal. With tired eyes, he looked up from his stack of blueprints and gave you a warm smile. You don’t know how he does it, but he always managed to welcome your morning visits with a smile that almost made you consider your resignation. “Iced americano, extra shot.”

“You are a blessing,” he praised graciously. One sip of the liquid gold was enough to wake him up right away.

“Long night?”

“Yeah. You know how it took us hours to decide the wall colors for each floor in our building? Imagine doing that all over again, but for a superhero suit prototype.”

“But it’s just a suit this time, not fifty floors.”

“This isn’t just a suit, _____. It’s the suit of a man who’s going to save the world one day! A suit that everyone will lay their eyes on and judge me for my color choices.”

“You sound like a child.”

“An ambitious child, mind you.”

“Did you ultimately decide on a color?”

“Yes, two colors actually. Red and gold.”

“Wow, such a loud and loyal color choice.”

“Is it?” Your handsome boss pouted slightly while scanning his designs. “Seungmin said the same thing. Maybe I should change it -”

“No!” you interrupted for the sake of not wanting to look up Pantone’s thousands of shades of ruby and champagne. “Red and gold are perfect for you.”

Woojin’s pouty lips melted into a proud smile. “If you believe so, then I trust you. Come take a look - what do you think of it overall?”

You walked around his ginormous custom-made walnut desk to peer over his shoulder. Woojin could smell the familiar gardenia scent you wore for years and it immediately brought comfort to his panicking soul. Somehow your presence always calmed him down, no matter what stressful situation he was in. Maybe that’s why he wanted to have you around 24/7. How selfish of him.

Your couple minutes of silence were so agonizing that his nervous foot-tapping habit he told you about that he thought he got rid of in college broke through, which was your cue to answer.

“I like it. I like it a lot, actually,” you admitted honestly. “I would definitely feel safe if I saw you come to my rescue, although the helmet is a little concerning.”

“Concerning how?”

“Well, it has such a… A, uh… How do I put this politely? A dead expression?”

“‘Dead’ is a polite adjective to you?”

“I mean come on, Mr. Kim, there are two eyes and a flat line for the mouth where the corners curve downwards just slightly and it looks like you gave him little fangs. There’s not much life in the eyes, either.” 

“They light up when the suit is on!”

“Maybe I’ll like it more when I see it in person?”

“The helmet is the only thing I’m confident about, so nothing and no one can change my mind,” he said stubbornly.

“I’m sure everyone will love it,” you reassured while smoothing out the stress wrinkles on his indigo shoulder pads. “When do you plan on starting the build?”

“In half an hour.”

“What!?” Woojin nearly spit out his espresso at your yelping and the frantic way you sifted through your massive planner and scrolling through your emails on your phone at the same time. Oh, so that’s what he forgot to tell you! He knew something felt off. “B-B-But I didn’t get an email that the shipment arrived!”

“I called the company at five in the morning just as they opened and demanded an expedited shipping of all the materials and they’ll be arriving in half an hour.”

“But did the quality department approve of the materials? Or your design at least?”

“You do know I’m the CEO, right?” Woojin smirked teasingly. “That’s business talk for ‘fuck Quality’.”

Woojin stood up from his black velvet Chesterfield chair to escape your nagging and briskly walked away towards God-knows-where. Like an obedient, push-over puppy, you trailed closely behind with a light jog and all you could think about was how it was too early for your feet to be aching this badly.

“I don’t like the idea of this,” you said firmly.

“You never do. Loosen up a little, will ya?”

“I will not! I looked the other way when you decided on signing a contract to collaborate with that ugly luxury car brand, I agreed with the proposal of a new smartphone that totally flopped in the end, and I barely allowed the approval for the development of the new branch in Taiwan! All of those ideas are whatever, arbitrary even, but this? This puts you at the front line of danger, Mr. Kim! What if something goes wrong, or the material is compromised? What if these companies take you for a fool for not checking in with the quality department first? What if you’re setting yourself up to be sabotaged, huh?”

Woojin pressed the down button on the elevator, ignoring your pleas. Even though all you do is nag and play by the rules, he knew you were only doing so because he didn’t bother to. In the end, you were just looking out for him, and he couldn’t appreciate you more.

His gives you what he thought was a reassuring smile. To you, it looked rather mischievous “Lucky for me that you’ll be there the whole time, right?”’

“What do you mean…?”

“I mean you’ll watch the entire suit being built while you work. Then you’ll see how safe it is. I need someone to double check me, anyways.”

“Mr. Kim, I don’t think I’m qualified for that.”

“Don’t be silly, of course you are!”

Your engineering experience went as far as Physics I and II classes with a teaspoon’s worth in basic circuitry, so if Woojin thought that qualified you to double check his work, then you might have to question his PhD degree.

The elevator welcomed you both into its vacant container. The lowest level this elevator could reach with a single button was the basement, but if the right person (or the wrong person) were to dial the buttons in the order of 4-4-1-9, they would be taken nine floors below the basement to the rumored ‘Super Office’ (ten was too much because Woojin didn’t like the feel of the heavy pressure and eight was such a silly number).

The steel doors opened right into his Super Office which he designed to be five times larger than his executive office so he had plenty of room for building up new car designs and bringing his super suits to life for both him and his partners. His successful designs that were once worn but are now retired were placed on mannequins and stored inside a tall glass box on display for him to admire.

You walked up to your favorite one, eyes sparkled adoringly at Seungmin’s first Spider-Man suit.

“You always loved the red and blue,” Woojin noted behind you. “Still not a fan of the black one?”

“The black one is scary! No one wants a hero dressed in all black, like that color does not exude the feeling of safe.”

“Duly noted for his next suit.”

Beside Seungmin’s old spidey suit was an empty display case you assumed was meant for this final draft of Woojin’s Iron Man suit. Surrounding the two glass cases were dozens and dozens of wood and plastic demos that didn’t work out in the end, but Woojin didn’t have the heart to take them to the dumpster.

“Looks like the shipment arrived early!” Your mature but easy-going boss jogged up to the piles of wooden crates and packages that were laid out neatly in the center of his work space. Without much patience, he took off his indigo suit jacket, tossed it to the side like it wasn’t worth two thousand dollars (to which you caught before it hit the ground), and took the crowbar on top of the pile to open the cases with ease. Sheets of metals, different tools, and a cool welding and soldering set scattered along the concrete floor. Woojin gave you an excited grin that mimicked a child upon opening gifts on Christmas. “Let the building commence!”

There wasn’t room for any argument, so you took a seat at his desk where he normally would sketch the designs and worked off of his desktop with a heavy feeling of defeat. At least watching the process would be cool, right?

Maybe cool wasn’t the right word. Or watching.

For the next three months, from sunrise to sunset, you spent your day nine floors below the surface for almost twelve hours a day being his little helper. From holding pieces of metal in place while he flame torched them together to feeding him take out because his hands were covered in oil, you did it all and God, if Woojin didn’t give you a raise or at least some meal tickets to the executive cafeteria, you might just quit on the spot.

“Done.” With a heavy and exhausted sigh, Woojin clapped his hands together and marveled at his nearly-finished product. “We’re done!!”

“What about the red and gold paint?”

“I can’t work on this anymore or I’ll implode. I’ll just take this to my car guy and he’ll paint it exactly how I want it.”

“Not really a self-made suit then, is it?” you dared to challenge your boss.

He pointed an accusing finger at you. “Shut your mouth and give me my food.”

You handed a slouching Woojin his box of take-out and wooden chopsticks. While you had a perfectly comfortable ottoman he could have sat on right next to you, he remained on the cold concrete, probably too sore and worn out to even stand up, let alone walk to a cushioned seat. Woojin was a man with personality and many faces, but his face of satisfactory upon completing projects was when he was the most handsome. For a while, you two just sat in silence, taking in every detail of the flawless silver suit while slurping noodles. 

“So,” Woojin began nervously. “What do you think?”

“It’s beautiful, Mr. Kim,” you say immediately.

“You mean it?”

For someone so intelligent and talented, it was a wonder how a man like him could be insecure about any of his creations.

“Absolutely,” you reassured. “Flawless. Is it fully programmed and everything?”

“Yup. I installed the software and artificial intelligence last week.”

“Sounds like the only thing you need to do is take it out for a spin.”

Woojin hummed with approval. “... Can you do it for me?”

“What!? No!”

“I really don’t want to do it…”

“With all due respect, please suck it up.”

“Isn’t it reasons like this why I hired you?”

“I was hired to be your secretary, not your lab rat.”

“To be fair, the job description was pretty vague.”

“Yeah, I definitely did not expect to be helping you construct a modern Knight in Shining Armor cosplay.” After wiping your mouth clean of all MSG and soy sauce, you tossed your dirty napkin in the trash bin that was a considerable distance away.

Woojin followed suit, who was also able to get his napkin in the can. Then you tossed another napkin, and then him, and this went on until you were left to toss your boxes and chopsticks. The real challenge was tossing the plastic wraps of the fortune cookies.

“Whoever loses has to do whatever the other says,” Woojin proposed.

Without hesitation, you nodded in agreement. “Fine, but I will not test that thing out if I lose.”

“Deal. Secretaries first.”

You did your best to crumple up and squish out any air that was left in the wrapped before whipping it like you were throwing the first pitch. The wrapper hit the rim of the can and fell to the side. But that’s ok, because there was no way your boss could even come close to -

“WOO!” Woojin cheered, getting up from the floor while you were left slumped in the chair filled with defeat. Of course, whatever he wanted, he would get his way. “Man, I am super lucky today.”

“What the hell! Did you wrap it around a stone or something!?”

“Darling, I would never cheat ~”

“There’s no use in arguing. Just lay the consequences on me, boss.”

Woojin scooted the ottoman closer - almost a little too close. Then, like a handsome little goldendoodle with his swooshy caramel hair and sparkling eyes, he gazed up at you pleadingly before offering you your punishment.

Fear and flattery tickled your spine. “Spit it out.”

A grin followed. “You will accompany me to the ball next week.”

“The Children’s Charity Ball? The biggest charity ball of the century? The one where all the white-haired big shots attend with their dates who just barely turned eighteen?”

“The very same.”

“And you want me to be your date.”

“Yes.”

“Seems a bit lazy, doesn’t it?”

“Lazy how!?”

Not wanting him to see you blush, you began cleaning up the mess from the takeout. “Lazy as in why not find a real date? You know, someone you’ll have a good time with.”

“Hey, I always have a good time with you! And I’m doing you a favor if you think about it. If I wanted to bring anyone else, that would mean you’d have to flip through all of my contacts and have you choose the perfect date for me. So unless you want the extra overtime, I’ll expect to see you dressed to the nines?”

“Don’t you want to bring someone more suited for this role? Someone with much more finesse and elegance?” you said as you twirled dirty napkins in the air.

“If I’m being honest, I do not have the time nor do I want to put in the effort into bringing someone so bland.”

“Who says they’re bland? What if I pick out one of your supermodel friends or like a professor, or something?”

“All my supermodel friends like to toke up in bathrooms and what’s a professor going to do? Lecture me to death? _____, please, I am begging you - be my date? You know you and I are going to have a blast, I promise you. We always do when we’re together.”

A moment of silence passed while you shuddered in disgust. You couldn’t believe you were going to say this, but…  “So what should I wear?”

“Yes! That’s the spirit! Wear anything besides velvet because that’s my fabric of choice.”

“Can you at least do the picking for me? We should at least match in the slightest.”

Woojin let out an exaggerated sigh. “Oh, fine, I’ll do all the work.”

“You’re a pain in the ass, Mr. Kim.”

“It’s what I do best.”

After cleaning up the mess and a last quick polish on the Iron suit, the two of you took the elevator to the level below the basement where Woojin parked his favorite fancy shmancy foreign sports car you couldn’t pronounce. In its shiny and spotless all-white glory sat his coup in his executive parking spot where no other car or person was in sight.

“Quite showy for you, isn’t it?” you accused your normally toned-down boss.

“I had a hunch that today was going to be the day we finished, and low and behold, we did. Soojung the Spyder always brings me good luck,” he patted and praised his prized roadster.

The distance from the office to your apartment was a solid forty-five minutes away by public transportation, right on the edge of being not TOO far, but not close enough, but by car it was only twenty-five minutes. During your first couple of years with the company, you enjoyed the lonely rides and getting lost with your thoughts, but there were moments you got so lost that you missed your stop a couple too many times and sometimes the winter made waiting outside so unbearable. It wasn’t until you started to clock in tons of overtime that Woojin was nice enough to drive you home from then on.

--

“C’mon, _____, just get in the car,” Woojin begged for the twelfth time, holding the passenger door open with one hand and an umbrella with the other. He parked his car illegally right in front of the bus stop that so many other employees used. Why did it matter that you were using it while it was thunderstorming and past 10:00 PM? “The heat is escaping the longer we argue.”

“It’s fine! I don’t live too far away,” you lied. “Please go home, Mr. Kim, your puppy must be worried sick.”

“Hazelnut can wait, but I can’t. As your boss, I order you to get in my car!” Though the statement was serious with his booming voice, his pouty lips made it much less intimidating.

“With all due respect, I have clocked out for the day and I don’t have to listen to you until 7:00 am tomorrow.”

“I can’t believe you’re making me break the law.”

“What do you mean?”

The blinding lights of the bus flashed irregularly, a polite way of telling Woojin to get the fuck out of the way. But he didn’t move in the slightest. He patiently waited for you by the passenger door, not moving a muscle and looking like a car model dressed in his long, warm and tan pea coat.

“Mr. Kim, get out of the way!”

“Not until you’re in my car,” he shook his head stubbornly. “The bus is getting closer ~”

Your anxiousness hiked up exponentially when the driver held the horn long and loudly, not looking like they had much patience in them and indicating that they were very, very annoyed. For the sake of not inconveniencing the butt-load of passengers and the driver and securing your job, you hurried into his car, cursing up a storm that rivaled the one outside. A triumphant and smirking Woojin followed suit and sped away at a dangerous speed, perhaps breaking a second law that night. For those twenty-five minutes (or maybe it was fifteen with Woojin’s driving), the car was silent because your reckless boss focused on cutting every civilian off on the highway and you were too busy covering your eyes in fear.

--

“You were so dramatic back then,” Woojin snickered at the seemingly-harmless memory.

“Me!? You were the one who parked in front of a bus stop and begged me to get in!”

“You were the one who wouldn’t get in the damn car!”

“How does it look to on-lookers that a secretary is getting into her boss’s car!?”

“It’s not like anyone knows our relationship.”

“Oh please, someone like you driving a beautiful shiny car picking up sad ol’ me at the bus stop - of course on-lookers may not know me and my relationship to you, but they definitely know who you are at the very least.”

“I could not give more than zero fucks of what people think.”

“Yes, that much is clear.”

“_____, you can’t always worry about what everyone thinks ~”

You sighed loudly, as if you’d explained this to him a thousand times already. “Worrying is the basis to my entire title, Mr. Kim.”

“And will you drop the ‘Mr. Kim’ once and for all? We’re the same age!”

“Same age, but different titles and a massive pay gap. You and I are not equals.”

Woojin reached over to mess up your hair. “You’re so formal, it’s so cute!”

“Ah, stop it! You’re swerving!!”

Woojin had dropped you off and walked you up to your apartment more times than you can count, but you don’t think you’ll ever get over the embarrassment of your humble abode. Of course you’ve visited his mansion just as many times, since you participated in the designing of it, and him having to see such a sad home in comparison is, well, terrifying each and every time.

“Ok, bye,” you dismissed quickly.

A handsome laugh escaped your handsome boss’s lips. “Still hate having me so close to your home? You know, it’s quite rude you’ve never invited me in and yet you’ve been in mine hundreds of times!”

“My home doesn’t have marble statues or glass refrigerators and I can’t hire you to redesign the interior.”

“You know I don’t care about that stuff!”

“But I do!”

He pouted slightly once more. “What a shame. I thought we were friends.”

“We are, but friends don’t break sensitive boundaries.”

He passively waved you off. “Fine, fine. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Bright and early.”

“Excellent. I have one request.”

It was your turn to pout. What could he possibly want this time? “Already? At least let me sleep peacefully.”

“It’s nothing complicated, I promise! In fact, it’ll save you thirty minutes. Don’t bring me my coffee tomorrow.”

“Don’t? Are you on a caffeine cleanse again? You know how badly that went last time - you barely lasted two days and you fired someone, to which I had to convince you for forty minutes to hire them back.”

“No, not a cleanse. Just come in a bit earlier. Let’s get coffee together.”

“Do you have time for that?” Knowing how packed Woojin’s schedule was in the mornings, you wondered his sanity for making time just so the two of you could grab a cup.

“I’ll make time. Actually, you’ll make time. Can you pencil us in for some coffee?”

“U-Uh, yeah!” With nervous and shaky hands, you pulled out your work phone and squeezed in half an hour of coffee time. “Done.”

“Perfect. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Don’t be reckless driving home.”

“No promises.”

Before going into your apartment complex, you watched Woojin wave goodbye before blasting music with a deep bass and speeding off, leaving a smokey trail from burning rubber.

“I hate him,” you smiled to yourself.

--

“I hate him,” you said to yourself upon walking into Woojin’s office.

Like an artificially intelligent robot that didn’t know of its purpose, Woojin dressed in his Iron suit walked around his office doing regular office things, like dusting the blinds and tidying up loose papers on his desk. It was a little difficult to do smaller tasks with his stiff and massive iron hands, so you’re not entirely sure what your boss was doing.

“G’morning!” he greeted cheerfully. “Just taking this baby out on a test drive.”

You had just noticed the paint job was completed on the suit which meant that it was good to go. However, you didn’t think this was the ideal way to ‘test drive’ a superhero suit. 

“Good morning, Mr. Kim. Is this really the right way to test drive?”

“I got too excited when my car guy told me it was done. He did it so quickly and precisely, too. Look, he even engraved it with my signature! She’s a beauty, isn’t she?”

“Yes, very shiny. The gold and red are much prettier than I imagined.”

“Right!? Not too Gryffindor-y, is it?”

“Not at all,” you said sincerely. “Do you want to get coffee now? We should hurry, you have a conference call at 8:00.”

“Yeah, let’s go.”

Woojin followed you to the door with a trail of heavy iron steps. You turned around quickly and gave him an incredulous look, one he’s seen much too often. “I don’t want coffee anymore.”

“Why not!?”

“I’m not going out in public with you wearing that thing! You look ridiculous!”

“That’s so rude of you to say about my pride and joy! This also took me thirty minutes to put on!”

“Mr. Kim, we’re just getting coffee!”

“You are not fun at all.”

It took only five minutes to get your boss stumbling out of the suit because the button for the release was hidden under a metal panel on his wrist, but at least it was painless.

“I thought you didn’t want to reveal Iron Man until you tested it and got your seal of approval?” you asked the child-like man.

“That’s still the plan, but I’m just so excited! I think we should test it tonight.”

“Tonight? Already?”

“Yup, and I need you here with me in case I die, or something.”

“And to think I was gonna relax and take a bubble bath tonight.”

“It won’t take long, I promise.”

“I’ll believe it when I drop my bath bomb in my tub.”

In your whole time working here, you’ve spent more time together with Woojin at both the office and at his home than working alone. The ratio was about seventy-five percent at the office, fifteen percent at his home, and ten percent miscellaneous, like going to business lunches or simple walks to the coffee shop like today. The long work hours were brutal on your feet and your social life, but the money was way too good to pass. You swore you broke the world record for ‘quickest payment of student debt’ with your hard work.

To anyone else, your job sounded so unappealing that no amount of money could ever convince them to do what you’re doing. ‘So brave’, they tell you, but it’s not that you’re brave, it’s that you’re loyal and as much as you hate to say it, you had the best boss. Yes, he’s a little goofy and yes, maybe a bit naive because he’s so young, but he treated you like you’re his equal and not someone so beneath him who takes all of his notes and takes his laundry to be dry cleaned. Plus when he compensated for your time so handsomely, how could you hate your job? Every day was new and exciting when you were with Woojin.

The day went along as normal, from conference calls to lunch and finishing the day with an interview with the press. The very second everyone clocked out at 5:00 pm, you followed a speedy boss to wherever he led you.

“Are we going to test it out now?”

“No, silly, it’s still too bright out! We have to test it once the sun sets.”

You knew that sounded too good to be true. You held a light jog in order to keep up with him. “Where are we going then?”

He turned and gave you a suspicious grin. “Shopping!”

“For what!?”

“You and I need matching outfits for the charity ball, remember?”

“You know, I was just kidding when I said that… We don’t have to match…” The last thing you want is for someone to mistake you as your boss’s date instead of his secretary, but to be fair you don’t know many guests going that bring anyone that isn’t a date, so you kind of shot yourself in the foot when you didn’t make that shot into the trash bin.

“We are matching and I am not arguing with you.”

A defeated sigh escaped your lips before entering the backseat of Woojin’s car where his driver would take us anywhere he pleased. He told him a cross section that sounded familiar, but not enough for you to guess where you’re going, so from here on out until you were home taking a hot bath, the rest of today would be a surprise. 

The car stopped in front of a glossy black DIOR building. You expected nothing less from Woojin.

“You would pick Dior,” you scoffed, completely amazed at how someone so rich could have so much brand loyalty to one company.

“Hey, they are consistent and beautifully crafted, don’t judge me.”

“Mr. Kim and Lovely _____!” An older, graceful lady came running to greet both of you with a warm smile dressed in a hot red shade of lipstick. You recognized her voice to be the owner from all the times you called to ask about any pieces Woojin could reserve before they hit the runway and were snatched up by the ‘I Have Daddy’s Credit Card and Inheritance’ private-school boys. This was your first time seeing her in person and her calming voice matched her mature appearance perfectly. “This piece has been waiting for you ~”

“I can’t wait, Auntie,” he smiled back graciously like an obedient nephew rewarded with cookies.

She led the two of you to the very back where the private dressing and tailoring area was, where the mirrors went from the floor to the ceiling. The store owner walked in with Woojin’s fabric of choice, a velvet jacket with crisp black pants and a white button-up that had the slightest sheen of silver from metallic strands woven into the shirt fabric. In the shadows, one would think the velvet was black, but in the light or at certain angles, there was the slightest sheen to it that showed the darkest shades of indigo and green, like an oil slick. You couldn’t believe the amount of detail in the velvet that your eyes looked like they were popping out of your sockets.

Your boss was so eager to try it on that he was taking off his pants before you were warned. Quickly you turned around and shut your eyes, pretending that you didn’t see his KakaoTalk-patterned boxer briefs.

“M-M-Mr. Kim! At least warn me if you’re going to strip!!”

“Sorry ~” he apologized unapologetically.

A couple of zips and rustling of fabrics later, Woojin tapped your shoulder to turn around. Your eyes bulged out of their sockets again while looking at your boss dressed in a suit that was clearly made for him and him only. It didn’t look like any tailoring was needed at all! He looked like he walked right off the runway. There had to be some enchantment spell in the fabric because you swear you’ve never seen any man more handsome before this moment.

“I take it you like it?” Woojin teased.

Your cheeks tickled with red when he caught you staring. “You look amazing as usual, Mr. Kim.”

“You think so?” You knew so. “It’s not too flashy, is it?”

“Not at all. I think you have the perfect amount of flash. How does it feel?”

“Like a glove. It’s already perfectly tailored!”

“I know your measurements by heart, my dear,” Auntie bragged. “Of course I had it ready to go already.”

“You’re the best.” He gave her a kiss on the cheek and a tight hug. “What would I be without you?”

“Not GQ’s best dressed man under thirty, that’s for sure.”

“Could you do me another favor? Do you perhaps have something for _____ to match? We have a charity ball next weekend.”

“Mr. Kim, this is really unnecessary -”

“I know exactly what to pull.”

Before you could object, Auntie ran to the back of the store where all the hidden inventory was held. You glared at your cheeky boss, still dressed in his sexy outfit and it was hard to keep your glare when he looked so damn good, that handsome bastard.

“I’m not wearing whatever she brings out.”

“You will and you’ll look great and we will buy it, so don’t embarrass me.”

“Embarrass you!? I am not your doll!”

“I’ve got it!”

Both you and Woojin whipped your heads to see Auntie running in with a blacker than black satin and silky outfit that was simple but elegant. Nervous goosebumps spread through your arms and straight to your wallet. You already knew this was going to be the most expensive outfit you’ve ever worn.

“It’s beautiful,” you gasped so slightly.

“Try it on!”

Woojin followed Auntie out of the dressing room but not before shooting you a triumphant wink. I mean, who were you to deny your boss and the store owner, right? So with ease, you put on the cooling fabric that clung to your body in all the right spots. The mirror did all justice and perhaps it was a magical mirror that Dior spent millions on to convince their customers to buy everything because damn, you look hot! With your face as red as Woojin’s Corvette, you presented the outfit to the two judges.

“Oh, it fits perfectly!” Auntie gushed with wide eyes.

Woojin stayed silent with his mouth ajar and eyes scanning you up and down like you were a precious gem discovered in a deep cave beyond a waterfall. It was hard to differentiate between feeling flattered and feeling like object, but at least you were a desired object, right?

“You look amazing,” Woojin admitted sincerely, no longer looking at you with awe and rather content.

“Really? I look ok?”

His handsome smile shined brightly at you. Whether you were dressed in your formal work clothes that screamed ‘absolute virgin’ or you were head-to-toe in Dior, you were never just ‘ok’. You always had the attention of everyone in the room once you walked in, especially his. You were always stunning, no matter what. Validation from your boss always came easy and calmed you quickly because he only had eyes for you.

“You look just fine,” he lied, because ‘fine’ didn’t come close to how you looked to him.

“We’ll be the best dressed at the ball, huh?”

“Absolutely.”

The car ride home was quiet other than the trot music playing on the radio from the driver’s playlist. Woojin seemed as cool as a cucumber, but you were at the edge of your seat feeling a bit awkward and ugh, unintentionally sweaty. Compliments from any man was one thing, but coming from your boss? A whole different level of weird, especially if they weren’t work related! What did ‘you look just fine’ even mean!? Was that a good thing? Were you too average-looking? Whatever it was, from now until you fall asleep at ungodly hours, those words were going to circulate your thoughts, perhaps haunt you for days.

At exactly 7:03 pm, just as the sun set below the horizon revealing the indigo night sky, the driver pulled up to the back entrance of the building that led to a secret elevator that would take you straight to the underground office after punching in the code. A giggling and grinning Woojin was the first to hop out of the car and ran towards the door.

“Mr. Kim, hold on!” you whined as you struggled to get out of the tall car.

“Hurry up, _____! Now’s the perfect time to earn that OT!”

“This time-and-a-half pay better be worth it…”

Upon entering the elevator, you were ready to punch in the 4419 code, but Woojin had already pressed the button to the top level, which led to the roof slash helipad.

“Why are we going up?”

“We can’t test the suit inside, silly. Seungmin came by earlier to pick up his suit after I recalibrated it last night and I asked him to take the suit to the roof.”

“How, that thing weighs like a ton!”

“Not when you’re wearing it.”

“You let him wear it before you test drove it!? Mr. Kim, that’s extremely reckless!”

“Relax, I trusted he wouldn’t mess anything up, and look! It’s right there!”

The glass elevator made a slow stop to reveal the red and gold suit standing proudly in the center of the helipad. As soon as the doors panned open, Woojin handed you his suitcase before running out and tossing his blazer onto the floor before hastily stepping into the suit.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” he said, running back to your frazzled state. He took the leather suitcase from your hands and popped it open so he could give you a glass tablet. “This is for you.”

You looked at the shiny slab of glass with wonder. “What is it?”

“It’s like a control center. You’ll see what I see in terms of my stats and where I am in the city. If anything goes wrong, like say the jets give out, I need you to send a command to manually turn on the back-ups.”

“And what code is that?”

“Not important, we’ll study those later.”

“Later!? What if something happens tonight!?”

“Nothing will happen I promise, I’ll see you in a bit ~!” his cheering faded away the further he ran from you and to his beloved suit.

There was no use in fighting your boss, so you did as you were told and touched the tablet to reveal the control panel. It was black for a few moments before the screen showed your tiny self off in the distance looking down at the tablet which meant that Woojin was able to put on and turn on the suit super quickly without any problems.

“What do you see?” he asked you through the speakers of the tablet from his built-in microphone in the helmet.

“I see me in the distance, the battery level of the suit, and all other weird liquids and commodities at one hundred percent.”

“Perfect!”

You turned to look at your boss who was stretching and feeling out the suit as if this wasn’t his 50th time wearing it. Still, he looked so excited and proud of his hard work, it was hard to tease him about how childish he was, even if he was trying out his yoga poses he just learned. 

“How does it feel?”

“It feels incredible! Totally indescribable now that I’m out in the open. And it’s surprisingly lightweight.”

“How were you able to make it feel light with all that metal?”

“I don’t know, if I’m being honest…”

You rolled your eyes. “The work of a genius, huh?”

“You’ve got that right. Are we ready to take off?”

“I believe so. Are you ready to take off?”

“More than I’ll ever be, baby!!”

Before you knew it, you saw the camera’s view on the screen wobble and turn towards the edge of the building. Terrified, you saw your child-like boss get a running start before he dove off the edge and into the sea of the city.

In a panic, you ran and took a peak over the edge, hoping the jets or whatever kept the suit flying would operate properly and leave you without any worries. At first, Woojin was but a dark red speck falling beneath the shadows, but a second later, he came flying up at lighting speed doing tricks and flips with ease and whooping loudly, as any normal CEO of a software company slash wannabe superhero would do. You could hear him giggling through your tablet, and like a spectator watching the most spectacular aerial performance, you watched him with a smile on your lips.

After his solo, he glided back down to you and hovered beyond the edge just at your eye level. You couldn’t see any features behind the glass of his eyes so you were left awkwardly staring at his expressionless helmet with those signature weird fangs. After all you and Woojin have been through together, even with an idea like this being so ridiculously obscure, he could always rely on you to support him no matter what. He saw how your eyes sparkled with wonderment and how your cheeks dusted a soft pink and it was then that he knew you would stay by his side for even more ridiculous shenanigans to come.

He would never let you leave, anyways. Even in another lifetime, he’d have you by his side forever.

“How cool do I look right now?” he asked. His voice sounded deeper and electronic through the helmet, like he was a robot or had his voice programmed through a phone like Siri. You imagined an idea like that was how Woojin planned on becoming immortal one day.

You raised a brow. “You look kind of… scary?”

“Scary!? Why?”

“I don’t know, if I saw a flying robot come at me at rocket speed, I think I’d be terrified!”

“Well, if I come to your rescue, at least you’ll know it’s me.”

“I suppose. So what are you going to do now? Throw a reveal event? Press conference, perhaps?”

“That, or wait for a Demon-Level threat to pass through our city. I don’t know, whichever comes first.” Woojin shrugged nonchalantly. “Wanna see something cool?”

Before you could agree, Woojin held his palm to the sky before a neon blue blast shot out of it, disappearing into God-knows-where. You could feel the heat from the beam of light radiated around you and fear sparked inside your chest..

“What the hell was that!?” you exclaimed.

“Isn’t that so cool!? Gonna hit some suckers and fry them up like bacon!” Your boss blindly shot another beam of light into the sky and you prayed to someone out there that no planes would disintegrate in the process.

“Hey, careful! What if you hit a satellite or something!” In the process of grabbing Woojin’s iron hand so he’d stop being so reckless, you burned yourself upon touching the hot metal opening like a total dumb ass and yanked your hand back. “Ah!!”

“Oh, shit.”

Quickly and haphazardly, Woojin landed back on the helipad and climbed out of the iron suit. In the process of running back to your aid, he untied his black silk necktie to use as a temporary band aid on your scalding palm. Gingerly, his cold hands took yours and ran a thumb over the scarring semicircle.

“Ah ah ah stop!!” you cried with tears of pain and embarrassment streaming down your cheeks.

“Sorry! Here,” Woojin wrapped his tie around your palm and tied it tightly. The pure silk felt cooling against the burn and soon your tears stopped and you couldn’t do anything else besides sniffle. “Let’s go back inside. My office has a first aid kit.”

Your mumbling and cursing boss led you back to his office with urgency, blaming himself for being so stupid and recklessly playing with what could be considered a weapon of mass destruction. And now his favorite person, the one person who believed in his iron suit, was hurt in the process, pouting cutely and holding your burned hand like you were an injured puppy. This was one of his greatest fears upon completing this project.

You sat on his sapphire blue velvet couch with the bronze-gilded frame that looked like it belonged in the Ravenclaw common room trying to alleviate the pain of the burn in Woojin’s ice bucket (for his white wine, of course) while he shifted through his drawers to find the first aid kit you gave him a couple years ago.

“Do you remember when you got this for me?” he asked as soon as he pulled it out from the bottom drawer. You shook your head, too lightheaded and in too much pain to remember. He sat next to you and began to tell the old story while patching you up. “It was your third year working here, but my first day as CEO when I took over for my Dad. I got so many paper cuts from all the paperwork I had to read and sign and I got a massive headache afterwards and I just wanted to eat something because all I had that day was an iced americano. It was so late and by the time I was finished, it was maybe 7:00pm -”

“8:00 pm,” you corrected in between sniffles.

“Ah, so you do remember! At 8:00pm, you waltzed into my office wearing your comfiest clothes with a bag of take-out in one hand and the first aid kit with a million bandaids and Tylenol in the other. That night, you sat in my office and helped patch up my fingers, fed me lo mein, and helped me with the rest of the paperwork for two hours. I thought of you as my guardian angel since that day and vowed to myself that no matter what, you and I would stick by each other’s side and be the dynamic duo that we are forever. Oh, how the tables have turned tonight. Now I’m the one patching you up.”

Woojin had finished wrapping your palm at the end of his story. Something about his proclamation didn’t sit right with you. Something about staying here forever, clocking in massive amounts of overtime and being subservient to the same men sounded like your own personal hell.

“I can’t be your secretary forever, Mr. Kim.”

“I know,” he admitted. “But I don’t have to think about that for quite some time, right?”

“Maybe.”

“I hate change, you know.”

“I, more than anyone else, know that.”

Your handsome boss chuckled lightly at the heavy subject. His curly caramel hair covered his eyes as he looked down at your hand and traced small shapes on the bandaid. You knew that he knew you didn’t want to stay here forever, and he couldn’t blame you, but it didn’t make the thought of you leaving any less heartbreaking.

“Does it feel any better?”

“Much better,” you said truthfully as the cooling gel felt like a magical potion.

“This first aid kit is the only practical gift I’ve ever received. All others are for the aesthetic.”

“Do you prefer practical gifts, Mr. Kim?”

“Of course! The fuck am I going to do with a VVS diamond-encrusted chain?”

“Flex on all the other young CEOs?”

“And partake in their pissing contest? No, thank you.”

“You’re telling me you won’t be doing that this weekend at the Charity Ball?”

“When I have you next to me, I don’t need VVS diamonds,” Woojin grinned flirtatiously.

You hit his arm with your good hand and he flinched upon his correct prediction. “I am not an accessory!”

“Of course not! You are my beloved intelligent sidekick that all other big wigs tell me they wished they had! But when you look like that, it’s bonus points ~”

“Ugh, your kind are all the same!” you scoffed, trying to collect your things and storm out the door.

“It’s a compliment!” he teased. Woojin managed to chase after you and grab your things to carry to his car so he could drive you home for the 1106th time.

--

After a long and tiring rest of the week helping your boss do target practicing with the iron suit on, Saturday had arrived and now you had the honor of accompanying said-boss to a Big Dick contest disguised as a Charity Ball. The main event was for the sake of the children of course, but the real show was to see who was wearing what designer with what accessories and who pulled up in the fanciest sports car with the youngest and sexiest date in their arms. You were so, so lucky to be working for someone who liked to stay low key, despite always being the center of attention.

“Why are you so nervous?” Woojin teased, nudging your arm as you both walked up to the front doors of the venue. “This isn’t the first time you’ve played as my date.”

“I know, but it doesn’t get any easier,” you admitted, shyly covering yourself from the much-more revealing outfit now that it was tailored to fit.

“You and I look fine! Muted colors, minimal diamonds, low key attitudes - we’re perfect! No one will even notice we’re here.”

That was a complete lie, because the second you walked in, a swarm of gossip columnists and magazine writers circled around the two of you, bombarding you both with the same questions you were so used to.

“Mr. Kim, who are you wearing?”

“Mr. Kim, who’s your lovely date?”

“Mr. Kim, what’s the best way to lock in that your date will go home with you?”

Woojin raised his hand slightly and all that could be heard were the cameras clicking. God, the power he has… 

“Dior, a close friend, and be so irresistible that they can’t say no.”

Without another word, he gently took your bandaged hand and led you out of the circle of gossipers who were silent in awe. With your free hand, you covered up your ugly laughing.

“You’re such a cornball!” you said in between a fit of giggles.

“An irresistible cornball, at least. Now, walk me through all these people again?”

Woojin was young and when it came to networking, he still had the mentality of being the CEO’s son rather than the CEO. That meant that Woojin didn’t care much in remembering other CEO’s names and relied on you to remind him of all the people he should have remembered three years ago. It was a consistent hour of introductions and small talk about future goals, collaborations, and golfing, all of which you were able to expertly tune out while sipping prosecco and snacking on caviar tarts. Years of experience thankfully made these events easier.

“Did you practice your speech for your donation?” you reminded Woojin after taking a seat at the prestigious Table 2. Since the company was one of the Charity Ball’s biggest sponsors, the CEOs were always invited to say some manufactured speech.

“Yeah. I even practiced it in the shower. Hopefully I get the charity organization correct this time.”

“It’s amazing how you even got this far.”

The Charity Ball should have been named See Who Can Donate the Most Money Ball because every speech given by a CEO of some company tried to out-do each other. Luckily, your company’s speeches were always last and your touch of humanity written on paper always had the audience in awe with the Woojin’s compassion. To pass the time, you and Woojin played rock-paper-scissors and whomever lost had to drink champagne. Let’s just say Woojin ended up having the infamous Asian Glow.

His face was still blushy by the time it was his turn and you almost felt bad because the pictures with the flash turned on probably wouldn’t be so flattering in the magazines, but that wouldn’t matter because he still looks like the most stunning man in the room. All eyes were on him as he made his speech, but he had his eyes on you. Probably because he would piss his pants if he saw how many people were looking at him. You gave him two thumbs up for encouragement.

“It is the greatest honor to be here and giving a speech for the third year in a row. Children are the source and future for a better world, and it is our duty to -”

You blanked out for most of it since you wrote it. It was hard to focus anyways when his eyes were so piercing, so you averted his gaze and counted the number of peppercorns on his unfinished steak. At an alarming fifty-three, you glanced around the gallery to see if anyone was actually paying attention. Many, if not all, of the guests around your age were paying attention with dreamy eyes and pouty lips, all wishing they were in your position tonight. Some even dared to make eye contact with you as if to say, ‘how DARE you NOT pay attention to the sexiest man alive!?’ The older, more powerful guests seemed genuinely interested in the amount Woojin was donating and the older dates seemed to care more about their reflection on the back of a spoon.

The fattest check with a bunch of zeros was walked onto the stage. A standing ovation was in order of course, and you conformed with the crowd, even though applause always made Woojin visibly uncomfortable.

“He throws a big, fat check to charity and yet he still doesn’t like the attention, huh?”

As the clapping died down and the noise faded into the smooth hum of the live piano and jazz music, you turned to face the owner of a familiar sly voice. The man that stood before you was the famous doctor slash art collector slash playboy who you’ve come to know after attending all of these flashy events.

You smiled slyly at the man. “If it isn’t GQ’s Bachelor of the Month, Dr. Park Seonghwa.”

The raven-haired man gave you his signature smirk. Then he took your hand and kissed it tenderly like the prince he is. “Lovely _____, pleasure to see you as always.”

“Have you been doing that to all the other guests you frequent at these events?”

“Of course not! Just the beautiful ones.”

You let out a loud scoff. “You and your way with words.”

“Are they enough to convince you to finally go out to dinner with me?”

“Not quite.”

Seonghwa sighed tiredly and dropped his head as if this was the first time you’ve rejected him. Guess every time felt like the first time. The handsome raven held his hand out to you. “If not dinner, how about a dance?”

Hesitantly, you searched for your boss like you were trying to sneak away from a parent. He was busy shaking hands and catching up with The Important People’s Club, so you didn’t think one dance would hurt, though once you feed a dog a treat, he’ll be begging for more forever.

You took his hand. “One dance.”

“Five.”

“One.”

“Three?”

“Dr. Park!”

“What!? Ok, fine, one dance, unless you’re really feeling it and then we’ll dance some more.”

“Maybe in another lifetime, Dr. Park.”

The young doctor led you to the dance floor before you could object further. For someone not-so-smooth with pick-up lines, he was definitely smooth with his moves. With one gentle hand on your waist and the other holding your hand, you two glide around the white tiles like the Royalty of the ball, and truly, for a few moments, it really felt like you were the star of this fairy tale.

Seonghwa let out a tired sigh. “Intelligent, beautiful, loyal, and good at dancing? How are you so good at everything?”

“Stop that.”

“I mean it! Yet no man swept you off your feet.”

“Just because I won’t say yes to you, doesn’t mean I’m not waiting for that special someone.”

Seonghwa held your hand up high and made you do a little twirl. “You might be waiting for a while, beautiful.”

“Why do you say that?”

“With Mr. Woojin by your side twenty-five hours eight days a week, there is no man that has the courage to come in between such a strong relationship.”

“Even you?” you challenged.

“Even I. Unless you want me to -”

“Nope.”

“Ice cold heart as always…”

Song number one melted into song number two and it passed you both as you continued to discuss the hot topic of why you’re still single. It’s a conversation topic that you thought was reserved for nosy family members for you to brush off, but coming from another man who has begged for your number since you both met really put your love life into perspective. Perhaps you were too loyal to your boss…

While engulfed in the heated debate, Woojin was desperately searching for his right hand where he thought you’d be - either at your seat or by the bar, but you were at neither. After receiving his order from the bar, he let the expensive gold liquid over ice flooded through his bloodstream, which led him to a group of gawking gossipers whining and gazing at the dance floor. What was all the hype about?

The sight of you in the arms of the world’s most arrogant doctor didn’t sit too well with him. The scene made him see green.

“You’re such a liar!” Woojin heard you laugh aloud. “I did NOT give you so-called bedroom eyes at Yuta’s house warming!”

“You’re telling me you weren’t eyeing me up and down like a barbecued piece of pork belly dipped in sesame oil?”

“That’s because you had sesame oil on your white shirt!”

“Excuses, excuses.”

Woojin took another sip of his golden drink before putting it down haphazardly and waltzing towards the dancing couple. To onlookers, this scene looked like it was straight out of those cheesy love triangle dramas. The gossipy gals wondered - would Woojin punch Seonghwa? Would he grab your hand harshly and drag you away to scold you and tell you how much he cared about you? Would he kiss you!?

You saw your uncharacteristically stern-looking boss approaching, and even though you’re unsure of his intentions, you still smiled brightly, as you always did whenever you saw him. Woojin lightened his heavy, angry steps. Even with another man by your side, you still looked at him. How could he be mad at you?

“Hello, Mr. Woojin,” Seonghwa greeted, holding out a hand for him to shake. You knew your boss wasn’t the biggest fan of Seonghwa, but he politely returned the gesture anyways. Somehow you felt your heart beating in your throat - the tension on the dance floor was too high, too powerful, and you were but an awkward and nervous secretary standing on the side while two powerful men duked it out.

“Dr. Seonghwa, nice to see you again.” Woojin was good at lying, but his lies never passed you. The amount of discomfort knitted in his eyebrows almost made you snicker. “Long nights at the hospital still?”

“As always, but at least it’s rewarding and enjoyable. How are your long nights at the office?”

“Can’t get enough of them, right, _____?”

“What? You’re still doing that much overtime?” Seonghwa asked worriedly. Now, was he worried because you were overworking yourself or was he worried because you were spending so much time with a man that wasn’t him?

You shrugged unapologetically. “I love that overtime pay.”

“_____, that’s not good for your health -”

“I tell them that all the time,” Woojin interrupted defensively. He was always like this whenever anyone questioned the amount of work you had. To you, it was not much of a burden at all, but to anyone else, they couldn’t fathom your work hours but if they saw your paycheck, maybe they’d understand. Even your boss felt bad whenever your friends blamed him, but  no matter how much he tried to convince you of a normal 40-hour work week, the duties of being his secretary never added up to just that. Therefore, your boss always felt the need to defend you and him for the sake of making sure you weren’t portrayed as his slave. “But you’re just so stubborn, aren’t you?”

“Only because it’s you, Mr. Kim,” you said like you’re reading a script. Somehow that doesn’t translate through the ears of the two powerful men in front of you, as your boss smiled triumphantly and Seonghwa couldn’t help but shake his head.

“If you ever want to take me up on that date, Lovely _____, you know who to call.” The most handsome man who’s ever flirted with you took your hand gently and planted a sweet, soft kiss that sent little tingles all up your arm. You don’t think you’ll ever reciprocate his feelings, but the feeling of being desired and wanted by a man really kicked up your ego and really made you think - when was the last time you ever liked someone, or someone ever liked you?

Park Seonghwa disappeared into the crowd and perhaps left the Charity Ball all together. Until next time.

Your boss turned to face you, whose stern face quickly melted into innocence as he knew what was coming by the look on your annoyed expression. “What?”

“What was that all about?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You shook your head and mumbled under your breath, “Ugh, you are unbelievable, Mr. Kim.”

As you tried to escape, the desperate man caught your hand. “Wait, where are you going?”

“Away from you for just five minutes, can you let me do that?” you snapped in a hushed volume. “Or do you need to watch over me and speak on my behalf, since you’re my Father apparently!”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to act like that.”

“You say that every time, especially when I’m talking to another man and even more-so when I’m talking to Dr. Park. When will your sorries mean something?”

“You know I get protective over you.”

“Again, you are not my Father!”

“I know, but -”

All of the attention that was once focused on the handsome CEO and his secretary shifted to the glass ceiling that was now shattered to pieces upon the force of some dozens of masked strangers dressed in all black. Woojin instinctively, though harshly, forced you down so he could hover over you so none of the glass hit you. What followed seemed to be too numbing, as all of the stimuli in the banquet hall was too much to handle.

“Get down,” Woojin instructed while pushing you under one of the tables. “Don’t move until I come back.”

“Wait, but where are you -”

“I’ll be back in ten minutes!”

“Mr. Kim!”

Of course, he didn’t listen, as Mr. Kim always did what he wanted, right? Which would normally annoy the fuck out of you, but who has the time to panic about what your boss was up to when you’re stranded under the table and shrouded by cheap table cloth linen?

Since those people had invaded and fallen from the sky, you noticed that no gunshots or any sort of violence outside of melee were heard. No purpose of the attack is even known yet, but the signs were promising, until the famous alarm was heard throughout the whole town.

“Threat level: Dragon. Please stay inside until all threats have been cleared. Threat level: Dragon. Please stay inside until -”

“Ah, yes, the richest of the rich gather here today to donate the smallest percentage of their some billions of dollars to charity,” a booming voice tisked through a microphone. “Do you feel good about your good deed of the year? Are you proud of yourselves?”

For some unknown reason, the voice paused, as if waiting for an answer or a reaction from the people. Nothing was heard besides shrill screaming and crying, which was probably what the wannabe-vigilante wanted. For the first time, you peaked through the slits of the table cloth. At the stage where Woojin gave his speech was a now-broken stage with the foot of a giant robot through it. It was a very top-heavy robot that looked like it had a large cavity in its belly, whose odd shape probably served some weird purpose unknown to everyone.

“Perhaps you’ll be proud of your donations for once when we capture you all and milk you of your every last penny!” The man laughed evilly at the head of the robot. “Down with the rich!”

“Down with the rich!” his people cheered in unison.

The oddly political turn of events made the scene less jarring - it seemed like an over-exaggeration of townspeople coming together to fight for higher taxing of the rich. Then you were reminded of the Dragon-level threat by how the minions loaded up the richies with a gun pointed to their heads and the complex mechanism that loaded them up to the belly of the robot. Somewhere among the mass of people you saw Seonghwa in between another surgeon and a senior engineer at Tesla before he disappeared behind the walls of metal.

“Hey, I found another one!” someone yelled close by. “Under Table 2!”

Shit. “Fuck.”

Perhaps all those years of advance self defense classes that Woojin’s father enrolled you in would come to good use this time.

By your glamorously-strapped heel, one of the masked men dragged you out from under the table. There was no use in struggling, and the man seemed quite satisfied with how you complied.

“Let’s go, darling.”

With your free foot, you dug the pointy end of the studded heel into his groin. Luckily, you can only ever imagine how painful something like that could feel. He was in so much pain that he doubled over and let go of your foot, leaving you to flee to God-knows-where after you stole his police baton.

“Don’t fucking call me darling,” you spat as a farewell.

There were too many men in between you and the emergency exit, so you had to fight your way through like in those cheesy American action movies. A bunch of kicks in the groin here and a couple baton to the knee caps there were enough to get you by half way, but then they started double-teaming on you. Of course, this was much harder, but Senior Mr. Kim didn’t give you the best sensei in the damn nation for no reason. You felt invincible even after defeating multiple double teams, but it was the triple teaming that got you stuck. You can only kick and baton so many groins at one time until two men held each of your arms and the other stole the baton.

While struggling to break free, you managed to knee the one in front of you in the chin, causing him to cut his lip with blood dripping on his cheap leather shoes. After realizing what had happened, he punched you in the cheek as punishment. Was that a bone you heard cracking?

“Try me again, bitch,” he seethed.

Out of nowhere, your knight in Iron armor landed before the one who punched you and returned the favor, sending his body through so many walls of this building that you worried about the foundation and how long you had before it collapsed.

Woojin’s red and gold helmet swung sharply and the empty eyes were staring into the souls of your captors while at the same time not.

“Who’s next?” Woojin threatened with his super cool and inaccurately deep robotic voice.

Both men fled the scene as quickly as possible, losing their grip and throwing you to the floor. The penny taste finally registered in your brain that yes, you were definitely coughing and spitting out blood.

The cold metal of Iron Man’s hand helped you to your feet while the other cupped your quickly-bruising cheek gently. The underlying tenderness of your boss’s touch somehow healed all pain, or perhaps it was the cooling iron. Gestures like these were so foreign that you almost forgot it was your boss behind the mask and not some handsome stranger who was ready to sweep you off your feet. It was instances like these where you wished the latter was real.

“Are you ok?” he asked gingerly.

“I’m fine,” you promised. “Go save your investors.”

A light chuckle came from Iron Man. “My driver’s already waiting outside. Are you able to run?”

“I’m not leaving without you.”

“C’mon, _____, now’s not the time -”

“Do not argue with me until you save everyone, Mr. Kim.”

Woojin shook his head tiredly. He knew there was no use arguing with his headstrong secretary. “You’re so stubborn. Just promise you won’t get into any trouble this time.”

“No.”

“I’m cuttin’ down on your work hours!” he yelled, blasting off to fight the giant robot thing so he wouldn’t have to hear you argue back again.

You were left with a couple of masked minions who still had the balls to attack and capture you as if you were worth more than your surprisingly above-average five-figure salary. Your copper saliva mixed with your boss trusting you enough to not die in the middle of a Dragon-level threat really pumped the adrenaline through your veins, so as one man sprinted to attack, you managed to dodge it and kick him in the throat before he could try something else. The other guy tried to sneak up behind you, but you were quicker, swinging the baton hard enough to the head to knock him out cold. The power you felt coursing through your body left you on a major high. Where were all the other minions? No way was that all…

In the middle of the banquet hall was the face-off of the century, rivaling any and all story lines from DC and Marvel combined. A tiny seven-foot-something intricately crafted and painted sheet of metal was about to fight a giant several-stories tall and several-dozen-tons heavy hunk of junk with dozens of guests they managed to scoop inside. Now how was Mr. Kim going to save the day this time?

“Kim Woojin, the man of the night,” the man controlling the ship scoffed. “You will look like my childhood favorite action figure once I stuff you in a glass box in my office! A prized treasure is what you’ll be. How does that sound?”

“Sounds kinky.” You could just sense the smirk behind his mask. “Then what will you do to me?”

“Milk you of all your assets, of course! Liquidation of its truest definition! The redistribution of wealth will come easy to the people, especially with your earnings in the mix!”

“Fine, take my money. But let these people go.”

“Absolutely not! I need all the money I can get! How do you expect me to change the distribution of wealth of the entire world with just one CEO’s salary!? Mr. Kim, I thought you knew that, silly.”

“Ok, fine. You take all of our money and then what?”

“Well, kill you, of course.”

A chorus of gasps and crying were heard from the belly of the machine.

The philosophical man continued. “People like you are the very reason there is a large pay gap. You sit on your ass drinking cocktails and eating caviar and you donate to some profiting charity only a tiny percentage of what you make while all the good hard-working people are the ones bringing the big bucks into your bank account! And what do they get? Small paychecks and four hours of sleep!”

Yeah, this guy was bad, but he had his points, so you’ll cheers to that, am I right?

“Well, then where will you get your money after that? Hm?” The captain stayed silent. “Where will you get more money to sustain this utopia? Certainly not from the hard-working people who have no experience leading or handling such a huge sum of money. And certainly not from you, right? Ha! With your five-figure salary paychecks that barely get the bills paid on time.”

A heavy arm swung to try and snatch up your boss. Though the arm was so large and heavy, Woojin barely managed to escape his grasp. By the silence of the once-chatty leader of the pack, you could tell that he was bothered by the words spat by the youngest CEO in the room. How dare Woojin mock his hard-earned pay when his earnings were given to him on a VVS diamond-encrusted platter!? There were a couple of times where he landed a couple of hits on your boss and you should feel worried, but you couldn’t help but think he deserved it. You hated to be on the enemy’s side, but you, too, were one of those five-figure salary paycheck owners that are barely scraping by with their bills. And of course you were all for the redistribution of wealth, but this guy definitely went a little too far…

You would think that the sheer size of this oddly-shaped hunk of metal wouldn’t be able to move so fast, but it managed to capture Woojin by digging its claw to the wall and sandwiching Woojin in between. He couldn’t even wiggle his way out between gaps because the THING was pressing too hard against the wall. Woojin could feel the metal bending from inside.

“People like you will never understand the worth of the dollar,” the captain seethed. “Not when stacks come to you in baskets sewn with gold and jewels commissioned by your Daddy. People like you, and everyone captured, need to be humbled a little. Maybe you all can learn a little something from the working class.”

“Then we die, is that right?”

“Of course! But at least you’ll die a hard-working man, Mr. Kim.”

“I will. But I’ll die a hard-working man with billions in my grave before I let you take a penny!”

The blue beam of light that you once cursed for burning a half circle on your palm you were now thankful for, as that beam of light shot your boss up in the air and freed him, taking a few fingers off of the hunk of metal with him. A couple more shots of incinerator beams later, and both arms of the robot had been severed and half disintegrated. Woojin kicked the glass where the leader sat and pulled out the defenseless lump of flesh that spoke the harsh truth about the wealthy. The leader was a young man who was not much older than either you or your boss, who didn’t look afraid in the slightest. Perhaps he expected, or even wanted, to go out this way - fighting for what he believed in.

The police, who had been waiting outside for all the ruckus to die down, came in and cuffed the leader and a few of his minions who cowardly hid under the tables. Woojin helped all of his investors safely come out and among the crowd you saw Seonghwa, safe and sound.

You thought after a traumatic attack that now was not the time and place to reveal who Iron Man was or even associate yourself with him, so you tried to mix in with the crowd and book it to the driver like he asked you to do before. But of course your flaunty boss wanted to do the exact opposite.

“_____, wait!”

No, no, no, no, no, what the hell! Really!? Right now!? was how Woojin read your expression as he walked to you with the suit on. When the seven-foot something Iron Man stopped before you, the face of his helmet slid open to reveal an out-of-breath Woojin. The entire banquet hall echoed with gasps.

“Are you ok? You’re not hurt, are you? Your bruise is getting worse!”

You could not feel anything on the left half of your face besides intense pain and somehow numbness at the same time and your limbs felt like jello and over-kneaded dough. But you couldn’t let your boss worry about you - he needs to take care of more important people right now. You’ll be fine come tomorrow once you sleep on a frozen bag of peas.

“I’m fine, I promise,” you said convincingly. “Looks like you have an impromptu press conference to deal with.”

To Woojin’s dismay, all of the cameras and press and the phones of his business friends captured his face inside the Iron suit next to his famous secretary that all his business friends wished they had. He knew you hated press conferences because even though you never said anything, you were always by his side and that meant the cameras were pointed at you also.

“I can deal with them. Go to the car and go home.”

“I can stay with you.”

“I won’t allow it. You need to go home and ice your face.”

“I said I -”

“I said go.”

Woojin never raised his voice at you ever because he never had a reason to. You were always hard-working and loyal and you always did everything correctly and did it with his best interest in mind. He’ll allow small things that might be detrimental to your health, like all the over time you loved to have and the unhealthy amounts of coffee you drown yourself in. But when the arm that’s supporting your body weight was shaking, your left cheek was the color of aubergine, and you had blood splatters on different parts of your body, that’s when he had to draw the line. Worry was knitted into his brows and his lips were a flat line and you only ever saw his face like this whenever he talked with his father. It was terrifying to see him almost mad at you and it made your heart sink a little that you did something wrong.

He softened his expression upon seeing your glossy eyes. “Take Monday off to rest. I’ll see you on Tuesday, ok?”

“But -”

“I’ll pay you for your time off, so don’t worry about the money. I just want you to rest. Can you do that for me?” You could only nod. “Thank you. Go home - I’ll text you when I’m done cleaning up tonight.”

Woojin plastered on his happy television face and returned to the fawning crowd and overly-thankful investors. You were blinded by the flashing camera lights and that was your cue that you didn’t belong there anymore.

The trot music-loving driver hummed the whole way home while driving on auto-pilot, as he had memorized the path to your apartment long ago. Sitting in the back seat covered head-to-toe in the finest satin wasn’t as luxurious when you were alone as opposed to having your equally-luxurious boss next to you. You imagined what it’d be like if a giant robot didn’t crash the party this evening: you’d probably yell at him more about how you needed space and that he was overreacting with the whole Seonghwa deal; then he might try to bribe you with food or dessert so that you’d stop pouting like a child (and you’d totally cave in); and finally, he’d walk you up to your doorstep begging to come inside once more and you’d deny his entry, only for him to leave you with a comment about how you were the most stunning person at the ball tonight.

In short, as much as you hated to admit it, the ride home was lonely. Can you believe that? Your short time alone away from your boss was fucking lonely. Not peaceful, not relaxing, not mind-clearing, but totally and completely lonely. So much so that your heart ached a little, and to put these feelings in the simplest terms, it was because you were so used to being by his side that the emptiness to the seat next to you mimicked an unfamiliar cavity in your heart. It’s a painful feeling, really, because that meant leaving this job would be much harder than you hoped.

As if he planted a tracking device in your phone, Woojin texted you upon locking the front door to your place.

The Money Man [01:03 am]: did you make it home ok?

An involuntary smile spread across your lips.

You [01:04 am]: just got home. are you stalking me?

The Money Man [01:04 am]: you didn’t think the phone i gave you was completely harmless and bugless, did you? ;)

You [01:05 am]: i should have known better. how’s the impromptu press conference? are people surprised that it’s you?

The Money Man [01:07am]: they are, but at the same time it’s not. ppl keep asking me questions and won’t let me take the suit off, can you believe that!? it’s hot as balls in this thing!!

The Money Man [01:07am]: shit, gotta go - gotta somehow convince these idiots this is definitely NOT something to invest in.

You [01:08am]: text when you’re home.

The Money Man [01:08am]: yes, darling.

‘Darling’ has a nice ring to it.

--

Having Sunday all to yourself was normal and you did what you always did every weekend: cleaned your place, took your time making a nice meal, organizing all of your work papers, and ended the night with a hot shower and an ice pack to your cheek. Monday, on the other hand was a disaster. You were so bored! Your fingers were itching to scribble down your boss’s agenda and you were so tempted to log into your work laptop, but you knew Woojin would chew your ear off for not listening to him and resting as you should. It wasn’t your fault that you were a work-a-holic!

After looking in the mirror and hating the way your face looked for the fiftieth time, it was time to accept that the bruise wouldn’t disappear for at least a couple more weeks. Sunday was at its ugliest, where the center of your cheek was a deep purple and there was this off-colored halo around the perimeter. Now, the swelling went down and it wasn’t as purple or painful, but still equally ugly no matter how you looked at it or tried to cover it up.

After a lonely and boring Monday afternoon, your doorbell rang around 5:00pm. You weren’t expecting any visitors or deliverymen, so upon peaking through your viewfinder, you were surprised to see your boss on the other side.

“What are you doing here?” you asked surprised.

Woojin was glad you didn’t seem disgusted by his presence since he was the one who told you to take the day off and you must be tired of seeing his face by now. He whipped out an oily bag from behind his back with a child-like grin on his face. It was an unusual sight to see a man dressed in a several thousand dollar business suit carrying a twenty dollar bag of dinner.

“You and I have some business to discuss.”

“Hold on, let me get this straight - you tell me to take the day off, rest up, ice my bloodshot cheek only for you to come into my home and say I need to work?”

“Yup,” he claimed unapologetically, squeezing past you to get through.

“Yes, please come in, Your Highness,” you rolled your eyes, though he was already setting up at your dinner table.

“Your home is nice. Why are you always so embarrassed whenever I try to come in?”

“I mean, look at it. It’s nowhere near as nice as your home.”

“It’s as more of a home than my place will ever be, no matter how many velvet cushions and arcade games I ask you to buy for the place.” Woojin whipped out two bottles of beer, his favorite chaser to wash down the oiliness of the fried chicken, and poured them into glasses. “How’s your cheek?”

“By the look on your face, I guess not so good?”

He adjusted his twisted expression upon your teasing. Blood and bruises were never his thing, so any variation of the sort just looked bad in general. “It just looks so painful… Have you been icing it like I asked?”

“I have, and it’s not as painful as it looks!”

“Oh, yeah?”

Woojin challenged your claim by standing in front of you and lowering his head to see you at eye-level. His face was way too close to be considered appropriate for CEO and Secretary relationship behavior, though you knew he never cared for those formalities. His eyes were always so sparkly per usual and that gave him that dreamy stare all the ladies in the office loved. You never saw the appeal to it until now, with only a few centimeters in between.

He poked your bruised-like-an-apple cheek.

“Ow, what the hell!” you screamed, swatting his hand away.

“Not as painful as it looks, my ass.”

“Well, people don’t go around poking my cheek all day!”

“Do you need pain killers? My doctor can write you a prescription for the best one on AND off market.”

“That’s ok, I only trust Dr. Seonghwa.”

Woojin gave you the same look he gave a former intern who got his breakfast and coffee order incorrect. Let’s just say the intern started crying on the spot. You, on the other hand, could barely hold in your snicker from his death glare. You were never on the receiving end of the infamous death glare and now that you were, it was hard to take it seriously.

“Ha ha,” Woojin fake laughed. “Not funny.”

“What exactly do you have against him, anyways? It’s surprising that you’re threatened by the likes of a doctor and not some other hot shot software company CEO.”

“I don’t have anything against him.”

“You’re such a liar!” you scoffed, taking a swig of the ice-cold beer. “If you didn’t have a problem with him, you wouldn’t have acted so defensive at the charity ball.”

“I don’t like the way he looks at you,” he said shamelessly. A vigorous bite of a chicken leg came afterwards. “He looks at you like how I look at chicken legs.”

“Well, maybe I like the way he looks at me.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Stop doing that.”

“You deserve it for acting like my Dad that night.”

“I said I was sorry! I even bought you dinner and cold beer to make up for it!”

“Oh, so this is not because you said that me and you have some business to discuss?”

“Well, that, too.” Woojin wiped his greasy fingers on his silk handkerchief that he kept on the inside of his breast pocket before whipping out his phone to show you multiple news articles on the night of the charity ball. “Watch these videos.”

Almost all of them were exposing your boss who was behind the genius that is Iron Man, but what preceded the reveals were clips of you kicking major ass. The sources came from both paparazzi and the security tapes at multiple angles and it was hard to hide the fact that it was you as all angles captured your facial features quite clearly. Headlines and whole articles talked about how the mighty CEO and his secretary were the perfect unstoppable duo and they weren’t wrong - you kicking ass in a sexy outfit with a man of iron handling the big guy? Definitely a story worth selling.

Your brows furrowed worriedly because you had no idea how Woojin felt. “Are you mad…?

“Mad?” Woojin paused the current video and placed his phone face-down on the table so he could focus on his good chicken and better company. “Why would I be mad?”

“I don’t know! What’s the point in showing me these videos?”

“To show you how bad ass you look! Where did you even learn these moves!?”

“For some reason, your father thought being a secretary was dangerous enough that he decided to enroll me in some classes. I actually really liked it a lot, so I kept at it and I guess I got to a pretty advanced level.”

“Pretty advanced is definitely a misnomer, love. Well, it’s good to hear that Father has made one good decision in his reign.”

“Is this the business you wanted to speak about?” you asked shyly, hoping that the beer was a good enough excuse for your blushing cheeks. You’ll never get used to Woojin praising you.

“Sort of. I have a proposition for you.”

“What, that you want me to be your sidekick?” you scoffed. When Woojin remained silent with only the same sly smirk on his lips, you could see your worst fears coming true. “Oh, God, you’re not serious.”

“I am one hundred percent serious.”

“Are you out of your damn mind!? I am not sidekick material!”

“You totally are! You and I are already the perfect duo! Why not take it up a notch!?”

“No, Mr. Kim, I cannot be your sidekick again, but in a different form and outfit!”

“Why not!? It’s not like I’m not going to pay you for it.”

“The pay is not the problem. The pay is never the problem. It’s…”

How do you put that the pressure of keeping the entire country safe and being by his side twenty-four/seven sounded like your own personal purgatory that you could never escape for as long as you lived, or until you died by the hands of some Demon-level threat monster?

“It’s a huge commitment, I know,” Woojin admitted. “Too huge to even put a price on it. But can you at least consider it? I can’t imagine anyone else by my side except you.”

Now only if a man who wasn’t your boss said that to you without any underlying superhero context, you might have considered the proposal.

“Mr. Kim, I can’t…”

You hesitated getting the right words out, but Woojin knew why. You’ve been bringing up how you couldn’t stay his secretary forever, and although he knew this was true, he couldn’t help but try to keep you anyways. You’ve been loyal to him for so long that he often forgot how to treat you like a friend and not his subordinate. But the thought of you leaving? Soon, at that? It was something he didn’t want to think about just yet. He wanted to keep you by his side for as long as he could.

Woojin downed the last of his beer before whipping out his phone again. This time a slow song played over the speakers. He stood up and offered you a hand.

You raised a brow. “What are you…?”

“You and I never got to dance on Saturday. So dance with me.”

“Here? Right now? In my small ass apartment?”

“The next charity ball isn’t for another month and I don’t think I can wait that long.”

His impatience was just shy of flattering - if only you weren’t so afraid of being within close proximity to him. It was one thing when he helped ease the burn on your hand, it was another when he touched your cheek while inside his iron suit, but the two of you alone dancing in the middle of your living room was a whole other level of intimacy that needed to be hidden from human resources,

You took his hand and he led you to the living room. One hand on your waist and another holding the one with the scabbing half-circle. The two of you swayed in silent contentment for several songs. It was a comfortable silence, but there’s some hidden sadness to it that you couldn’t explain - something along the lines of him missing you dearly, despite you being right in front of him, and you missed him dearly, too. So much that your nerves made you squeeze his hand harder, asking him to not let go of you for a long time.

Then your boss pulled you in close enough that it felt like he was hugging you.

“S-Sir?” you stuttered nervously.

“Thank you,” he began. “For always being there.”

“Well, that’s my job,” you snickered.

“Not just as my secretary, but as my friend.”

“You think of me as your friend?”

“I do. Don’t tell Vice President Chan this, but I consider you one of my closest friends.”

“You’re quite soft, aren’t you?” It took a moment to register that he was definitely not joking. The tension in your shoulders diminished and you were able to relax in front of the equally-vulnerable man. “I consider you one of my closest friends, too.”

“Really?”

“By association though. After all these years being by your side, it’s only natural that I came to like you.”

“I like you, too,” he chuckled, tucking some hairs behind your ear. “A little too much, at that.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“In another lifetime, I feel like you and I would be soulmates.”

“You don’t think we would be in this lifetime?”

Were you hoping to be? “Perhaps. By association though, right?”

You didn’t want to press more about any underlying meaning to his statements, so instead you looked down embarrassed. In another lifetime, in this lifetime, in multiple lifetimes, Woojin thought you and him would be each other’s soulmate no matter what, because a lifetime with you sounded perfect.

A thumb gently ran over the perimeter of your cheek bruise and it tickled rather than burned, so that was a good sign that it was healing. A loud tisk came from your boss.

“God, do I really put you through this much pain!?” he cried aloud.

“Huh? You didn’t cause this - those dumbass followers did!”

“I guess, but I was the one who brought you to that event! And what about the scar on your hand, huh? I definitely caused that one.”

“Well, yeah, but -”

“That’s it, I can’t be hurting you like this anymore. I can’t be putting you through all of this danger like you’re my bodyguard. I have to let you go.”

You knew he was joking when he couldn’t hold in his cheeky smile. “That is not probable cause to fire me, Mr. Kim.”

“Really? Dammit.”

“No matter how many times I get hurt, you can’t get rid of me that easily, ok? I go out on my own terms!”

“So strong willed… I almost hate it.” Woojin sighed exaggeratedly before pulling you in for a real hug this time. His arms squeezed your waist tightly, letting you know that he didn’t want to let you go even if he tried. “Just make sure to give me a two weeks notice, all right?”

“Anything for you, boss.”

“I’m going to miss hearing that from you the most when you leave.”

You hit his chest lightly, but he caught your hand and held it for a few moments before leading you back to your kitchen to finish up dinner. The rest of the night wasn’t you and your boss - it was you and your closest friend enjoying dinner and some ice cream you had in your freezer.

In another lifetime, huh? Too bad you were stuck in this one.

--

Work has mellowed out in terms of paperwork and actually work and has instead transitioned into more press conferences and meetings with government officials regarding Iron Man. In theory, the meetings sounded cool, but you wouldn’t know for sure, as your boss decided to take one of the newer girls as his assistant for these meetings.

The first time he denied your company, you were only a little confused, but it soon passed when he said there was a lot of paperwork he only trusted you to complete on his behalf. But when he would bring her to every event - whether it was out of habit or on purpose - for an entire month, and her only, it really made your blood boil.

No, you weren’t jealous…! You weren’t jealous he was hanging out with someone younger and prettier and more his type! Definitely not! You were upset that your boss, whom you called one of your closest friends in a time of vulnerability, was already replacing you before you could put your two weeks in! And you knew this to be true when he denied your invitation to get lunch and instead you found him in the cafeteria laughing and flirting with the new girl at the table you and him would always sit at.

For a whole month, without even knowing it, you were slowly getting left behind and replaced for someone better - someone who would actually heed his every word and never argue. Someone who would keep their mouth shut for once. Someone who wouldn’t mind taking order from him forever.

It had been a month since you were living in this limbo, and tonight, the night of the Animal Cruelty Charity Ball to which Iron Man would be making a guest appearance, was when you knew he no longer needed you.

“You’re taking Ryujin…?” you repeated, as you couldn’t believe your ears.

“Yes, so you can go home early if you want,” Woojin said as he fixed his bow tie in the giant mirror in his office. He then turned to present to you with an ignorant grin. “How do I look?”

“Why are you taking her?”

“She’s been working hard this past month, so I thought I’d reward her with tonight and have her practice some networking skills.”

“How generous of you,” you mumbled bitterly to yourself.

“Hm?”

“Nothing.”

“Can you help me put on this chain necklace thing? The clasp is so damn tiny…”

Reluctantly, you helped clasp the silver jewelry. While you thought your boss was heavily admiring himself in the mirror, he instead was focused on you and how your face was uncharacteristically stern.

“Are you ok?” he asked sincerely. He pressed a firm hand to your forehead. “Are you sick?”

You harshly swatted his hand away. “I’m fine.”

He shrugged it off, thinking that you probably had a bad week with all of the boring work he’s been having you deal with. A lot of weird and unsettling energy was pent up inside of you for the past month, so before you exited Woojin’s office for the weekend, for some reason you thought this was the appropriate time to speak on it.

“Actually, I’m not fine,” you blurted out. Woojin gave you his full attention for the first time that month. “I… I’m putting in my two weeks.”

His eyes went wide. “What?”

“I’m giving you my two weeks notice.”

“Do you have a job lined up?”

“No, but I will figure that out later.”

“You don’t have another job lined up but you want to quit? Where is this coming from?”

He didn’t sound angry. He wasn’t - he was more hurt than anything else that you wanted to leave without a proper explanation. He thought you and him were doing well… What changed so suddenly?

“I can’t do this anymore,” Woojin noted how your voice was shaking. “I was fine when you had me staying ungodly hours, I was fine when you had me get you coffee every morning and your dry cleaning every Monday, and I was fine when you involved with the Iron Man project, but now all you’ve given me lately is paperwork and shit that the new hires should be doing and not myself!”

“_____, language -”

“And why is that? Why do I feel like I’m starting to get left behind already, or-or why do I feel like you don’t appreciate anything I do!? It’s clear to me that you’ve already begun to replace me, so what’s the use of me staying here when you don’t want me anymore?”

Woojin was silent. You couldn’t tell if he was angry or sad or surprised at your sudden outburst. The tension in the room was suffocating and his silence even more so, like this was his ideal form of psychological torture. Woojin didn’t seem to care for your feelings anymore as he turned back to face the mirror.

“Your two weeks has been noted,” was all he said.

You left the room in tears, with your blood still boiling and your heart crushed. But this was a good thing. In the end, this would be a good thing, is what you were trying to tell yourself, because this lifetime wouldn’t let you be with Woojin.

--

Another month passed by and you were left in a worse limbo than you began with a month and a half ago. No one was contacting you about any job offers so you were left to ‘self-reflect’ or some bullshit this self-help book told you to do for the past two weeks. Luckily, all the overtime you put into your savings account had vastly accumulated into an unthinkable sum that would support you far beyond whatever the government noted as a proper unemployment time. Like, you didn’t even know what to do with the money sometimes - thank Woojin for time-and-a-half, huh?

On days where you couldn’t help yourself - when you felt like torturing yourself - you would look up Woojin on all the tabloid sites. Surprisingly enough, this happened way more than you’d like. Of course, as you speculated, Ryujin had quickly taken your spot as his secretary and God, did you like to shit on how terrible she was! You didn’t have to be at the office to know that Woojin must be frustrated with her by the crookedness of his ties and jackets and how she must have forgotten to schedule a salon appointment by the look of his roots and unruly brows.

Ha! That’s what he fucking gets for not being grateful! That dick!

What a shame your relationship with him had come to. To spend what felt like an entire lifetime with him to being complete strangers, it was like you were reborn into this new and fresh carefree person. So carefree that you hummed on the way home with a bag full of fresh produce from the local market.

Perhaps you should have been less carefree, as a stranger snuck up behind you and knocked you out cold.

--

“Ryujin, where’s my document-signing pen?”

“Um, in your drawer?”

“Which drawer?”

“The one with all the other pens…?”

Woojin sighed loudly, running a hand through his curly locks and staring intently at the mess of papers that scattered on his desk. His desk hadn’t been this messy since the first day he started when he had to sign all of those official documents that transitioned him to CEO. The same day when he fell for you.

Ryujin, who was nothing close to a secretary compared to you, was only getting on his nerves these days. Perhaps yes, he’s been a little too harsh on someone who’s still fairly new, but in truth he just didn’t have a way to express his frustration about you leaving all of a sudden. Where had he gone wrong?

“Take the rest of the night off,” he told his subordinate.

The poor girl bowed obediently and scurried out the room.

Another sign left the young man’s lips. This time it was because he was tired. He couldn’t deal with anymore bullshit tonight.

An anonymous FaceTime call rang his phone. Who could be wanting to FaceTime him at such an odd hour of the weeknight?

When he swiped to answer, all he saw was you tied up roughly to a splintered chair with tape covering your mouth. Woojin nearly dropped his phone.

“Good evening, Mr. Kim,” a familiar voice sang. From the shadows behind you emerged the fake vigilante that led the invasion of the Charity Ball. “I see that you’re doing well.”

“What do you want?” he demanded quietly.

“I think you know what I want.” A shiny knife drew a line across the other cheek, small drops of blood seeping through and mixing with the dried tears and dirt. Woojin’s heart felt like it was collapsing. “A blank check addressed to little ol’ me.”

“If I see another scar on them, I’ll kill you,” he threatened.

The man held his hands up high in defensive mode and took a step away from you. “Fine, I won’t touch them! Just give me what we want near the docs.”

“I’m on my way.”

“Oh, and one more thing - come dressed in Iron Man and I’ll slice their throat. Bye!”

The line cut dead and Woojin had no choice but to leave empty-handed with only a blank check in his pocket.

The air inside the enclosed cargo bed was hot and suffocating and your rising panic did not ease your pain or heavy breathing one bit. It didn’t help that the guy and his minions were playing with your hair and playing with their knives, draggin the dull edges on your arms and neck. Normally, you wouldn’t be so weak and crying to the point that the tape around your mouth was loosening up, but life these days was tough and perhaps an event like this, causing Woojin major inconvenience once again, was what you deserved.

Scurrying and uneven footsteps were heard from outside and you really, really hoped it was Woojin not dressed in Iron Man.

“Here already? He must like you,” the leader teased.

The back of the cargo bed opened up to reveal that the sun had fallen a long time ago and the light of the moon outlined your plain and simple hero. He didn’t give the leader a second passing glance before blindly shoving the blank check to his chest and rushing by your side to untie you. First, he ripped off the tape and you let out loud gasps of air and cries.

Woojin’s shaking hands take hold of your face to try to calm you down. “Hey hey, shh, I’m here. Are you ok? Are you hurt?” You shook your head vigorously, whining and trying to break free from the ropes tying you down. “Hold on, I got you.”

Before Woojin could untie your hands, one of the minions hit him on the back of his head the same way they knocked you out. But your boss was stronger than that - his head was harder than his iron helmet. At the failed attempt, Woojin hurled the guy over his shoulder and out the cargo bed. Your bad ass boss got up like it was nothing, but he was breathing heavily.

Not because he was tired or weak, but because he was furious.

Three more guys tried to kick his ass and it was then you realized that your boss wasn’t just some fake hiding behind an iron suit who could program it to fight. He truly was kicking their ass! Like, raw strength and all! If you weren’t scared to death, you might have thought this was kind of hot. But then Woojin punched one of the guys too hard and it sent him flying over to you, to which you fell over and broke the chair. The rope was no longer tied to anything and you were free.

Yet another one of the lame-o sidekicks tried to capture you again, but now you were equally as furious, if not more, than your partner in crime. How dare they sneak up on you and not even give you a chance to fight back!? That was the definition of a weak-ass group of villains! So of course you had to show them a lesson and kick a few balls and some asses. But the number of asses was infinite and you were getting really tired. They had enough people to fight you and Woojin until you couldn’t keep up and then they’d kill you easily.

“Mr. Kim, now would be a good time for one of your brilliant plans!” you begged between kicks and breaths.

“Ten seconds tops. But when I say so, I need you to hold my hand, ok?”

“What!? What are you planning!?”

“Just trust me!” You and Woojin saw the leader direct the last ten of his minions to finish the job. “Ready? Three… two… one!”

A heavy force on the outside pushed the cargo bed off the edge of the pier and into the ocean with the purpose of drowning everyone in it. The only sensation you felt was ice cold water freezing your blood flow and Woojin grasping your hand for dear life while trying to swim up to the surface. Before blacking out from lack of oxygen, you felt the ripples of something entering the ocean and saw a faded red and golden glow of light. Not a second later, a hollowed Iron Man on autopilot rushed you and Woojin to the surface and placed you gently on the sand just under the pier. The silent night was filled with a chorus of ugly coughing fits from you and your boss. What a wonderful CEO slash ex-secretary couples activity this turned out to be.

As soon as your breathing returned to a rhythmic beat, a wet, crying, sand-covered Woojin held your face in his still-trembling hands. He didn’t say a word - he simply held you and pressed his forehead to yours, making sure that yes, this was real, and not some unconscious dream where he was still in the middle of the ocean drowning. Yes, you were there with him and you were alive.

“Why are you crying? I was the one kidnapped,” you joked, hoping it’d lighten up the mood if but a little bit.

Woojin laughed between sniffles and shivers, but couldn’t stop crying. He was smiling, but still crying, and if that didn’t perfectly depict this situation, you’re not sure there’s anything out there that did. Haphazardly, he planted a cold kiss on your forehead before pulling you into a hug.

“I’m so happy you’re ok,” he whispered. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“Why? You had nothing to do with this.”

“I’m just sorry in general. I’m sorry I took you for granted. I’m sorry for making you feel like I was replacing you. I’m sorry for not buying you that cappuccino three years ago. I’m sorry for -”

What’s the only way to silence your sexy boss in a heartfelt moment like this that would complete this superhero plot line? Kissing him mid-sentence, of course. You kissed your loving boss fully, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing your whole body into it. It took him a while to register that yes, his secretary was definitely kissing him, but once it did, he kissed you even harder, enough to make you fall back onto the grass with him on top of you.

You’re left breathless the moment your lips parted. “I-I, uh, I forgive you…”

“How could you ever think that I could replace you?” he muttered. “I could never. Not in this lifetime.”

“You also said that me and you wouldn’t happen in this lifetime,” you challenged.

“Lifetimes can merge into one, I guess.”

Iron Man returned to Woojin’s basement as soon as his job was done, so your favorite driver picked you two up in ten minutes with plush hot towels and dry clothes to change into. The pajamas you wore already had your initials monogrammed over your heart.

“Yeah, uh, about that,” Woojin began awkwardly on the car ride home. “I was going to gift them to you a couple Christmases ago, but you said that monogrammed clothing was cheesy and stupid, so I abstained…”

“... They’re not so bad,” you admitted truthfully. “Very soft.”

Coming home to Woojin’s felt so wrong, yet so right. You’ve only ever been inside for business reasons, such as redesigning his closets and kitchen pantry, but now that you were here on leisure - well, after almost fucking dying - it was kind of weird. But Woojin holding your hand reassured you that you were wanted here - that he needed you here.

“Take a shower upstairs. I’ll go make some tea.”

You gladly obeyed, using your favorite shower that you helped design. The door and the walls of the shower were made of glass and the shower head hung from the ceiling, making your long, hot shower feel like it was raining. Your body was covered in cuts and bruises and it was really ugly, but you’ve never felt more badass and in control in your entire life.

You left the shower smelling like orchids and eucalyptus and entered the kitchen that smelled like ginger and honey. Woojin, who had also showered, followed shortly after, stealing a kiss on your cheek that was cut up earlier that evening.

You followed Woojin to his giant marble island while he poured tea into white mugs on the other side. This felt so… domestic. This felt so right. This felt like home.

“I have a business proposition for you,” he smirked slyly.

Well, that ruined the moment. “What, no ‘how have you been the past month since I replaced you with some other chick’?”

“I promise I’ll ask that after, but I need to ask you this.” Your hard-headed boss was all giddy just at the idea of it and it was the first time in a whole month since you’ve seen him smile like this. He was so, so cute.

“Fine, what is it?”

“I want to hire you back.”

“Mr. Kim, I already told you, I can’t -”

“As the Head Director of the Iron Man project.”

Your eyes widened at the prestigious title. “Head Director?”

“You stayed by my side through all the criticism and the praise and I can’t imagine a better person for the position.”

“So it’s not just a fancy title for like, super secretary, right…?”

Your handsome man chuckled. “No, I promise.”

“Head Director, huh?” your lips slowly spread into a grin. “I like the sound of that.”

“Is that a yes?”

“On a few conditions.”

“Hit me.”

“Higher pay with time-and-a-half.”

“Obviously.”

“I get my own secretary.”

“Of course.”

“An extra week of vacation.”

“You’re pushing it.”

“Last one. I’m your date to every event from now on.”

Woojin raised his eyebrow teasingly. “Oh? And if I say no?”

“Then I say no.”

“Jeez, I’m kidding! Of course you can, on two conditions.”

“Fine.”

“You call me Woojin from now on. Or boyfriend, or soulmate, or whatever suits your fancy.”

“Deal.”

“Second,” Woojin leaned in and puckered his pink lips. “Kiss me.”

You start your new job next week - after Woojin cashed in one week of vacation to spend with his soulmate.

#kim woojin #woojin #skz #stray kids #skz woojin #stray kids woojin #woojin imagines #woojin scenarios #kim woojin imagines #kim woojin scenarios #skz scenarios #skz imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids imagines #omg ok good night KJADLKJSFL #woojin ily imy omg #i wanted to post this before the chan one but then i signed up for secret santa so that happened LMAO #lemme know what u think HEH

[nataliedanovelist]

GF - Shards of Glass 1/2

After over thirty years, Ma is getting paid a visit, all thanks to the persuasion of a sweater-making, pig-loving teenager. A loud HAPPY BIRTHDAY for Stanley and Stanford Pines, born June 15th 19?? (who cares?) Part 2 will be posted on June 30th to conclude the celebration of their existence. So stay tuned!

@thestanbros

~~~~~~~~~~

Mabel had never been on a plane before.

Well, okay, that wasn't entirely true; she had been on an airplane before, but she was so little back then and she didn't remember it now, so to her brain this was her first time on a plane, and she didn't like it much. She had to chew on gum the whole time to keep from getting a headache and the WiFi was too slow to function, so she daydreamed about the summer ahead as she watched the clouds roll by and imagined shapes.

Once, when she and Dipper were really little, maybe four or five, they had flown down to Ma Pines' house all the way in New Jersey for a holiday. Probably Thanksgiving since Mabel only had three memories of that trip. She remembered yummy sweet potatoes with marshmallows that she ate as much as she was allowed, she remembered the distinct smell of the flat, and she remembered…

"Attention passengers, we will be arriving in Glass Shard, New Jersey in five minutes. Please remain seated until instructed to exit the plane, and as always thanks for flying with us at…"

"Dipper, we're here!" Mabel cheered and checked her phone, her other hand busy petting a disturbed Waddles on her lap. By the time a message would load to her great uncles they would already be in front of them, so there was no point in sending a text to alert them of the arrival. "This is so exciting! A whole month sailing with my three favorite people in the world!"

"I'm so excited to see all the anomalies the guys were talking about." Dipper said, looking up from his special journal to smile at his twin. "Maybe we'll see a real adlet!"

"But first I wanna see where Grunkle Stan and Ford grew up!" Mabel piped in. "Maybe we'll see the cave where they found the Stan O' War!"

"Maybe," Dipper said, unsure how true that word was. "But don't you think they might not want to stay very long? I wouldn't be surprised if they want to set sail as soon as we get there."

"But what about their mom?" Mabel asked. "Don't they want to see her?"

Dipper looked down at the silver pinetree on his blue book. Their great-grandmother was a tough old bird (as Grandpa Shermie called her) and was still going in her early nineties. Grant it, she didn't do much besides give an occasional palm reading to keep herself busy, but she was definitely still around. Grandpa Shermie was good about staying in touch with her from what Dad said, and Dad called her every Sunday, but she was still relatively lonely due to the fact that her husband was gone (good riddance) and two of her sons hadn't spoken to her in thirty years. ("Stanford" had been very quiet during Stanley's funeral, had refused to attend Filbrick's, and when Grunkle Stan saw Dipper and Mabel being born he left just before Ma arrived at the hospital.) While a visit was way overdue, it might be too little too late.

"I'm sure they want to see her," Dipper finally said as he looked back up at Mabel. "But it might be too hard, now. And not just for them, you know? How would she take it? Would she even believe them?"

Mabel's attitude dropped a little bit more. She shrugged and scratched the spot Waddles can never reach. "I dunno… Dad took the news okay."

Dipper smiled. When their parents' had gotten Mabel's letter their mother didn't believe them, but their father took them seriously and only shrugged and said, "Yup, that sounds like my uncles, alright."

"I think it's a good idea to see Ma, but let's not pressure them, okay?" Dipper settled on.

"Don't worry, Bro-Bro." Mabel said confidently. "It'll all work out. Oo! Look, look, look! We're here! Look, Dipper, look!"

"Okay okay, I'm looking." Dipper chuckled as they both watched the ground come closer and closer, the plane landing safely on the runway and gliding peacefully.

~~~~~~~~~~

Ford had always been more collected and self-contained of the dynamic duo; this became apparent as he was able to stand perfectly calm in the airport with his hands on the pockets of his blue jacket while Stan tapped his foot impatiently and checked his phone every minute, even though he never received a notification or heard a ringtone. Ford smiled and came up with a joke to poke the bear with. "Well well, has Stanley Pines truly gone soft for two teenagers?"

"Shaddup." Stan growled but smiled back nonetheless.

"You know, a watched pot never boils. Just relax."

"I ain't worried or nothing, Poindexter," Stan defended. "Sorry that an uncle's excited to see his kids!"

"I'm happily anticipating their arrival, as well," Ford chuckled. "I'll admit it, Mabel's idea of sailing with us is a fantastic one. Why in the Multiverse she wanted to go so badly she felt compelled to beg for a month straight…"

"Believe it or not, the kids like us." Stan lightly punched his shoulder. "I'm sure all they want is to be stuck on a boat with two cool old men for a month with nothing but fish and an occasional monster for company."

"And a pig."

Stan snorted. "I try to forget that naked jerk."

"And we all know how great of a job you…" Ford cut himself off, turning red and fearing he had crossed a line, but Stan laughed loudly and slapped his knee.

"Okay okay, you got me there…"

"Stanley,"

"What?"

Just as Stan turned around, his eyes landed on the two most precious things in the world: a boy in a ushanka and navy blue vest with a green t-shirt and blue jeans, a journal in his hands and a large backpack on his shoulders, and a girl with shoulder-length brown hair kept back with a red headband, wearing a purple sweater with a big pink heart that held a golden fish and a golden six-fingered hand, a pig in her arms and a huge suitcase just busting at the seam with sweaters and arts n' crafts supplies.

Mabel grinned with teeth free of braces and tears in her eyes and let Waddles down so they could all run freely. Stan broke into a run for his pumpkin and ignored the squealing pig that arrived at him first by a split second, little hooves on his jeans and button eyes requesting cuddles. Stan scooped Mabel up into his arms and held her tight, her arms wrapped around his neck and her face in his shoulder. Dipper was at his legs in an instant and hugged him, not bothering to pretend it's a chokehold or a means to make the old guy trip and fall. Stan freed an arm to keep him close, and not even a second after Dipper joined the hug Ford was by his brother's side and Dipper adjusted to hug him, too.

Stan heard a small sniff and rubbed Mabel's back. "Sweetie, you're not crying, are you?"

Mabel lifted her head up from his shoulder to look at him, wiping away the tears on her cheeks and eyes. "N-No…" Her smile unwavering through her white lie.

Stan chuckled warmly and put her down next to her twin. "Alright, let us get a good look at you two."

"You've seen us at least once a week." Dipper reminded him. They video-chatted constantly and there wasn't a day they didn't exchange an email or a text message.

"This is different, now shaddap and let me work through my cataracts." Stan and Ford looked at the kids hungrily, who was looking back at them just the same, as if they couldn't absorb each other's appearances enough. Which was probably true. "You've both gotten taller."

"I'm taller than Mabel now!"

"By one milometer!"

"Now don't get short with your brother." Ford said with a smile, making every laugh, including Mabel, who shrugged with a "whatcha gonna do" atmosphere to it.

"And your teeth look amazing, pumpkin!" Stan commented; back in March she had gotten the braces removed and admitted to being unsure if her teeth looked good enough, but they dazzled beautifully when she grinned and apart from a painful reminder that she was growing up, Stan was pleased with the new change.

"And the pictures and video don't do your hair justice. You look beautiful." Ford got on one knee and ruffled her hair, making her giggle and playfully swat his hand away. "I must ask, was there a reason for the new hairstyle, or did you simply fancy trying something new?"

"Let's just say an arts n' crafts accident didn't leave me much choice." Mabel said with a wink.

"She set her hair on fire and we had to cut off the dead ends." Dipper spoiled.

"Dipper! I gotta keep some secrets! It makes me look cool and mysterious!"

"No more secret, sweetie." Stan laughed alongside her.

"And Dipper, my boy, you've certainly grown up a lot since we've last seen you." Ford noted as he stood back up.

"Yeah, who gave you permission to look more manly and junk?"

Dipper rolled his eyes at Grunkle Stan's comment, but Mabel chimed in first. "He's already grown five chest hairs! I bet he named them, too."

"I did not!"

"He won't let me see, though…"

"Last time you saw my chest hair you put it in your scrapbook!"

"That's cuz it was your first, Dip-Dip. The rest aren't as special."

The uncles laughed at the kids' playful bickering and Stan took Mabel's suitcase and they ventured out of the airport with Waddles in Mabel's arms.

With the airport being on the furthest side of town from the beach, Stan flagged down a cab and they piled in for the docks. The entire car-ride they filled each other in on their lives, the kids talking about school and the adults giving brief summaries of some of their adventures. Waddles moved from Mabel's lap to Stan's, and without a single comment and only funny looks from the others, Stan scratched the pig as he talked and listened.

At long last the cab pulled up to the docks and the kids ran out, tired of sitting after a six-hour flight and a twenty-minute car ride, while Ford paid for the ride. The younger set of twins raced to the boat they had only seen pictures of and marveled at the vessel before them. Already showing signs of harsh weather and tons of love, the Stan O' War II stood strong on the gentle sea salt waves, the white letter shining in the early-afternoon sun. With a cozy cabin with a downstairs bedroom and an upstairs everything room, a hardtop for astronomy and sunbathing, and a big enough cockpit for the small family, the Stan O' War II had been an excellent home for the old pair of twins and the younger pair of twins were excited to live here for the first half of summer.

"There she is, kids!" Stan said proudly, a hand on Dipper's shoulder. "This ole girl survived Fiji Monkeys, sirens, and five different krakens. It's completely and totally safe." And then a piece of the antenna for the TV fell off.

"Grunkle Stan, if we can survive in the Mystery Shack for an entire summer, I think we'll be fine here." Dipper said while Mabel ran up to the boat and climbed up with Ford behind her.

"What do you think, my dear?"

"It's BEAUTIFUL!" Mabel squealed and hoisted Waddles up into the boat with them, her eyes sparkling with stars as she took in every detail. "I can't wait to get splinters and name all the moldy spots!"

"Unfortunately, there aren't any moldy spots yet." Ford chuckled. "But there are some craters in the wood that haven't been named."

"Leave that to Mabel!"

When Stan and Dipper joined them, the old men took the kids downstairs to the bedroom to unload their things and get situated. What once used to only hold a set of bunk beds and a dresser now also hosted a set of hammocks hooked to the wall and the dresser, one on top of the other for the kids. Mabel squealed with delight and snuggled into the lower one (still a little afraid of heights) and Dipper said, "Whoa, cool! Thanks, guys."

"Well, can't have you two gremlins sleeping out on deck, can we?" Stan asked. He clapped his hands together and declared, "Alright! You two get settled while Ford and I get us out at sea…"

Mabel sat up on her knees, her hands on the edge of the hammock. "Wait, Grunkle Stan! Aren't you gonna give us the grand tour?"

Stan shrugged. "It's a small boat. Not much to tour, kid."

"I mean Glass Shard Beach." Mabel pressed. "You could show us that old candy store and your swing-set and the boardwalk you used to play in!"

Ford looked over at his brother; while he could stomach saying here a little longer, he wasn't sure how comfortable Stan was taking a trip down memory lane, but then again Stan was always preaching about how "the past's in the past" and "old memories shouldn't stop us from making newer, better ones," but that didn't excuse the fact that Stan had been quick to suggest leaving the docks as soon as they picked up the kids and get the supplies they needed when they first arrived.

But Stan smiled, crossed his arms over his chest, and smirked, "I don't see why not? You cool with it, Sixer?"

Ford smiled at his family. "I think it's a wonderful idea. The boardwalk should be open, maybe the Freak Show is still there."

"Freak Show?! Let's go!" Mabel hopped out of her hammock and the four left the boat for town.

Walking alongside the beach and letting Mabel ride on Stan's shoulders, the kids got a good glimpse of the town. They eventually decide to walk into it on the way to the boardwalk, the old men wondering how much Glass Shard had changed.

It was an odd combination of "nothing changes" and "everything changes". The buildings were still the same, not much torn down or rebuilt, but the interiors were mostly updated or something completely different. They passed the Juke Joint and Stan found he couldn't ignore the growl in his stomach. Nothing but the staff had changed (and the prices had gone up due to inflation), the wall art and food and music still the same, but they had a fun time in the diner as the adults told the kids why What's New Kittycat wasn't an option in the jukebox.

After the late lunch, they were just about to enter the boardwalk when they spotted the candy store that mostly sold saltwater taffy, but they also sold jelly jeans, toffee peanuts, peanut brittle, and any kind of candy anyone could want. Though the store had been given a clean update since Ford and Stan were children, the candy was better than they remembered and they all filled their pockets with bags of sweets. Then they strolled along the Boardwalk and while they didn't play many games, the Stan-twins had a lot of fun telling stories that came along with each and every booth.

At the end, in a giant tent with a devil at the front, stood the Freak Show. Of course, none of the adults from the old men's childhood were still around, except for one muscular guy with tons of tattoos who growled at Mabel like an animal but then broke into a smile as she complimented his look and asked where she could get a cool tattoo of a headless seagull.

"Well, tear off my limbs and call me the next human pickle!" The very old tattoo guy said, his hair white and his skin in wrinkles, but his muscles still somehow very toned and his tattoos still clear as ever. "Good ole Six Fingers! How've you two been? These squirts normies?"

Dipper pulled off his hat and pushed back his bangs. "Who you calling normie?"

The whole tent gasped and a woman with hair growing all over her face said tearfully, "One of us."

"Yup, these little weirdos are Dipper and Mabel, our brother's grandkids." Stan introduced proudly.

"Aw, well ain't that swell!" A puppet said for it's puppeteer.

"So wait, you knew our great-uncles when they were kids?" Dipper asked the oldest weirdo.

"Tell us some embarrassing stories about them!" Mabel bugged, her hands on the guy's knee.

The old tattooed guy laughed. "Embarrassing?! Ha! Your uncles were cool little weirdos who made this dock more bearable! Nearly caught a devil at ten-years-old to boot!..."

"You did WHAT?!" The kids gasped at their beaming uncles.

"... Stan over there knew more swears than anyone else his age and Ford knew more secrets than anyone ever. Those two were hands-down the best pair of twins this side of the Mississippi!"

Ford, who was rosy in his cheeks, had his hands in his pockets and commented, "The Sibling Brothers would have loved to disagree."

"What who now?" Mabel asked.

"The worst pair of uptight dorks you would ever meet," Stan growled. "Ascot and Dickie. Blond-haired rich kids who claimed that no one solved a case quicker than them, but who found the Jersey Devil first, ey?!"

"You found WHAT?!"

"I wonder whatever happened to them." Ford pondered as he held his cleft chin.

"Who cares?" Stan said and motioned the kids out of the tent. "Now let's get outta here so I can show you what happens when a pelican eats a firecracker!"

"Stanley, no!"

"Stanley, YES!"

When the sun was setting beautifully on the ocean, the grunkles bought everyone some ice cream and they sat at the edge of the boardwalk to eat. At one point Stan got ice cream on his shirt with a small "Boo!" and had to leave to clean it off, but then got sidetracked and tried to cheat at a booth. Ford went over to rangle his brother, leaving the kids alone.

"Isn't this place great?" Mabel asked with Waddles licking her strawberry ice cream. "They were so lucky to grow up on a beach! Piedmont is so boring."

Dipper smiled at his sister and opened his mouth to respond, but something else caught his attention. A pair of look-alike kids were snickering and laughing as Grunkle Stan and Ford fought off a mean seagull that was trying to peek at the ice cream on Stan's chest. It was a cruel snicker, one the old men couldn't hear, but the kids could, only being a few feet away from them.

"What a couple of fools." The girl with short blonde curls laughed with a slight English accent.

"And does that one have six fingers?" The boy sneered with peering eyes, his hair greased and parted down the middle. "Ugh."

"Hey, hey!" Dipper snapped and stood up, pointing at the rude pair of siblings. "Shut it." He said darkly.

The boy scoffed with a cheeky smile. "Or what? What does it matter to you?"

"Yeah, you leave Grunkle Stan and Ford alone!" Mabel demanded, standing by her brother's side.

"Wait," The girl looked back at the old men, still fighting off the bird, and she cackled a mean laugh. "Six fingers? Rags for clothes? Stan and Ford? Are you the Pines family?"

Dipper and Mabel glared at them. "Yeah? So what?"

"I haven't heard that name since Uncle Ascot and Uncle Dickie told us about how they conquered the Jersey Devil and tricked some monsters to make the boys run away crying." The boy marveled.

Dipper and Mabel glared daggers at the kids, ready to snap at them, but a pair of adults came up behind the mean kids and a voice said coldly, "Bernard, Silvia, play nicely."

Mabel snickered. "Bernard…"

Dipper looked at the men who were around Ford and Stan's age. Their blond hair was freckled with gray, one of the men had a twirly mustache and wore a red and brown sweater-vest combo while the other was clean-shaved and wore a blue polo with khakis. Their blue eyes were cold and mean, and Mabel and Dipper instantly didn't like them. Ascot and Dickie smiled maliciously; these kids looked nearly identical to those pains in their sides. "I see twins run in your family, as well, do they?"

"Excellent deduction, Dickie." His brother commented. "My my my, I didn't think this town could get any worse, but here we are. Once again terrorized by the discount Mystery Twins."

"Hey!" Mabel snapped. "We're awesome! Our grunkles are the best! They go on super cool adventures all the time!"

Meanwhile Stan kicked the seagull away, making it squawk and dive for his red beanie. While Stan grabbed his hat in time and tugged, Ford grabbed the bird and pulled furiously.

Ascot and Dickie rolled their eyes in unison. "We can see that."

Huffing and puffing, Ford and Stan walked up to their kids while Stan readjusted his beanie and smiled down at the best pair of Mystery Twins he knew. "Kids, if we hurry we might make it to…"

Ford's eyes widened and then narrowed darkly. "No. Way."

"What? What…" Stan looked up and growled like an angry bulldog, a hand on Dipper and Mabel's shoulder instinctively. "Oh, great. You two."

"And so the Pines twins come crawling back, eh?" Ascot snorted. "I do hope the mysterious findings out in the West have served you well, Stanford, as you preached it would." He and his family looked up and down at their faded jeans and gruff stature.

"Clearly not." Dickie and the let slip his downfall. "And here I thought your family couldn't sink any lower."

He screamed as a pig bit his ankle and Stan stole the moment of weakness for his advantage, punching the old jerk in the face and Dickie slapping him in return, the two getting into a fight. The moment Stan punched Dickie, Ascot nearly punched Stan in retaliation, but Ford jumped him and started rolling on the docks with him. Mabel shrugged and pulled on Silvia's hair and punched her on the cheek while Bernard and Dipper began slapping each other.

And that was how Stan and Ford ended up fleeing from the cops with a teenager in their arms. Stan had to pull Mabel off of the girl like an angry cat at the sound of the sirens and Ford carried Dipper merely because the old scientist was much faster than the boy.

Luckily no one was hurt, aside from some bruises on their limbs from fighting, but Silvia had grabbed Mabel's arm awkwardly at some point during the fight and her long nails scratched Mabel's skin, actually just deep enough to make a bead or two of blood. So Ford sat Mabel on the table, her sleeve rolled up, while he tried to disinfect her injury, but Mabel kept pulling away and whimpering at the painful medicine.

"Mabel, please, you're worse than Stanley was." Ford said to ease the situation.

Mabel smiled and gripped his hand a little tighter as the medicine stung her arm. Ford then quickly wrapped it up as he scolded. "And really Stanley, you couldn't have controlled your temper?"

"You're one to talk, you jumped Ascot!"

"He was about to attack you!"

"Whatever, you were both awesome!" Dipper cheered.

"Yeah! Did you see the black eyes Dickie had!" Mabel laughed. "He'll be avoiding cameras for weeks!"

"Who says it never ends well to see old friends?" Stan asked and opened the cabinet to get started on a late dinner.

Over baked beans and hotdogs, or Beanies and Weenies as the Pines called them, Stan and Ford shared their plan with Dipper and Mabel, the map laid out on the table and the trail through Canada's islands written in pencil. The kids were beyond excited. The plan was actually pretty straightforward; they were all going home to Gravity Falls together. After first exploring Boston (mostly so the nerds in the family could geek about American History), they were going up north past Prince Edward Island and the Gulf of St. Lawrence, crossing the Labrador Sea for the Baffin Bay, passing the Cornwallis, Bathrust, and Melville Islands, sailing over the Beaufort Sea, down through the Chukchi Sea, and dipping around Alaska and down south for America until they arrived at Florence so the Stan O' War II could rest for whatever remained of summer.

"This looks incredible!" Dipper said, eyeing the newspaper articles on monsters around Canada and the foggy photographs that accompanied it.

"I'm so excited!" Mabel cheered, shoving her cheeks full of Beanies and Weenies.

"Then we'll head out first thing tomorrow!" Stan declared.

"Actually, can we go see Ma first?"

It was like a record had screeched horribly. Stan's whole body tensed, his jaw was tighter, and he was gripping his spoon much tighter than necessary. Ford, however, looked like he was caving in himself, like an animal curling up in fear to hide, his back hunched over and his head a bit lower. Dipper glared at his sister. "Mabel," He hissed in his warning tone.

"What?" Mabel asked gently. "I miss her. It'd be good to see her again, don't you think?"

"Well yeah, but…"

"I didn't know you had met her." Ford mumbled with a soft smile.

Mabel grinned. "Yeah! We talked on the phone sometimes when Dad would call. And we went to see her once. She loves us! She's super cool! She's the one that told me I'd one day marry a really handsome guy."

"She only said that cuz you wouldn't quit begging her to read your palm." Dipper sneered with a smile. "You know all her fortunes were fake, right?"

"The love behind them wasn't." Mabel insisted. "Come on, can't see just go say hello? We're already here, we might as well. She'd be so surprised!"

"I don't think that's a good idea, my dear." Ford said quietly.

"Why not?" Mabel asked gently.

"Well… given everything that has happened… it would just be very difficult."

"So is defeating a triangle demon, but you guys did it together, didn't you?" Mabel said with a soothing smile. She covered one of Ford's polydactyl hands and squeezed it reassuringly. "I know it'll be hard, but I think we should go see her? Don't you want to say hello?"

"Of course I do." Ford said quickly. "She's my mother, but…" His eyes went to Stan, suddenly concerned about something. "Stanley, you've been very quiet."

Mabel looked at her hero to find him engulfed in shame. She wondered if he had looked like that after Ford was lost behind the portal. He held his head with one hand, his elbows on the table, and the strong grunkle she knew resembled a tired old man too much for her liking. Mabel's heart dropped when she came to the conclusion that she caused that pain. "Grunkle Stan…"

"Look, it's no secret I did a bad job of staying in touch with her even before the portal business." Stan started with. "I definitely went months without a payphone for her."

"You're not the only one to blame." Ford sighed. "I hardly called her when I was in college and nothing changed when I moved to Gravity Falls. Fiddleford was actually the one who encouraged me to call her one day the summer before… before everything happened. That was the last time I spoke to her."

"Yeah well, I kept that character trait in my portrayal of you, Sixer." Stan growled, his anger at himself. "You know her; she's too smart. One long look at me and she would've known who I was. You can't fool the best conwoman in New Jersey. So I just straight-up avoided her. I didn't even go to Pa's funeral and showed up early to see you two gremlins being born, all so I could avoid her. And I would've been too tempted to dance on someone's grave if I had gone to the funeral." He added.

"Stanley,"

"Kidding, that was a joke. The point is, just popping in after all these years seems too little too late in my book. So, no. sorry, but we're not going."

"Grunkle Stan," Mabel said as soft as a kitten and got down from the table to stand next to him. "I'm sure Ma would wanna see you."

"I don't think so, sweetie…"

"That's not true." Mabel said firmly. "She loves you both. All moms love their kids, no matter how many stupid mistakes they make, or how old and grunkly they get." She added, making Stan crack a smile that didn't last long. "It doesn't matter how mad our mom would be, she'd still wanna talk to us. She even forgave Dipper for breaking her favorite mug."

"Geez, it's been five years…"

"And you still haven't replaced it, Dip-Dip." Mabel said and focused her attention on both of the old guys. "If you two really don't think you can go see Ma, it's okay. We don't have to go. But I think you guys want to go, and you two need to go. She needs to know the truth, she needs to know you're okay, and even if she doesn't take it well, at least you can say you tried and you won't have to worry about it anymore."

Stan and Ford's eyes flickered to each other to use that awesome twin-telepathy they had or whatever. Or maybe they were just close enough to be able to read minds with a single facial expression to go off of. Either way, Stan gently ruffled Mabel's hair with a smile and said, "Alright, we'll go see Ma tomorrow after breakfast."

Mabel wanted to cheer and shout and punch the air victoriously, but she managed to catch herself in time and only allowed a quiet "yes!" before hugging Grunkle Stan and saying, "I'm so proud of you guys." She quickly hugged Ford before returning to her dinner, choosing to ignore the star-struck looks on the old men's faces.

~~~~~~~~~~

A few hours later and Mabel was sitting criss-cross in her hammock, wearing pajamas while knitting. The gentle clicking of her needles harmonized with the gentle rocking of the waves and her grunkle's humming from the tiny bathroom. Dipper was above her, reading a book quickly before bed, and when Stan emerged from the bathroom in his boxers and undershirt, taking his gray hair damp with a towel, and saw that his twin wasn't preparing for bed, he growled, "Sixer, do I have to drug you again?! Get down here!"

"I'm coming!" Ford called back.

Stan rolled his eyes. "Yeesh. You kids settled in okay?"

"Yeah," Dipper said casually.

"I love these hammocks!" Mabel said, rocking hers a little with joy. "Maybe we should replace the mattresses at the Shack with these!"

Stan chuckled as he threw his towel at the foot of the bunk bed and he noticed the beautiful deep violet yarn in his niece's lap. "Whatcha workin' on, Mabel? 'Nother sweater?"

"Yup!" Mabel said proudly to show a thick and cozy purple sweater that was a little more detailed than her usual creations. While this one lacked any pictures or designs, the sleeves had been woven with a special pattern down the arm and the wrists and neck were so thick and fluffy they resembled odd clouds you could sink into. "I wanna show Ma how much better I've gotten since she taught me."

Surprisingly, the mention of his mother made Stan smile, not frown. Ford came down the stairs just in time to hear Mabel say that, and they both smiled tiredly at their niece. "I didn't know she taught you how to knit."

"Oh yeah," Mabel said with a nod and resumed her work. "When Dipper and I were four or five we visited her for Thanksgiving with Mom and Dad and Grandma and Grandpa. I don't remember much about it, but I remember the delicious sweet potatoes with marshmallows, the flat's smell, and that Ma taught me how to knit. Mom and Dad and Grandma were busy in the kitchen and didn't want my help (I still have no idea why), and Grandpa Shermie had fallen asleep while watching the parade. Ma sat in this rocking chair, and at first I thought she was a witch and doing magic, making two shiny sticks click together to make something, but Ma laughed and explained what she was doing and asked if I wanted to do it, too. So she let me sit on her lap and follow her hands as we made a really pretty blanket until dinner was ready. Ma even let me take some yarn and a pair of needles home with me, and I haven't stopped knitting since."

Stan smiled, sitting on the bottom bunk. "That's really cool, sweetie."

Ford, who had slipped into the bathroom to change into his blue flannel pajamas, called from the other side of the door, "She will love a Mabel Pines original."

"Thanks. I hope so." Mabel inspected her work and gave a quick nod of approval before packing it away in her suitcase and curling up for bed.

One by one everyone settled down. Ford emerged with clean teeth and pajamas and climbed up to his bed, putting his glasses up on a shelf by his head. Dipper turned off the lamp on top of the dresser, leaving only Stan's nightstand-lamp on, and he set his book down and began to settle. Stan was just about to turn off his lamp, but Mabel sat up and gasped, "Wait! You guys! Tell us about the Jersey Devil!"

Dipper sat up excitedly and sided with his twin. "Yeah! When were you gonna tell us that one, anyways?"

Stan shrugged with a cheeky smile and Ford chuckled. "Oh come on, you don't wanna hear about the first pair of Mystery Twins." Stan teased, waving the idea away.

"Yeah we do!" Dipper argued with a grin. "Come on!"

"It can even be our bedtime story!" Mabel suggested, snuggling into her blankets and smiling at her uncle with those adorable eyes and cheeks no man was immune to.

"How old are you again?"

"Oh, just tell them, Stanley."

"Alright alright," Stan rubbed his hands together with a toothy grin and wiggled his fingers to begin the story. "The year was 1960-something in Glass Shard Beach, New Jersey. Summer had just started, but before we could figure out which urban legend to hunt down that day, Pa called for Stanford and was really mad about something…"

"Now, hold on, Stanley." Ford said, sitting up a little from lying on his front and listening to his brother's story. "Pa called for both of us! In fact, we called for 'Stan Pines' but we both knew that meant he wanted us both."

"What?!" Stan gasped, pretending to be offended. "Me, innocent and perfect, being angrily called? Never!"

Dipper and Mabel laughed, not sure if Stan had ever truly been innocent, and so from that point forward the elder twins told the story together, interrupting each other with corrected versions of the story and doubling the runtime, but the kids weren't complaining. Hearing about the old Freak Show, killing the Sibling Brothers, and basically acting how Dipper and Mabel would act on a search for the devil, was hands-down the best bedtime story in the history of bedtime stories, and by the time they had gotten to the part where Shanklin the Stab-Possum saved the day, Waddles was asleep on Stan's bed and the kids were shiny-eyed.

"And that's how Stanley and I ended up grounded for the summer." Ford concluded with, adding in a shrug. "To be honest, we didn't even mind. Solitary confinement is't so bad with the right prison mate. Pa was angry when Stan confessed, but I think some small part of him appreciated the honesty. I guess I'll never know."

"And that's when you two knew you'd be adventuring together for the rest of your lives and everyone lived happily ever after!" Mabel cheered.

Ford laughed at her adorable nature and commented, "I suppose we did."

"Alright, everyone get some shut eye." Stan gruffed as he laid down, gently pushing Waddles out of the way so he could rest his legs, but all that did was cause the pig to trot up to his hand and lay underneath it for sleep. "G'night."

Three voices returned the wish for pleasant dreams and Stan turned off the lamp. The room was soon filled with the gentle snores of the four Pines, escaping into a world entirely their own.

#GF #gravity falls #ford pines #stan pines #mabel pines #dipper pines #week 2: birhtday #june 15th #HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!! #ANGST AND FLUFF

[thetravelerwrites]

Cetzu (Reptilian Changeling)

Rating: General Relationship: Male Changeling/Human Woman Additional Tags: Exophilia, Lizardfolk, Changeling, Interspecies Romance, Monster Boyfriend Words: 4356

Part 1 of 5 commissioned by @ivymemnoch​​! A woman selling her father's merchandise has several issues as a lone person out on the road and decides to hire help. She's directed to Declan's farm to recruit a bodyguard. Please reblog and leave feedback!

The Traveler's Masterlist

When you decided to venture out on your own, you knew there would be hurdles and dangers, but you had no idea how bad it could be for a lone woman on the road.

Your father was a carpenter, specializing in sturdy, well-built pieces of furniture, like tables, chairs, chests, cabinets, and the like, and when you became old enough, you asked if you could help. You weren’t much of a carver yourself, as you were rather clumsy, but you could handle horses and drive a cart and covered wagon, so you offered to make his deliveries for him and set up a stall in various towns so that he wouldn’t be distracted from his work. After all, some of the pieces could take a week or more to make, and if he was gone to deliver his wares, he had less time to make them.

He was nervous about letting his only child go out into the world by herself, but you told him that you could take care of yourself. It took some convincing on your part. You were tall and well built, but you’d always been a little on the shy side and not what people would call a fighter. Although you were quick to warm up to people once you got to know them a bit, actually approaching them had never been your strong suit. You were also awkward and clumsy and prone to accidents. It was a hard sell, but he eventually agreed.

It hadn’t gone as well as you’d hoped. The first time you went out, the entire wagon had been stolen while you’d gone in the woods to pee. The second time, you’d sold the merchandise like you were supposed to, but as you camped, bandits attacked and stole all your money at knife-point. On your way home, you’d heard tales from others about women who’d been taken in addition to the money and goods, sometimes never to be seen again and the ones that had been found wished they were dead. It scared you a little more than you liked to admit and it was at this point you decided you needed to hire help.

You stopped in Willowridge for the evening, which was larger and more busy since the last time you and your father had come through. At the tavern, you paid for a room and care for your wagon and asked the barkeeper where you could find someone big and beefy to scare off potential bandits.

With a sly grin, she said, “There was a farm in the woods where you might find such help.”

“On a farm?” You asked, uncertain.

“Oh, yes,” She said, cleaning out a mug. “Believe it or not, our highly lauded town’s sheriff, Feera, came from there. These are very helpful folk. Ask for Declan. He’ll take good care of you.”

“How do I find it? Is it hidden?”

“A bit, but look for the nectar flowers planted by the roadside. They’ll lead you to the farm.”

After a night at the inn, you hitched up your horse, got up on your wagon, and headed where the barkeep had told you to go. She said by wagon at a decent trot, it would take only an hour by road. Dubious but curious at the same time, you nudged your horse to the left, down the road toward the farmhouse and out of the town.

Sure enough, about an hour’s ride down the road, you found trumpet honeysuckle climbing up the trees and purple coneflowers and milkweed lining the road. As you got past the last bush, which had a little green hummingbird flitting here and there, you saw a smaller path branching off the main road, leading farther into the woods. Clicking your tongue and snapping the left rein, the horse turned and pull the wagon down this new unknown path. In no time at all, you saw a very large farmhouse and a similarly large barn just beyond it.

It was spring, so planting season was in full swing. You saw two centaurs hitched to plows, one piebald and one solid russet, pulling rows. Behind the tawny one, there were two cervitaurs, one male adult and one female child. The adult was steering one of the plows, while the little one watched him closely. He seemed to be giving her quiet, gentle instructions.

The second plow was being driven by a young, plump human woman with a third tiny cervitaur dancing around her legs, stumbling once or twice. Strangely, this cervitaur had two legs rather than four. You’d never seen that before. Though in fairness, it wasn’t all that common to see cervitaurs in the first place, as cruel, bigoted humans saw them as little more than animals and hunted them for sport.

Following behind the plows was a gnoll and another creature you’d never seen before, like a centaur but a dog on bottom, both using thick sticks to press holes into the rows at predetermined intervals and dropping seeds into them. Behind them was another human, though you couldn’t tell if they were male or female, as they had they had a very androgynous appearance, and a female faun. They were closing the holes and watering the spots with watering cans.

Clothing seemed to be optional here. Both of the humans wore clothes--one in a dress and the other in trousers--but very few of the others did. The only other creature in the planting field that wore clothing was the small cervitaur girl, who wore a green bolero jacket and a matching ribbon in her hair. The female faun was nude, and while everything below her waist was covered in oak-brown fur, her breasts were uncovered. You felt a vague sense of social mortification, but pushed it away when you realized no one else seemed to care.

Beyond the planting field, you saw an orchard of fruit trees, and among them were even more figures working. You saw two large bat creatures, a harpy, a kitsune, and a lizardman. They were all unclothed except the lizardman, who wore short trousers that were modified to accommodate his tail, and the smaller, redder of the two bat creatures, who wore a necklace of stones around its neck. There were also two more human women among them, wearing sensible pants and shirts. The winged creatures were up in the trees, pruning the dead or weak branches, while the others were fertilizing the soil at the base of the trees, raking and watering and spreading mulch.

You slowed your wagon to a stop near the front of the house and stepped down from the driver’s box onto the wood of the porch. You felt a little overwhelmed and weren’t sure which of the people to approach. Which one was Declan? Should you go right to him first? Was there some sort of hierarchy, someone you was supposed to talk to before you could meet with Declan?

Thankfully, before you could fret too much, an older human woman and the larger of the two bat creatures came walking up to the porch.

“Hello there, traveler!” The woman said, raising her arm in greeting. “What can we do for you?”

“I, um… I was told to find Declan?” You said uncertainly, wringing your hands a little. “I need help.”

“I’m Declan,” The bat creature said in a serious tone, stepping forward on all fours. Even crouched as he was, he was taller than you. “Are you alright? Has something happened to you? We can protect you, if that’s the case.”

Realizing how your words sounded, you clarified; “Oh, no, no, I’m fine. It’s just… I’m a merchant, and I’ve been having trouble with bandits stealing my merchandise. I was told you would know someone I could hire to guard me and my wagon on the road while I’m traveling.”

“Oh, I see!” The woman said. “You know, this sounds like a perfect job for Cetzu.”

“I think you might be right, Ryel,” Declan said. “I’ll go and fetch him.” And he wandered back toward the orchard.

The woman, Ryel, stepped up to the porch and asked your name, shaking your hand in the process. “I keep telling Cetzu he should sell his trinkets at market, but he keeps using the excuse that we need him on the farm. I think he’s just being shy.”

“I can relate,” You said, chuckling a little. “What sort of trinkets does he make?”

“Little carvings out of wood and bone. Jewelry boxes, children’s toys, figurines, amulets, religious totems, all sorts of things. He’s an artist, though he’d never admit it.”

“Oh,” You replied, marveling. “My father is a carpenter and woodcarver, too, and he does very good, sturdy work, but he’s not much of an artist.” You pointed to the wagon that had some of your father’s work on it, and Ryel went over to inspect it. You were proud of your father’s work, but you had to admit it was a little plain to the eye.

“You’re right,” Ryel said appraisingly. “It is very solid work, if a little rustic. Cetzu might be able to help with that.” She pointed at a little side table. “How much would you charge for that? My daughter Lymera’s birthday is coming up,” She pointed out to the faun still working the field. “And I’d like to build her a shrine to her patron deity so she feels close to him while she’s home. She’s a priestess in training, you see.”

Daughter? You looked at the faun again. She was a full-blooded faun, how could she be this human woman’s daughter?

As you were negotiating a price, Declan returned with the lizardman in tow. He was tall, taller than you by at least two feet, and barrel-chested with a slim waist. His eyes were like pitted silver, deep and reflective, with slitted pupils. His face was slightly elongated with his teeth settled on the outside of his lips like an alligator, alternating between upper and lower on the sides with the front of his snout toothless. His hands ended in four wickedly curved talons, though the toes on his digitigrade feet were straighter, though still sharp, allowing him to walk without difficulty. His tail was long and flat, looking like the tail of some sort of sea serpent.

His muscles were huge and broad and moved smoothly under his skin, with thick, wide scales across his back, looking sharp, but steadily shrunk in size as they drift inward toward his stomach and chest and down his arms and legs until it almost looked like smooth leather. The scales on his back were black with a silver one here and there, but his belly was white.

“Ah, here he is,” Ryel said, jumping down from the high porch, more spry than her age would suggest. “This young lady has come requesting help with her cargo. I thought you’d be perfect for the job.”

You were a little intimidated by his size and gulped. He also seemed a little awkward, fidgeting and not meeting your eye.

“Oh, stop being so shy,” Ryel said. “Shake the girl’s hand, at least, and introduce yourself.”

He looked down at your hands, and then his own. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Mama,” He said, his voice rough and gravelly. It surprised you to hear such a coarse voice call this woman Mama. “I don’t want to scare the poor lady any more than she already is.”

“No… it’s alright,” You said, a little more meekly than you would have liked, and extended a hand carefully.

After a moment’s hesitation, he took your hand, but only applied the barest amount of pressure, careful not to catch your skin with his claws, and let go immediately.

“I’m Cetzu,” He said quietly. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“You too,” You replied, and told him your name.

“Well, now that we’re acquainted, let’s go inside and talk,” Ryel said, taking her… son… by the arm and leading him inside. He seemed reluctant, but allow her to pull him along. “Would you like some tea?”

“Yes, thank you,” You replied. “But I should unhitch the horse first.”

“Sure thing, lass. Do you need help?”

“Oh, no ma’am,” You replied. “I can do this myself. Where should I take him to rest?”

“There’s a hitching post near the barn that’s got fresh hay and water,” She said, pointing at the big barn. “Feel free to come inside the house when your done. The tea will be waiting for you.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” You said, and started with the harness. After you managed to get the horse free from the wagon and lead it to the watering trough, tying it to the post there. You could feel the others in the fields eyeing you a little, but not paying that much attention. You had a feeling random guests showing up out of nowhere was a regular thing here.

As you stepped back onto the porch and approached the open door, you heard a conversation between Cetzu and Ryel.

“Honey, you know your father and I would never push you into doing anything you didn’t want to do, but this is an amazing opportunity for you! Your work is amazing and the world should see it!”

“But you need me to help with the planting--”

“Cetzu, you can’t keep using the farm as an excuse. Between Laefa’s brood and Rantha’s family, we have plenty of hands to handle the spring work.” Her voice became soft. “I know the outside scares you, and I understand. Everyone that lives in this forest understands. Not one of us hasn’t had some horrible experience outside of this haven. You know the story of how your father and I met. You know the gnolls’ story, and the centaurs, and Caeli’s and Yala’s and Reed’s and Sayo’s. We’re all runaways, cast-offs, and survivors. But you have a talent no one else on this farm has and that shouldn’t be hidden away.”

“I only have talent because of what I am,” Cetzu grumbled sourly.

“So what?” Ryel retorted. “That’s like saying Soraya, Sayo, and your father can fly only because they have wings. It’s the simple truth, nothing more, and the same goes for you. There’s nothing wrong with who you are, my boy, any more than there is with any of your family. You are made how you are made and there’s nothing wrong with that. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mama,” He replied mechanically. It sounded like he’d heard this speech innumerable times.

“Give it thought, love,” Ryel said. “You have potential and opportunity. I don’t want you to look back with regret someday because you didn’t act on it.”

Cetzu sighed. “I’ll think about it.”

“Good,” Ryel said. “Now help me with the tea.”

You heard dishes clinking and decided to stop shamelessly eavesdropping and go inside. Cetzu nodded at you politely as he exited the house to continue helping with the pruning of the fruit trees.

You sold Ryel the table and helped her stash it away out of sight as it was meant to be a surprise, and she insisted you stay for lunch with the family. Strangely, or perhaps appropriately considering the motley crew that lived here, meals were not taken in the house, but in the barn.

The barn itself was built like a half stable, half house, with a kitchen area, common lounging space, and a storage loft above the stalls. A large table was placed in the space between the stalls, which were larger than average animal stalls and served as bedrooms for the four-legged family members, complete with large sleeping cushions on the floor with blankets and shelves built onto the walls to hold personal effects. The stalls had solid doors rather than gates, and they all had locks on them for privacy.

Lunch was a variety of foods, including dried and fresh cooked meat, dried and preserved fruits, and spring vegetables. You noticed that while a few of the family were omnivorous, some members only ate meat, some only ate vegetables, and the bats only ate the fruit. You were able to meet his family and learn their names, though you didn’t ask about how they all came to be here. You imagine the stories couldn’t have been happy ones if all these various creatures had somehow come to call a human woman and a giant bat creature mother and father.

After lunch, you took your horse, Jackdaw, behind the barn, where there was an actual stable for mounts and work animals. He was due for a good brush down, and as you were working, you saw the lizardman, Cetzu, coming out of the forest carrying a yolk on his shoulders with six large buckets of water slung on it. As intimidated as you were by him, the raw, brute strength of his body made you raise an eyebrow.

He nodded again as he passed you, and you debated with yourself for a long moment before calling out, “wait.”

He stopped and turned his head to look at you. “Do you need help?” He asked.

“No,” You replied, gulping down your heart and gathering your courage. “No, but… I was hoping I could talk to you for a moment? If you’re not too busy? I--I mean, I can see--I know you’re in the middle of something, so I can wait--”

“No, it’s alright,” He said, pushing the yolk off of his shoulders and carefully setting the buckets down. “What can I do for you, miss?”

“I--I was wondering… could I… if it’s alright with you… could I see your carvings?” You sort of shrugged your shoulders up around your ears, which you tended to do when you were nervous. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“Oh,” He said, surprised. “Oh. Sure. Lemme just…” He motioned at the water.

“Yes, of course,” You replied. He shouldered the yolk again and took it inside the house, emptying the buckets into a reservoir in the bathing room. He then stored the buckets and yolk on a hook in a closet.

“There are some in here,” He said, leading you to the common area. “Mother displays the ones she likes best.”

In the room, you saw a few shelves on the wall that held a number of different carvings, from animals to plants to symbols. The one that caught your eye the most was a monarch butterfly carved of bone, life-sized, with wings carved so thin that light passed through them.

“Wow,” You breathed. “Is it alright if I pick one up?”

“Yes,” He said, watching you with slight apprehension.

You picked up the butterfly and examined it closely. You could see the segments of the legs, the veins in the wings, the thin antennae and proboscis. It looked as if a real butterfly had somehow been turned to bone.

“This is absolutely beautiful,” You told him in wonder.

“Thank you,” He said, ducking his head bashfully.

You replaced the butterfly back on the shelf and sighed. “I know you’re reluctant to leave here, and I get it. I really do. I was scared to death to leave home, too. You have this big, amazing family, but back home, it’s just me and dad, and I just want to help him.”

You turned to him and looked into his face earnestly. “Look, I’m going to be completely honest with you. I’m not very good at much. I can’t carve like my dad can. I’m clumsy and prone to knocking things over and accidentally injuring myself. I’m not artistic or coordinated. I can’t cook or sew all that well. I’m not much use to my dad, or to anyone, really. But I’m good with horses, and I can drive a cart and a wagon. I figured I could sell and deliver his goods so that he didn’t have to travel as much, but I’ve managed to cock that up, too. The first shipment was taken, wagon and all, and I had to walk home with nothing but the clothes on my back. I was held at knifepoint while bandits stole every penny I had. There are horrible tales about awful things that can happen to women who travel on their own, and… I’m scared. I’m scared to do this alone. I need help.”

He listened quietly, not interrupting. “From me?”

You held out your hands in an I don’t know gesture. “How about this: come with me on this one trip. I’m selling bits that my dad made that weren’t commissioned at market in Coleville. Coleville is a day’s ride from here. We’ll stay in Coleville for three days, and you can sell your pieces along with my dad’s furniture. Hell, I’ll let you use one of Dad’s tables to display them. Then you escort me home with whatever money I’ve earned or goods I have left. At the end, if you decide you absolutely hate it, that it’s just something you can’t do, then we part ways, no hard feelings.”

“And in the unlikely event I actually enjoy it?” He asked.

“Then when I need to hire you on again, I’ll send you a letter and you meet me at my home, and we’ll go on another trip. I won’t keep you away from your family or anything. You only have to escort me when I’m out selling or making deliveries.”

He looked at the shelf that held his creations on it in contemplation before looking back at you.

“Can you give me a day to think it over?” He asked.

“Of course,” You said. “It’s your choice. But… even if you say no, thank you… for listening.”

He nodded and attempted a smile, though you could tell he was feeling nervous. You passed him to go back outside and finish brushing down Jackdaw when Cetzu called out to you.

“Wait,” He said softly. “If I don’t go, what will you do?”

You laughed a little helplessly. “Give up? Go home with my tail between my legs. Find some other way to not burden my father any more than I already do. Maybe marry some man before he finds out how useless I am. I don’t know. I really don’t.”

Shrugging, you left the room and walked out of the house back to the stable.

Ryel and Declan were happy to put you up for the night at no charge. You got a room to yourself; most of the rooms seemed to be for visitors. Caeli and Soraya, who were married, you learned, had their own room. Sayo and Lymera bunked together. All the two legged boys slept in a pile in one room, which you thought was adorable. Laefa, the other older woman helping with the orchard, had gone home to her husband and twelve children. So many people. You wondered what it would have been like to have such a big family like this. Frowning to yourself about dwelling on what ifs, you turned over and tried to sleep.

The next morning as you were coming out of your room to head down to breakfast, you accidentally bumped into Cetzu on the way out of his room, knocking you to the floor.

“Oh, gods, I’m so sorry!” You said, rubbing the back of your head. “I told you I was clumsy.”

“I should be apologizing,” He said, reaching to help you up. “I should have watched where I was going.”

He pulled you up with one hand, and it’s only then you noticed the large trunk he was holding on his shoulder.

“What’s that?”

“Oh,” He looked at it, then you, then away. “I’ve packed.”

“Really?” You said, naked hope in your voice. “You’ll come?”

“You need help,” He said. “Mama and Papa always tell us that helping people is the best use of our strengths. I don’t want to disappoint them.”

“I understand,” You said. “I’m glad you’re coming. I didn’t know where else to go for help.”

“I’m happy to be of use,” He said.

You sighed heavily. “You know, I’ve lived secluded with my dad for most of my life. He’s a bit of a hermit and doesn’t leave the house unless he has to, so I know what it’s like to be isolated and scared of going out into the world, but I didn’t want to be underfoot all the time. I wanted to be of use. You’re helping me do that, and I’m really grateful.”

He didn’t seem to know what to say to that, so he sort of bowed a little and continued down the stairs.

After breakfast, Cetzu loaded his trunk into the back of your wagon as you hitched Jackdaw back into his harness. Cetzu dropped down to say goodbye to his family, putting his little kitsune brother on his shoulder. His shoulders seemed able to carry anything.

“I’m proud of you, son,” Ryel said, pulling him into a hug, though with her height, she could only hug him around the waist. He put his large arms around her and hugged her tight.

“As am I,” Declan said. “You’re braver than I am, Cetzu. I’ve not left this farm since I met your mother. I’m happy here, but the world is bigger than our home. You should see it.”

Cetzu heaved a big sigh and nodded. “I can’t promise I’ll like it, but I’ll try to make you proud.”

“You already do,” Declan said.

Cetzu hugged all of his siblings, except for Sayo, who he ruffled the feathers on her head, making her hiss and swipe at him. He chuckled and snapped back at her.

Ryel surprised you by giving you a hug as well. “Take care of him for me, would you?” She said into your ear. “He’s special.”

“I’ll try, ma’am,” You said softly.

“Good.”

You got up into the driver’s box, and Cetzu popped up next to you. You snapped the reins and Jackdaw started forward. The two of you disappeared down the road to a chorus of people shouting their goodbyes.

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My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

[hyunjin-ius]

Say What You Wanna (with my body)

Say What You Wanna (pt.I?)

Genre: Angst, little bit of smut,

Pairings: reader X Chris, reader X Changbin

Warnings: whore!reader, mention of prostitutes

Word count: 2,5K

Description: After all Chris might not be your happily ever after. But while you were blinded by said man, someone else might have just developed real feelings for you. How can a past whore deal with being loved or is it just lust playing the main role in her new relationship?

Writer’s note: Please please please for a better reading experience listen to Tujamo – Say What You Wanna. The whole story was inspired by this song. (ALSO I’m new to this whole writing thing moreover english is not my mother tongue, so please bear with me. Lastly, let me know if you want the story to be continued :D )

It’s been more than a month. More than a month that you and Chris have decided to seperate. It wasn’t exactly your choice. Chris have had his mind set. You weren’t asked questions, he wasn’t interested in your opinion either. Like lightning striking out of the blue he just snapped one day.

Waking up next to his body on that specific morning felt oddly strange to say the least. The past days were spent with nothing but work work and work. You at your 9-5 suddenly becoming 6-9 and Chris having a hard time with his comeback preparations. Both of you were exhausted and drained…and sadly the company of each other no longer lightend the mood or made your days better. Living together in your shared apartment ment that you couldn’t let loose even at home since the other one wanted to have a break, wanted to sleep, or in your case…wanted to cry. Frankly you felt the tension in the air, your 6th sense activated but you couldn’t vision what was coming your way. That morining Chris made you coffee as usual but after that he went to the balcony. You saw him lighting a cigarette which was unusual but a tell tale sign of him being extremely anxious. He was sipping on his coffee and puffing out dark grey smoke clouds into the air. You hated the fact that he was smoking. It was a well kept secret since him being a singer ment that his vocal chords needed special treatment which was not including cigarettes. You didn’t question him that morning. The rest of the day was spent quietly. Up until the moment you’ve said that you wanted to go out for lunch. You wanted to spend some quality time with your boyfriend of 4 years, wanted to dress up, wanted to look pretty for him. But Chris had other things in mind. He didn’t answer you. You were standing in your living room as far from each other as possible. You saw him tense up even more.

„I don’t think a lunch in town can solve our problems” was all that you got. Talking about your problems, you sure had a few. Your future together seemed darker and darker with each passing day. It took you 4 years to realize that. But you’ve felt strong enough to endure the hardships life was throwing at you. You’ve tried to talk to Chris countless times about your feelings. About him not being open enough about his plans with you. About the two of having no future together. He kept quiet about his feelings. It seemed like the two of you were match made in heaven. But from the inside it felt like you were matched with a person staright from hell.

You couldn’t deny the fact that Chris was beyond handsome, his body, his face, his charisma was indescribable. It was enough to pull you in. He was caring and loyal…to a point. It wasn’t easy with him being surrounded by hundreds of screaming girls all the time. You knew what was happening during their long tours, you knew that they were all enjoying the company of girls and boys after concerts. You weren’t an angel either to begin with. You’ve met Chris as one these girls after one of his gigs. It was all planned as usual. If people asked about your job you’d tell them that you work at a modelling agency. Modelling agency was the legal way of saying that you were a part-time prostitute. It really wasn’t your dream job of course. You just needed money and luckily had the face and body to achive such goals easier than others not as fortunate as you. The two of you met after the last concert of the first tour of Stray Kids. The company especially called for you to come and entertain one of the boys. You weren’t unfamiliar with Stray Kids but couldn’t name one of the members for the sake of your life. Then you came face to face with Chris. Turns out the boys were given pictures of that day’s whores and they were allowed to decide with whom do they want to spend the night. Chris choose you. He was eager to please you. The spark was between the two of you from the first second. His cock was hard for you from the moment you stepped into the dressing room. It was just the two of you and the sexual tension eating its way up in your bodies. He kissed you with such vigour that made you lightheaded. You weren’t used to this feeling. Feeling attached to one of your clients. But there you were making out with Chris while feeling him up through his jeans. The bulge in his pants was obvious from the start.

„Drop to your knees” he half ordered half asked you

Sucking on his cock was a marvellous experience. The boy was extremely vocal about how you made him feel with your mouth. You were expereinced at giving oral but you couldn’t remember the last time you had so much fun pleasuring a man. And boy did he pay back for your service. Eating you out, fingering you and really making you his bitch before entering you. You were pushed to one of the mirrors in the room. Trying to hold up with your hands on the mirror while Chris was pounding into you from behind wasn’t easy. He took his sweet time with you. Enjoying the view with the help of the mirrors even more. Suddenly piciking up his pace you knew he was close. Pulling his cock out of you he came on your bare back. He asked you to stay in place, he wanted to take photos of his cum splattered on the back of a whore. You were used to this as well. These boys had nothing but their bitches to help them out in situations like this. It wasn’t like they could go to the next bar to pick some girls up. They needed professionals who were able to keep their mouths shut about the dark side of the kpop industry. After taking the pics Chris cleaned you up with caring movements. It was obvious that he was into you. Usually idols would leave you behind with cum anywhere and everywhere on your body. You weren’t complaining. They wanted release not a relationship. But this time was different.

A few days later you were contacted by your agency. Chris wanted to spend the night alone with you. And this is story of how the two of you became madly in love. Chris wanted you as his girlfriend, but only if you could be his and only his. He helped you with finding a job at his company, and asked you to quit being a prostitute. Life was extremely difficult at that time. Balacing your not so usual job and your not so usual boyfriend made you depressed. The same depression that creeped its way into your everyday life after 4 years too. You knew that Chris still enjoyed the company of whores and that you were a whore in the past to begin with. You were afraid each and every day. When will Chris announce that he has found someone better, someone less depressed and less anxious? Or to put it simply when will he finally speak up about his emotions.

Eventually the day has arrived. You were in your living room which soon will only be his. The two of you looking at each other as strangers meeting for the first time.

„So” you started „Should I start packig my stuff?” you asked without a sign of anger. You were calm. You didn’t see it coming, but you weren’t one to play with. If he wanted to end things then you are going to be the one who has the last word. Chris didn’t say a thing. He looked down to the floor.

„I’ll take it as a yes!” you answered your own question. Looking around the apartment you didn’t really know where to start. Everthing was shared. Chris sensed your mood changing. In his mind he expected you to cry as you would usually do in pressuring situations. But you seemed to be everything but heart-broken. He decided to flee from you, from the moment. Brusing past you he grabbed his car keys and left the apartment.

 More than a month has passed since. That was the last day the two of you talked. After he left the house you called one of your closest friends, explained your situation in a hurry and asked for her help. You moved to her flat temporarily until you could find something to rent alone. You were thankful to God and the higher powers that dispite the fact that Chris and you worked at the same company you haven’t crossed paths since the break up. You were not in the position to quit your job just because of Chris. You needed money now more than ever, which actually made you reconsider the hoe life and its pros and cons. Sure, years have gone by, you weren’t as young any more eventhough you were still in your early 20s. But now you were stronger than ever, and more experienced. You used to plan to live your life with Chris and only Chris. Now you were planning to live your life according to your rules and your rules only. You were constantly thinking about your opportunities and chances at life. You wanted to fix things with yourself.

One night your phone lit up signaling a new message. You were in the middle of apartment hunting on your laptop and paid little to no attention to the continous massage sounds and lights. Then the long forgotten skype window of your past ’modelling agency’ popped up on your laptop.

„Playing hard to get huh?” accoring to skype the message was written by one of your past bosses.

„So Chris is cancelled right?”  came the second text right after the first one. Curiosity take over you and you reached for your phone. Unlocking the screen you saw nothing but the name ’Seo Changbin’ everywhere. You weren’t exactly close to anyone in Stray Kids except for Chris of course. You would see each other come and go in the company, but none of the boys were a fan of mingling their professional life and private life. Altough spending so much time together it was only natural that some of them would open up to each other. You knew that Chris was extremely close to Changbin and Jisung.  The three of them being the heart and soul of Stray Kids. But now you were bewildered. What does Changbin want from you?

„You really went as far as reaching for me on skype?” you typed on your phone as an answer to Changbin’s many questions regarding the Chris situation.

„I’d say im persistent” Changbin knew about your past life. After your first time with Chris the boy sent the photos of your back covered in his cum to their group chat. Just another thing that came natural to them after a good fuck. The next day you’ve found yourself in Changbin’s lap. He was different from Chris in many many ways. Sex with him was more about executing his commands. But it wasn’t any less pleasurable. It was actually nice to being told what to do. Changbin always got what he wanted. Just like how he was able to write to you in the name of your past boss. After Chris have officially asked you out you had to cut ties with everyone from the prostitute industry. You hated to admit it but it felt nice that someone was paying attention to you again. Especially since it was coming from Changbin. You knew far well why he was so eager to talk to you now. Changbin always voiced his thoughts, something you were not familiar with while you were living with Chris.

 It went against all your instincts but you’ve decided to give in and meet Changbin. You knew how to play this game. Now more than ever you wanted to be the one who’s in charge. You’ve had enough with Chris, you were fed up with boys not speaking their mind, leaving you in the dark. But knowing Changbin you shouldn’t have worried about the man not voicing his thoughts. Especially thoughts concerning you. You’ve met in a high end restaurant open only for idols and their guests, since going to just any place still wasn’t an option. Small talk was really not Changbin’s cup of tea yet the two of you’ve managed to keep the conversation going. Changbin was calm and collected during the meal. It seemed like he had planned everything in advance. He was wearing a black silk shirt, the material enhancing his taut chest. Catching feelings for him wasn’t difficult.

„Does Chris know that we are here together?” you asked out of curiosty while sipping on your wine. Changbin looked at you with fire in his eyes

 „It’s none of his bussiness to know how and with whom I spend my freetime” his answer came strained. You didn’t mean to anger him. You just wanted to know if they were still talking about you. After his reaction you were sure that your name was a sensitive topic between the boys.

 „Chris fucked up your life more than needed” Changbin continued after a while „You two shouldn’t have crossed the line back then”

 „Well” you interrupted him „He was the one who wanted the relationship. I was fine with being one of his whores”

 „Exactly” Changbin smiled and nodded „You shouldn’t have crossed the line” he repeated. A short pause came before he started to talk again „He never really knew what he wanted to do with you other than fucking you 7/11. It was a pain in the ass to witness all the shit you’ve been through just to stay with him. And to see how Chris was about to throw you out one day”

 „Don’t tell me that you knew what was going on between us” you exclaimed both in surprise and disbelief

 „Not between the two of you” Changbin rectified „I just saw your struggles from outisde and somehow I was able to put the pieces together” he finished his thoughts. You remained silent. Your mind on the other hand was louder than ever. Maybe it was obvious from the start that you weren’t made for each other. Maybe everyone saw it but you. You wanted your relationship to work but mainly because of Chris. He wanted a girlfriend, someone who was there for him through thin and thick. But what was your motive other than pleasing Chris at every given chance? What did you get in return from Chris that you couldn’t get from any other men?

 „Changbin” you started after a while. Looking deep in the eyes of the man sitting across you „Do you know what you want from me?” Changbin smirked at your question.

 „Isn’t it obvious?”he whispered

#skz #skz fanfiction #skz fic #Bang Chan #Bang Chan fic #Seo Changbin #Seo Changbin fic #Changbin #Bang Chan smut #Say what you wanna #Stray Kids fic #stray kids fanfiction #stray kids

[hystericalweenie]

Just Another Day at the Office Series - New On the Job

George MacKay x Reader Series

Part Three: Hangover Cure

Masterlist

Summary: Y/f/n Y/l/n was job searching, looking for a new place to work as an escape to her, then, current job; she’d been denied every pitch she had, yet she worked her ass off with zero recognition. Writing was her passion and her dream job laid in the hands of a magazine company in the city. Will the combination of her sexual frustration and her competitive nature cause her to risk her biggest dream for a blue eyed coworker?

a/n: I have absolutely no personal experience in magazine/journalism career, so the information in this fic will be provided with the knowledge I have conducted from research. With that being said, please don’t be mad if this is not accurate!!! Sorry this is a little short, I just want to kind of speed this up because I have sooo many ideas for the future parts. This might be a long series, so I hope y’all are into that!

Warnings: This is a slow burn fic, their relationship won’t happen in one night, so if you’re not into that, check out some of the beautifully written imagines that you can most likely find under the george mackayxreader tag. I might eventually write some of my own too :P At least one person’s saying “fuck” and there’s some sexual! tension! up! in! here!

I had to fight the urge not to bury my nose into the sweater every chance I could, but it smelt so good. I watched as his back faced me, preparing the breakfast food whilst I sat and watched. I pulled my knees up to my chest, resting my cheek on my knees as I resumed watching him, smiling. My wet hair soaked through the back of his sweater, sticking to my back and I hoped he wouldn’t mind. His joggers were loose on my legs, my feet snug in a pair of his socks; I was completely decked out in his clothes, drowning in his scent, and I was loving it. 

He had an unseen speaker in his kitchen, softly playing some hits from The Beatles, pairing with the sounds of the food frying on the pans. I was in pure bliss, sighing with content, before he turned around with a plate full of French toast, scrambled eggs, and a side of bacon. I licked my lips at the sight of the food, taking the plate and placing it in front of me. 

“This looks amazing, George,” I marveled, my mouth watering.

He smirked proudly before filling his own plate and taking a seat across from me. 

“I always eat this when I’m hungover and it always cures it,” he informed me. “Bon appétit!” He raised his fork before diving into his creation. 

After biting into the perfect-amount-of-cinnamon French toast–and moaning in delight a little too loudly–I finished chewing before swallowing and speaking.

“Do you cook often?” 

He nodded, bringing a napkin to his lips before speaking.

“I love cooking,” he responded, “I’ve gotten a lot better at it. I used to be shit at it, I’d burn everything I made,” he recalled with a laugh. 

I laughed, stuffing my mouth with some of the scrambled eggs.

“You’re going to have to teach me one of these days, my roommate and I live off of take-out and grilled cheese’s,” I admitted, taking a sip of the orange juice he had poured for me earlier.

He cringed at my confession. “I will definitely teach you. Trust me, after a couple recipes and learning how to make proper meals, you’ll never need take-out again. If Dean was able to learn from me, then you will.”

His quick mention of Dean sparked a question in my head. 

“How long have you and Dean been friends?” I queried, picking up some more eggs on my fork and scooping them into my mouth. 

He waited to chew before speaking, swallowing his food down with a gulp of juice.

“Dean and I have been friends for about three years now. It doesn’t sound very long when I say it out loud, but it feels like I’ve known the guy for a lifetime,” he admitted with a small smile, no doubt thinking of the brunette. 

“It’s weird how that is,” I added, agreeing with his words. “I’ve known my roommate for five years, but it feels like I’ve known her forever.”

Talking about my roommate reminded me of her actions last night. Leaving me at a bar I was invited to, and kicking me out of my apartment. 

“Speaking of her, I’m going to give her hell for the shit she pulled last night,” I grumbled, angrily shoveling more food into my mouth. 

“If you did go home to your flat last night, you wouldn’t be having a home-cooked breakfast, though, would you?” he chided with a smirk. I bit back a smile as I was reminded that somehow, I had been blessed, eating breakfast that George had cooked me, wearing George’s clothes, as I was sat across the handsome blue-eyed man himself. 

“No, I wouldn’t be,” I confessed, biting off a piece of bacon from the crispy strip. “I’d consider myself lucky if I found a piece of toast for breakfast.”

“Sounds lovely,” George joked sarcastically, finishing off his plate. 

I leaned back into the chair, my hands on my belly with a groan.

“I’m so full,” I wailed. “I haven’t had a meal that good in a long time.”

He laughed at my dramatic state. 

“Was it that good?” he laughed, getting up and taking my plate, scraping off the small bits I wasn’t able to finish into the trash. 

I nodded vigorously and watched as he threw the dishes into the dishwasher. To see him like this in the kitchen, it ignited my imagination, wondering if this is what it’d be like living with him; seeing him in casual attire compared to his usual button up and slacks, seeing his hair disheveled and his eyelids swollen with sleep, seeing him look so relaxed. 

My phone began to vibrate against the table, pulling me out of my thoughts. I looked at the screen, seeing Bree’s contact light up as she called me. I pressed the power button, silencing it; I wasn’t ready to talk to her yet.

“That your roommate?” he turned around.

I sighed. “Yeah, she’s probably coming up with an apology in my voicemail as we speak.” I looked down at my phone, lighting up with a voicemail notification,  making me roll my eyes at her easily predictable habits.

“She might be wondering if you’re okay,” he suggested, leaning his back against the counter. 

I shrugged. I knew he was right, but I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to stay in his apartment in his clothes that smelt like him. I wanted to absorb this moment and soak in it, but I knew it had to come to an end.

“I should probably get going before she freaks out,” I agreed, standing up from the chair. 

“Do you want me to give you a ride?” he offered. 

Butterflies erupted in my stomach and I couldn’t stop myself from blushing. I wasn’t sure how he wasn’t tired of taking care of me yet; I knew I’d somehow have to return the favor in the future.

“That would be great,” I accepted his offer, getting my purse. 

He led me out of the kitchen and to his living room, where he slipped on his shoes. I slipped on the shoes I’d been wearing before as well, shoving my clothes in my purse as I hugged the fabric of his sweater closer to my skin. 

“You’ve got everything?” he asked, swinging his keys around his finger. His fingers. Before I could even muster the sexual thoughts, I forced myself out of the predictable trance.

I nodded looking down at my outfit. “Do you want me to change back into my clothes, so you can have these back?”

He furrowed his eyebrows and shook his head. “No, don’t be ridiculous. I’d rather you wear clean clothes than clothes with traces of vomit and alcohol on them.”

“Well, thanks,” I blushed, staring down at the comfy cotton. “These are incredibly comfortable.”

He grinned, crinkles by his eyes appearing; these were becoming one of my favorite features of his. 

“I’m glad you think so,” he led me out of his apartment complex, walking toward the parking lot in back of the building. 

We approached a little black Nissan, beeping as he pressed a button on his keys. He surprised me, walking to the passenger door first and opening it for me. My eyes widened at the gesture, getting inside and sitting in the seat, trying to ignore the butterflies in my stomach and the blush that’d already crept its way onto my cheeks. The soft aroma in his car was a mixture of his scent and leather, making me fight the urge to roll my eyes into the back of my head in euphoria. As he got into the driver’s seat and started the car, I gave him the address to my apartment, which he then typed into the navigation app on his phone. As he drove, his eyes concentrated on the road ahead of us and his hands gripped onto the steering wheel. I couldn’t stop myself from staring at him; he looked so handsome when he was concentrated, the veins rising on the backs of his hands and trailing to his arms. 

I sent thanks to New York traffic as it elongated the trip to my apartment, but I was surprised at how relatively close we lived to each other. I paid close attention as he tapped his fingers against the leather steering wheel, probably out of boredom, but I wanted to devour every single feature of his that I could. Once my apartment complex came into view, I came to terms that this was it; my time with George had ended. Feeling disappointed, I asked myself, why? Why does it have to end here? What are you scared of, Y/n? 

He pulled up to the curb in front of the building, the car coming to a stop. He turned to me, looking at the building outside of my window before looking at me, as if he was waiting for me to speak.

“I should probably get your number,” I blurted, trying to exert as much confidence as I could, because Lord knew I needed it.

He looked taken back, his eyes widening. I chewed on my lip nervously.

“So, that you can teach me how to cook,” I added with a laugh, trying to ease the conversation. 

“Right,” both of us smiling at the memory we’d shared in his kitchen, he quickly reached for his phone and read me his digits, recording my own into his phone as well. 

I opened the door and looked at him one last time.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” I thanked him sincerely.

I wanted to kiss him so badly, right then and there. But now wasn’t the time, and I knew that. He smiled warmly at me, his eyes soft.

“It was my pleasure, really.”

I gripped the strap of my purse. “See you later, George.”

He smirked at me, making my heart skip a beat.

“See you, Y/n.”

I closed the door behind me, entering my apartment complex, trying to withhold the giddy giggles that threatened to escape my mouth. Skipping up the stairs and entering my apartment, I dramatically fell onto the sofa with a sigh of delight, closing my eyes and memorizing all of his features. I heard footsteps approaching me, already knowing that it was my guilty roommate. 

“It’s fine,” I interrupted her before she got to speak. I opened my eyes and sat up, meeting her frown.

“No, it’s not, Y/n, I–”

“Just don’t do it again,” I warned. 

I didn’t want to talk about, because I knew it would bring me down from the high I’d gotten from being with George. She sat herself down next to me and pulled me into a hug, which I gladly accepted. 

“I need to go get Plan B,” she admitted, her breath tickling my neck.

I rubbed her back sympathetically. “Let’s go to the pharmacy, then.”

We pulled away, her eyes coming in contact with my outfit, an immediate grin taking over her face.

“You have to tell me everything.”

We walked aimlessly around the pharmacy, looking at totally-necessary bags of candy. 

“So, you guys didn’t fuck?” 

She picked up a bag of Kit Kat’s, throwing it into our basket. I rolled my eyes, the new item in the basket weighing down my elbow.

“No,” I began, looking at a bag of gummy worms and tossing it into the basket as well. “But, I did get his number.”

She gasped, her hands flying to her mouth in shock, her hazel eyes practically bulging out of her head.

“Y/f/n Y/l/n, did you ask a man for his phone number?”

I nodded, pulling my bottom lip between my teeth as I smiled. She playfully pushed my shoulder, her mouth wide open, still in shock. 

“Now that’s what I like to hear.”

Cashing out at the counter, I felt my phone vibrate from my back pocket. I slid the device out and my eyes widened at the notification.

George: You up for some wine and a chicken parmesan tutorial tomorrow evening?

I sneakily angled the phone screen so that Bree could see it, her face lighting up and violently nodding, as if to tell me to accept his invitation. I began typing out a text, showing her so that she could judge it. With another violent nod and a smirk, I sent the cheeky text.

Me: Miss me already?

Me: Jk... that sounds great. When do you want me over?

After splitting the total and getting onto the subway, my phone vibrated again. I pulled my phone out to check the notification in curiosity once again, my heart beating a mile a minute.

George: As long as I don't have to watch you vomit again. Does 4 sound alright?

I rolled my eyes, knowing that he was being sarcastic.

Me: Haha very funny. 4 is good. 

George: I’m never going to let that down.

I subconsciously brought my bottom lip between my teeth, nervously chewing on it. What do I say? 

Me: Remind me to never drink on an empty stomach again OR smoke weed. I think my body needs to detox after last night.

George: Noted. Still never going to let that down though ;)

Me: You’re the fuckin worst.

George: You love it.

I tried to stop myself from grinning, but I miserably failed. I sure do, George.

#george mackay #george mackay x reader #x reader fic #dean charles chapman #1917 #1917 cast #fanfic

[imaginejamesandsirius]

A pretty woman AU???

Sirius was having a shit day. It had started with his father coming into his office and requesting that Sirius do a specific task for him. Talking to Orion was punishment enough, but he was sending Sirius on a two week trip to get his 'personal opinion on the situation' since apparently the people Orion hired to oversee that branch were trustworthy enough to be running the place but not trustworthy enough to believe their figures. "It'll be an easy visit," Orion had said. 

"Then why do I have to be there for two weeks?" 

"It's always good to remind them that we are watching." 

Sirius had thought that was so sodding stupid, and he'd said so, but Orion was-- unsurprisingly-- standing firm. 

Then Regulus called him up and said that he'd gotten a gig over in bloody America and could Sirius cover for him? Thanks. Then he'd hung up. So Sirius had to run by their flat and make sure Reg had remembered to lock the buggering door-- he hadn't-- and call their usual dog sitter (Remus, who put up with them for god only knows why) to see if he was free. He wasn't, so Sirius had to bring Snuffles to a fucking dog spa place that he barely had time to look up on his phone, let alone see if he trusted them for shite. He trusted them not to kill Snuffles, and that was going to have to be good enough. 

The silver lining was that Gilderoy had broken up with him a few days ago so he didn't have to worry about that. The not silver lining was that Gilderoy had dumped him for someone "more glamorous, less ashamed of himself, you know what I mean?" and it's not like Sirius had been in love with the bloke or anything, but talk about insulting. Sirius was plenty glamorous, he just didn't paint everything with pink and gold glitter. And he wasn't fucking ashamed of himself, but he didn't want to grind on his boyfriend in public either. He was glad to be rid of him honestly, but it still made Sirius angry to think about. 

So Sirius was in a pretty piss poor mood when he got in the car, and he couldn't imagine that the next two weeks would make him feel much better. He was a god damn business man. It's not like he hated his life or anything, but a business man? He could very honestly say that this was never what he imagined for himself. Hell, Reg was out living the dream more than he was. Him and his mates had made a band together, and they played enough shit locations until someone saw the talent and started paying them. They weren't anywhere near rock star levels, but he was making money off of it, able to get a new piercing when he wanted instead of asking Sirius for some cash-- not that Sirius minded, fuck knows their father paid him more than enough to finance whatever whim Regulus was having that week. The part that really got to him about his job was that it was so boring. He didn't need to be excited all day every day or summat, but it would be nice to tell people what he did every day without them nodding and immediately excusing themselves. 

He was in a shite mood when he got in the car, and he'd finally started to feel better when he felt a headache start to form behind his eyes. Sodding hell this was the icing on the bloody cake, wasn't it? It started to get worse in a hurry, the sunlight seeming far too bright behind his sunglasses. He pulled into the first gas station he saw, figuring he might as well refuel while he looked for medicine-- and maybe a snack, because c'mon, all driving longer than ten minutes required a snack. 

He found powdered sugar donuts, but no headache relief. Marvelous. He was not going to be able to make the rest of this drive like this. He was going to have to wait until it went away or risk crashing. Sirius had just about resigned himself to wasting a couple hours when he saw someone standing by the side of the road, poking at his phone aimlessly. He had dark skin, messy black hair, thick glasses, and if Sirius weren't fighting off nausea, flirting might be on the table. But thinking about his powdered donuts made him want to sick up his lunch, so he was going to keep any and all flirting ideology to himself. 

"This is going to sound weird," Sirius said as he walked up next to him, rubbing at his temple as it pounded, "but can you drive me to my hotel? It's not very far, you'd be driving my car, I just need to get there before I feel any worse." 

"Er." 

"Please? It's all aboveboard, I promise. I'm not going to murder you or whatever." 

"Shouldn't you be worried about me kidnapping you? If I'm the one driving, I mean." 

Sirius gave him a look. "What would you even do with me? I'm a pain when I'm playing nice, do you really want to see what I'm like when I'm trying to be contrary?" 

"That's a fair point." He bit his lip, thinking. Then he sighed. "Where to?" 

Sirius rattled off the address, then pulled it up on his phone and showed it to the man. "Business bullshit, I just need to get there and hope this bloody headache fucks off to greener pastures." 

"Best of luck to you," he said. He sighed again. "Alright, I'll take you, but only because I've got nothing better to do. My mate just canceled on me." 

"Rude of him, good for me." 

He snorted, raising a hand to muss his hair. It made Sirius wonder if his hair was naturally messy or if he was causing it by messing with it all the time. Either way, it was a good look on him. Any time Sirius had a single hair out of place he looked awful, but this made the bloke even more attractive. What an arse. Being interested in him was just making his headache worse. Or maybe the headache was getting worse for completely unrelated reasons. Either way, Sirius wanted some bloody shuteye. He squinted his eyes against the light that suddenly seemed piercing, and he somehow managed to get to the car and toss his keys on the dashboard. 

There was the distinct possibility that this guy would like, steal his car or summat, but in the moment he didn't give a single fuck. It all worked out in the end, he parked the car in the hotel's lot and turned off the car, setting the keys in front of Sirius. "Hope you feel better mate," he said, but Sirius grabbed his arm before he could leave. 

It's not like he'd meant to grab his arm, but he needed to stop him from leaving before Sirius could thank him. Words weren't working so well. Hence, grabbing his arm. He fumbled for his wallet, pulling out a bill and handing it out to him. 

"Er." 

Sirius shook his hand a little in invitation. "For driving me," he managed to get out. 

"That's twenty quid." 

"Yeah," Sirius grunted. 

"Are you... sure?" 

Sirius just kept holding it out to him. 

"If you're sure," he said with a shrug. Or at least what Sirius assumed was a shrug, it's not like he was looking at him. 

He left, but Sirius stayed in the car for a while, waiting for it to get to a manageable enough level for him to make his way into the hotel. He managed to get in there and check into his room, but if he was asked how he did it, he wouldn't have been able to say. The time from car to his hotel room was a blur, and all he knew was that he managed to pass out face-first onto the bed in a blissfully dark room. 

Somehow he'd been smart enough to set an alarm for the meeting he needed to get to on his first day. His headache was gone by that time thank fuck, and he rolled off the bed, figuring he could use a quick shower before he went down to strike fear in the hearts of these people that Orion didn't want to deal with himself. He turned on the water then stripped, ducking under and giving himself a quick scrub with the body wash provided. There wasn't going to be time to properly dry his hair-- even if he used the blowdrier-- so he'd tie it back and call it a day. 

*

Sirius had been in this place for just over one day when he saw him again. Now that it didn't feel like his head was going to split open, it was a lot easier to appreciate how attractive he was. Broad shoulders and a tilt to his hips that looked very inviting. He wasn't wearing his glasses right now, which made his nose look bigger and his jaw more square. His trousers were so tight they looked painted on, and his button up shirt was half undone and translucent besides. He had a brief flash of what it would be like to push him against a wall and peel him out of those trousers, but they weren't at a club and that was a damn shame because Sirius would give his right leg to get some time with him. 

He was so caught up in appreciating all this that it took him a minute to recognise exactly what was going on. Men didn't stand on street corners dressed like that for no reason. He was a rent boy. Which meant... that Sirius didn't have to give his right leg for some time, he could purchase it nice and easy with cash. And that was pretty damn great. He did a quick check to make sure that yes, he had enough cash, but also that he didn't have anything else to do tonight. He didn't have to go back to the office, he never did, so he wasn't sure why he bothered to double check, but he always did. 

The man saw Sirius approaching and he grinned. "I see you got to your hotel safely." 

"It was a pain in the arse, but I made it instead of dying in a car crash thanks to you." 

"You already paid me for that," he pointed out. 

"Consider this a completely separate offer. Are you busy tonight?" 

He shrugged. "Difficult to have plans when you don't know how much time people want." 

"How much to get you until tomorrow morning?" 

He raised an eyebrow. "That'd be pretty expensive." 

"I can pay." 

"I'm sure you can, mister twenty-quid-for-a-car-ride." 

"I'm going by Sirius these days." 

"James. You gonna take me to your room, or are we getting started here on the street?" 

"Tempting as that is, the hotel's not very far away." 

A few people they passed gave them strange looks, but Sirius couldn't care less. It hardly mattered that James was dressed like he'd been clubbing and Sirius was in a full suit-- vest, tie, even the bloody jacket on top with the three buttons and perfectly pressed trousers. Maybe Sirius had gotten boring the more adult he became, but he was pretty sure this was about to be the best night he'd had in a bloody long time. 

*

When James woke, Sirius was trailing circles against his shoulder. "Everything alright?" James asked at the concentrated look on his face. 

"I was thinking, if you're not otherwise engaged..." Sirius trailed off, but James wasn't going to make a leap because being wrong would be ridiculously embarrassing for him. "I'm in town for the next two weeks," he continued. "Would you like to keep me company? It would only be nights and the morning after, I'll be working all day." Normally he had Saturday's off for Shabbat-- not that he observed it most of the time-- but since this was a special assignment he'd be working straight through. 

"You sure you can deal with me that long?" James joked. 

"I think the real question is if the money's good enough for you to put up with me for that long." 

"You realise you're not hideously unattractive, right?" 

Sirius snorted. "Right, cause my face is always the problem." 

"Not to make assumptions about your relationships, but it kinda sounds like the people you dated were absolute pricks." 

Sirius shrugged instead of answering because he didn't really want to get into it. Gilderoy had been an arse, Marlene had wanted a casual relationship when he wanted something more committed, and the less said about the shit show with Lucius, the better. He'd been on dates with several other people, but those were his three main relationships and even though Marlene had liked him, it had still ended in a disaster. Maybe this was what he needed, a fun affair with no strings. Sirius had more money than he knew what to do with, and James could probably use it if only to take it easy for a couple weeks while he was here. Or, hell, he could put some aside when business was slow; Sirius didn't really know how all that worked, only that it was too stressful for him as a job. "You can think about it." 

"Don't need to. I'll give you my number and you can ring when you're ready." 

"Sounds good," Sirius said, leaning down from where he was propped up on his elbow to kiss James. 

*

Sirius had texted James, asking him to come by, and he looked at the clock in worry as the phone rang. The hotel gave him two keys so he'd given one to James, which meant that if he needed an extra minute, it was going to look like he called James up just to waste his time. He thought about ignoring the call, but it was Regulus's name and picture showing up on his screen and he couldn't leave him hanging, especially not when Reg was on a bloody different continent. "Hey." 

"Hey so er," Reg said, and he only sounded like this when he was about to say something he thought Sirius would be uncomfortable with. Used to be that he only used that tone when he needed money, but those days were behind them. Nowadays, Reg used that tone when he was asking Sirius to let down his hookup from the night before or to cover for him to their parents. Considering that he was in another country already, both of those options were unlikely. 

"What?" 

Regulus cleared his throat. "I met someone." 

"Congrats?" 

"He's Irish, he was over here for university but he's done now. He's so sodding wonderful, Sirius, he's the perfect boyfriend, I swear." 

"Okay?" None of this information was telling him why Reg was sharing it in the first place. 

What Reg said next was spoken too quickly for him to make it out over the fun. 

"Take a fucking breath and say that slow enough that I can hear you." 

"I want to bring him home with me." 

The world screeched to a halt. "What?" 

"Sirius," Reg said, a distinctly pleading note in his voice, "I love him. He's so great, and he actually likes my music! I know you love me, but you don't give a shite about it. He- he likes me, he actually likes me! Nobody sodding likes me, and he's smart, it's not like he'll be in the way, he just doesn't have a place to stay since he's been over here for four years." 

Sirius rubbed tiredly at his eyes. It had been a pretty long day-- he'd had to fucking fire someone and now everyone else there was acting paranoid as if the bloke hadn't completely deserved it-- and he had been looking forward to unwinding tonight. Not sex or anything, probably, but the company would be nice and James was always so sweet to him that he didn't much care that it was fake-- that was James's job, after all, to be there for him and make him believe it was real. "Reg, how long have you known this guy?" 

"Don't give me that. I know when something's real and when it's not, I'm not a child." 

"Yeah that's great, you're not a kid anymore-- I noticed, funnily enough-- but I also don't want some stranger living in our flat, I don't care how in love with him you think you are, it's bloody stupid." He heard the lock click and the door open, and he turned around, giving James an apologetic smile. He covered the speaker to his phone and whispered, "My brother, I'll only be a minute." 

James nodded, came over to give him a quick kiss, then went back to the door to take off his shoes. 

"Can't you meet him before you make that sort of judgement? When you meet Remus, I swear you'll understand. He's perfectly trustworthy." 

"How the hell do you know if he's trustworthy? You've known him a week." 

"I seem to remember you trying to run off to marry Lucius after you'd been dating a week." 

A familiar feeling of shame crept in, and Sirius started to feel frustrated; Reg wasn't listening to him, he was just trying to piss Sirius off enough that he gave in. It usually worked for him, but Sirius wasn't in the goddamn mood to deal with it right now. "We'd been dating a week, we'd known each other longer than that, and if you recall, it ended terribly." 

"All your relationships end terribly, maybe it's not them that's the problem, maybe it's you. If you don't want him there, fine, I'll move out and you won't have to deal with either of us any more and you can be happy in your stuffy flat with your boring friends after coming home from a job you hate," Regulus spat, then hung up. 

Sirius grit his teeth, pushing down the urge to scream or throw something. He knew that Regulus didn't mean it, he was just in a mood and upset that he'd found someone he thought was perfect for him but Sirius wasn't falling in line with his dream. It happened a few times a year, and after they both calmed down a little, it was fine. Knowing all of this didn't make it any fucking easier to deal with, and his hand tightened around his phone until his knuckles whitened. 

"You okay?" James asked gently. 

"Brilliant," Sirius growled. He threw his phone at the couch and stomped off to the closet. He'd texted James before he changed out of his suit, and now he wanted little more than to rip it apart with his bare hands. Not that he'd be able to even if he tried. So he settled for angrily undressing. 

"You wanna talk about it." 

Sirius huffed out an irritable breath, ready to say no, but he started bitching about Regulus instead. "It's like he's so busy trying to have a romantic, adventurous life that he forgets he can get hurt! Did you know that he moved in with someone that tried to kill him? The fucking arsehole was already hitting him, and he thought it would stop if he committed. Have you ever heard of something so sodding stupid? And now he's picked up someone over in the States where he's fucking around playing with his band-- which he didn't tell me about until he was already gone, by the way-- and he wants to bring some berk back with him to live in our flat! He knows nothing about this guy, but he knows this is how love stories go so he's- fucking going in head first without thinking about it." 

"There's something to be said for romance," James said with a crooked smile, but he dropped the expression after a moment. "Do you know how much he knows about him? Maybe they've been spending every minute together so he knows him pretty well." 

Sirius glared at him. "Are you on his side?" 

"'Course not, I'm on your side because you're the person I know, and it sounds like yes, maybe he's going into this too quickly and he's going to get hurt. But mostly I was trying to offer an explanation that would make him seem less stupid." 

"You don't need to, I already knows he's a fucking idiot," Sirius grumbled, but he was less angry than he'd been twenty seconds ago. 

"Hmm, you say that, but I sense forgiveness in your tone," James said, coming up behind him. He wrapped his arms around Sirius's stomach and pressed a kiss to the side of his head. "Are you going to call him back and let him know?" 

Sirius leaned into him, starting to relax from the stress of the day. "No. He's already planning to bring him back and so long as I don't kick him out he won't go anywhere." 

James hummed again, a comfortable warmth against him. Sirius was going to miss the hell out of this when he went back to London. "Not to sound too judgmental, but you're not the best at relationships, so you could let him try to enjoy this. Maybe it'll turn out for the best." 

Sirius frowned, the beginnings of relaxation vanishing in an instant. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" 

"Maybe that bloke he found is as perfect as he thinks and they'll get to live happily ever after. Get married and annoy the shite out of you," he said with a chuckle. 

"What do you mean I'm 'not the best at relationships'?" 

"Hm? You said that the other day didn't you?" 

Yeah, but he'd sort of hoped that James wouldn't agree. That somehow, in the week of their acquaintance, James would have gotten a different experience out of what it meant to be dating Sirius Black. He'd been wrong. And that buggering hurt. He took a careful breath in, released it, and accepted that it didn't matter. What he had with James wasn't a romantic relationship and thinking about it that way would only get him hurt. He was starting to catch feelings, but that sort of thing happened, right? Sirius might be a complete dumb arse, but he knew not to think about this as anything other than what it was. That being said, he could use some fucking cuddles right now, and James had that on offer. 

*

Sirius blinked, and it felt like the bottom of the world had been tugged out from under him. "What?" 

"I knew you wouldn't approve, that's why I didn't invite you," Regulus said over the phone. 

Sirius couldn't believe it. He really fucking couldn't. He couldn't even form words. 

"And I know it was rather stupid," Reg continued, "but Sirius, I swear, once you meet Remus you'll understand. He's so wonderful, you'll love him, I know it. There wasn't even a ceremony, you know? We signed a paper in front of the judge with one of those witnesses they offer, and that was it. I did want you there if that helps, I just knew that you'd try to talk me out of it. And- you know, I was thinking, I could get a job between all the band stuff-- it's not like it takes that much time anyways-- and I'll be able to move out soon. Stop bothering you all the time, yeah? I know you don't want me around messing up your flat and using all your money, so this'll get me out of your hair. You'll finally have the space to bring your dates home, listen to your own music, just- I don't know, have your own life without having to take care of me." Regulus stopped talking, clearly waiting for a response. "Sirius? Are you going to say anything? Anything at all?" 

Another long pause. It's not like Sirius wanted to keep him worrying, but his throat worked and nothing came out. Next to him, James stirred awake. He saw Sirius, leaning up, body tensed with his cell against his ear. 

Regulus blew out a breath. "Alright, you need some time to process. That's fair, I've dropped a lot of information on you, you need to think it over. Just- fuck Sirius, don't shut me out. You're still my brother and I love you, I just love Remus too, you know?" More silence. "I'm gonna go. Er. Thanks for listening. I had someone take a picture. I can send it to you or show you when you get back home, if you want. Bye." 

Sirius swallowed thickly, his hand falling in front of him. Reg was leaving. A few days from now, Sirius would go back home and he'd never see James again. He hadn't seen his friends from university in years. Walburga was dead and good fucking riddance, but Orion was still there and Orion didn't give a shit about him as he was, only Sirius as his heir. Regulus had always been there, through all their family bullshit and Sirius's bad mistakes and his university issues. He found someone better to love and now he was leaving, it didn't matter what reassurances he was trying to give Sirius that he still cared, he was leaving and that's all there was to it. 

"You okay?" James mumbled, putting a hand on Sirius's back. 

Normally it was fine. Normally Sirius leaned into the touch and answered him as best he could, but right now wasn't fucking normal and he couldn't deal with this. James's affection was bought and paid for, and that was the only reason he was around. Sirius couldn't keep anyone around. No one cared about him, not really. All his dates, all his friends, the way his own damn father sent him away, he couldn't deal with this. He already had all the cash he owed James out and ready, and usually he gave it to him the morning after when they both got ready to leave. But he didn't want James around because it only reminded him of what he didn't have and that wasn't going to magically get better before he went back home. God even James knew what a disaster he was to date and that's not even what they were doing. A roll of money in hand, he turned back to James, holding it out. "Here. Just- just go, and thanks for your time. I don't need to see you for the rest of the time we agreed." 

James blinked in surprise, looking at the money like he didn't know what it was. "What?" 

"I don't want to kick you out-" but that's exactly what he was going to do "-but please take the money and go." 

"I-" 

"Please." 

James blinked at him some more, then nodded, taking the money from him. It was awkward as he got dressed, and it probably looked real bad for him to run to the loo, but it would've been worse if James had seen him start to cry. He didn't want for Reg to leave and possibly ruin his life if Remus turned out to be any less perfect than Regulus thought he was, he didn't want to kick out James and never see him again, and he didn't want to be doing any of this. 

"Sirius?" James was knocking on the door. "I'll leave if you want, but I wanted to make sure you were okay. Bad phone conversation? Everything alright?" A pause, then, "Is it your brother?" 

Sensing that he wasn't going to go away until Sirius answered, he opened the door-- he'd forgotten to check how his face looked before opening it, but it couldn't be good. "I appreciate the thought, I really do, but please just go." 

"Are you okay?" 

Sirius rubbed a hand over his face. "I'll be fine." No matter what happened, no matter who left him, he'd be fine. He always was. 

"Alright," James said softly. "I guess I'll leave now. I know you won't believe it, but I had a good time with you. Look me up if you're ever in town, yeah?" He sounded hopeful, but he didn't wait for an answer before he left, clearly understanding that Sirius wasn't going to. 

He left and Sirius closed the washroom door again. It felt safer that way. 

When he eventually came out, he saw that James had left his key on the bed's side table. Sirius blew out a breath. That was good; he should have asked for it, but he'd forgotten. James was always so collected, always keeping track of all these details that Sirius forgot about. 

*

Sirius was leaving town, finally. He could get back home, meet Regulus's husband, and get back to reality. Reg might be leaving soon, but his couch would always be there to welcome him home after an exhausting day at work. He folded another tie and piled it on top, taking a quick scan of the room to see if he'd left anything out. He still needed to scan the washroom, but it looked like he had all his clothes gathered up on the bed. 

A knock sounded on the door, and he frowned, wondering who it could possibly be. He walked over and opened the door, his mouth open and ready to tell them that they had the wrong room, but it died in his throat. James. 

James was standing on the other side of the door, glasses-- Sirius had only seen him wear them once, that day he'd driven Sirius to the hotel-- and a sheepish expression on his face. "Hey." 

Sirius blinked, then blinked again. "Did I short change you? Sorry, I didn't mean to," he said, turning around to grab his wallet. 

"No, it's nothing like that," James said, stepping inside. The door swung closed behind him, but he didn't move further into the room. "I'm not here in a professional capacity. I'm here for... me. Y'know, us." 

"O... kay?" Sirius turned back to face him, confused. 

"It's-" James stopped, chewing on his bottom lip. Sirius had never seen him do that before. "It's kinda stupid, because I know you don't believe your brother fell in love with someone in week, so why would you believe I did it?" 

"You're not in love with me," Sirius denied automatically. "You said I was a disaster in relationships." 

"No, I said that's what you said, and that's not the same," James defended, walking closer. "You don't have to like it, but can't you accept that I feel that way about you?" 

If he were a good person, he'd say yes. "No, because you don't." 

James's eyes narrowed, and he started to look annoyed. "Anyone ever tell you you're a pain in the arse?" 

"Constantly." 

"Well maybe you should've listened to them a little more. For fuck's sake Sirius, aren't you going to say anything about it?" 

"I did." Did he miss that part? It seemed impossible, because he'd replied, but anything could happen-- except James being in love with him, that didn't make any sense. 

"I-" James started to say, but then he stopped, looking heart-broken. It made Sirius's heart crumple in on itself, and he twitched his nose to ward off the tears that wanted to work their way in. "I guess that's my answer." James looked away, making his way slowly to the door. "Is it too stupid to admit I actually thought you'd feel the same? I don't take risks, not about this and-." He stopped again, shaking his head. He pushed his fingers under his glasses and wiped at his eyes. "Sorry," he said, voice thick. "I'll go. Have a safe trip." 

James put his hand on the doorknob, and all Sirius had to do was keep it in for a few more seconds, that's all he had to do- "Don't," Sirius blurted, and it wasn't loud, but it was enough for James to hear that he'd spoken and he paused, turning his head back around. 

"Did you say something?" 

"Don't go," Sirius said. 

James didn't leave, but he also didn't take his hand away from the door. "Don't mess with me Sirius," he said desperately. "If you want me to stay, I need you to mean it." 

"I mean it." He walked over to him in large stride, then cupped James's face in his hands. "Don't go, stay with me." He leaned in and kissed him. They'd kissed dozens of times. There had been better kisses, better times where they fit together like they'd been made for each other. But James had started crying and Sirius was halfway there as well, and he wasn't used to kissing James with glasses on. It was stuffy, messy, a little pokey, and absolutely perfect. "Kinda wish we'd done this earlier so we could figure it out." 

"Figure what out?" 

"I don't live here; you do." Sirius kissed him again because he didn't want to move away. "Are we texting? Making trips every month? I don't... I don't know." 

"I can move to London." 

"I can't ask you to do that." 

"You're not asking, I'm offering," James said. He leaned against the door, and when Sirius's hands dropped from his face he caught them. "I take care of my great uncle and I've been living with him while I do that, so it won't take much for me to hire someone else for him. I've got clothes and shite, but no furniture, no lease to deal with. 'Course I don't have a place in London so that'll-" 

"You're living with me." 

"I am?" 

"If Reg can bring his fucking husband with him, I can bring you. Er, if you want, that is." 

"Hell yes I want to, but I can't ask you to make room in your flat for me." 

"As someone I know once said, you're not asking, I'm offering." 

James laughed, half pulling Sirius into a hug and half bringing himself away from the door to meet him. "Thanks. And I do love you. That wasn't an exaggeration." 

"I er," Sirius took a deep breath, released it, but couldn't say it back even though he wanted to. "Me too." 

*

Regulus stared at his brother and a stranger comfortably lounging on each other on the couch. "Sirius who the hell is that?" 

"I'm James," the stranger said with a wide smile and a wave. 

"And who's James to you? Sirius?" 

"My sugar baby, now shut it, we're watching the telly." 

James snorted but didn't deny it. 

"How well do you know this guy?" 

"As well as you know Remus," Sirius said, deigning to glance at him with a superior expression thrown in for free, but he turned it into a smile as he looked at Remus. "Hey, how's it going?" 

Remus smiled back and shrugged. "No complaints." 

"That's not fair to bring him into this," Regulus said, but he knew that he wasn't going to win this. Any argument he could make would be just as true for himself, and he didn't want to go that route. 

"If you say so," Sirius said, turning back to the television. 

"Let it go, love," Remus said, putting a hand on Regulus's shoulder. 

"Hmph." Reg started walking to his room, Remus following behind him. He only had a few boxes, but he hadn't bothered to unpack since they were planning on leaving fairly soon. 

"Hey Reg?" Sirius called, not moving from where he had his head pillowed on James's shoulder. 

"Yeah?" 

"Unpack your husband's boxes already, you make it seem like he's homeless." 

Regulus blinked, then huffed out a laugh. "Yeah Sirius, you got it." 

#prongsfoot #marauders #james potter #sirius black #fanfic #regulus black #filled #getting together #no magic au #post hogwarts #siriuslystarbucks #Anonymous

[aziraphalesrarebooks]

The Halloween Nanny Ashtoreth and Warlock fic nobody asked for. Written with lots of love and an extra scoop of sugary sweet fluff to rot your teeth. 

Can be read alone here or on AO3

But is technically part of my connected oneshot collection found here: Connecting The Stars

“Nanny!” shouted the ferocious lion as he jumps into Crowley’s arms.

 Halloween is weeks away and it’s a favorite of the Dowling Matriarch. She’s busy planning a Halloween costume party for local diplomats and anyone else who’s anybody. The house is to be full of people and music and there’s even to be a haunted trail in the garden. Crowley must admit it sounds fun if he wasn’t to be otherwise occupied.

 “Look! I got you a pumpkin!” He’s 7 years old and is currently wearing a pair of lion footie pajamas his mother had bought for him earlier in the week. The hat was pulled up over his head, giving him a fuzzy mane of hair. It had been his day off and from what Aziraphale had said, the boy had been on his own for most of the day but had come out to the gardens when the boxes upon boxes of pumpkins were delivered.

 “Brother Francis said you’d like it, I picked it out myself!” He turned around and proudly grabbed the pumpkin that was hidden partially behind his bedroom door.

 “It’s perfect my little hellspawn, where shall I keep it?”

 His tiny lips pursed, then his eyes glittered with mischief. “You can keep it in my window! They are supposed to scare off evil spirits. That’s what Mama said.”

 Crowley had the decency not to laugh but hid the snort behind his hand. “Evil spirits you say?”

 He nodded his head, confident in his ability to warn his dear Nanny about all the evils of Halloween. “She said ghosts come out because the curtains have holes in them and demons and witches…” he lowered his voice, “and even bats!”

 He chortled, “Do you think your Nanny would just let any old demon get you?”

 Warlock rolled his eyes, “Of course not, Nanny. You’re too scary, they would be too scared to mess with you!”

 “And you must always remember that.”

 “I will, love you, Nanny Ash.”

 “I love you too hellion.”

 “… Nanny?”

 “Warlock.”

 “What’s a pumpkin going to do against a demon or a witch?”

 “Well, I’m sure it would hurt if you threw it at one.”

 “Na-nny!”

 “War-lock!” he mocked.

 “Stop teasing me!”

 “Well, first we will need to carve it.”

 “a Jack-o-Lantern?”

 “Precisely.”

 “And then what?” he was making that face again, eyebrows furrowed in concentration with his lips pursed.

 “Then we put a light inside of it, usually you do it a few days before Halloween; October 31st.”

 “To scare off spooky things?”

 He grinned, “To scare off spooky things.”

 “Nanny?”

 “Hm?”

 “Why can’t we go to the party?”

 Ah. That had been a sore spot. Warlock was ecstatic about the upcoming holiday and he assumed that it was a good thing. The Antichrist and all things considered, being excited for Halloween was probably a good sign. However, they were being sent to stay at a hotel for the night.

 He’d been so upset when his mother mentioned it in passing, for months all she’d talked about was the party and how much fun it was going to be, only for her to drop that bombshell earlier in the week with the promise of left-over treats the day after.

 “You and I will have our own party. Perhaps we can carve our pumpkin then?” He had a plan, Aziraphale would be off by the time the party began and then they’d meet at his flat.

   To his surprise, Warlock decided to be a demon for Halloween. His reasoning was to see if the pumpkin actually worked.

 He’d been insisting on scary stories every night before bed; and had, several times ended up sneaking into his Nanny’s bed to cuddle after a nightmare. He’d absolutely fixated on being a demon, pitchfork an all.

 So here he was, in Crowley’s flat, wearing a bright red costume with silly horns and a pitchfork, terrorizing his plants. Although, that had probably been a bad idea on his part.

 Warlock was under the impression this was just another weird hotel room.

 It was odd having the kid in his home, but it didn’t feel wrong. He was thrilled; although, he’d never admit that to anyone. He loved Warlock, often thought of him more like his son than his sort of nephew. Having him in his flat, it just felt right.

 “Pizza then pumpkin?”

 “Yes!”

 Just then, a pizza that had been planning to be eaten by a downstairs neighbor found itself being delivered to a different address. Crowley paid then shut the door.

 Warlock took a big bite of the cheese pizza, smearing sauce on his cheek as he did. “Nanny?”

 “Locky.”

 “Nanny! I’m not 3 anymore!”

 He sighed, “Yes, Warlock?” the years were going by too quickly for his liking.

 “I’ve been thinking, we shouldn’t do a face for our pumpkin.”

 “Well, what should we do?”

 Another bite, this time with sauce being wiped onto the red pants of his costume. “What about an owl or a… cat… or… Oh! What about a snake! We could do a snake like your cool tattoo!”

 It surprised him, he didn’t know what it surprised him; Warlock had often made it known how cool he thought his mark was. “A snake might be hard to do…”

 “Na, we can do it! But… maybe not as loopy as yours.”

 They set to work once they were finished eating and before long, an acceptable jack-o-lantern sat proudly in the demon’s window. The light flickering from inside the pumpkin, contrasting against a very acceptable snake.

 “Nanny?”

 “Yes, Hellspawn?”

 “Do you think we could sneak past the guards and go trick or treating?”

 He shouldn’t have encouraged it, but they both hated being tailed by the secret service agents and Crowley had learned it was easier to just redirect them than try and lose them. Tonight, for instance, both guards had found themselves remembering they were to be off tonight and had bid the other farewell and gone home. 

 “That can be arranged.”

 “Hey, Nanny?”

 “Yes, Warlock?”

 “You should be an angel for Halloween!”

 And that’s how Aziraphale found him nearly two hours later. He’d just happened to have an old angel costume laying around because when the Antichrist asks, you do it.

 “My dear, you look simply heavenly.” He giggled at the picture his friend painted standing there in a long white tunic, two white tufts of feathers hanging from his shoulders that were supposed to be wings and to top it off, a fuzzy white halo atop his fiery red curls.

 “Brother Francis!” He hugged the man tightly. “Come into our room! Look!” he said tugging Aziraphale into the kitchen of Crowley’s flat while pointing at the jack-o-lantern proudly.

 “Oh, my dear, such a marvelous job you both did! Here, why don’t you and Nanny get together with your pumpkin so I can snap a picture.”

 “Francis.” He warned.

 “Now dear, in front of the pumpkin with your sworn enemy.”

 “Nanny isn’t my enemy!”

 “But my dear Master Warlock, demons and angels are mortal enemies!” He rolled his eyes as he heard Crowley snort. “My dear, it is your Nanny’s job to thwart your evil deeds!”

 “… Nanny?”

 “Yes?”

 “Please don’t throw a pumpkin at me.”

 Aziraphale spluttered.

 “No promises, hellspawn. Angel? Picture?”

 He nodded, holding up his camera and taking several photos.

 “What do you say to some snacks and a scary movie?”

 He nodded enthusiastically, running to where he’d seen the television earlier. If the couch was now large enough to fit the three of them, he didn’t notice. He was too busy digging into the popcorn and candies he found waiting for him.

 The two settled in beside him, Brother Francis pulling a warm tartan throw over the three of them as the movie began.

 Emily?

 Emily!

 Come little children, I’ll take thee away, into a land…

 He felt eyes on him, he looked over and met the blue eyes of his Angel. His heart flip-flopped, then he quickly looked away only to glance back and smile shyly back.

 He reached up and took off the fuzzy halo and placed it onto Aziraphale’s head.

 “Angel.” He said grinning.

 “You’d make a great angel Brother Francis, Nanny can be a demon with me. You can… thwart us!” he snuggled against the demon, turning his attention to the movie.

 The two smiling at the other over the head of their little demon before turning their attention towards the movie as well.

   And if years later, Adam found a scrapbook in the cottage with a photo of the three of them sitting, cuddled close on the couch. Aziraphale would just smile and reminisce while his other two boys were out pretending to collect wood for a fire.

#Good Omens #Good Omens Fic #Crowley #Aziraphale #brother fran #Nanny Ashtoreth #aziraphale/crowley #Warlock Dowling #My favorite kid ever #Halloween Fanfic #Pumpkins #He dresses up as a demon #Briefly mentioned Adam Young #Kid Fic #Ineffable Husbands #Almost Antichrist

[artificialqueens]

Échappé / Chapter 7 (Branjie) - DenDenMonMon

A/N: Things will be happening now. The idea was to write nothing too explicit, maybe like the movie channel after ten o’clock but, well, this story decided to go Places. Sorry (kinda). -Monkey.

AO3 Link

Chapter 7

They were early, and Brooke knew it. People often joked about her, her and the medical condition that made it physically impossible for her to be late. Technically, they weren’t wrong. She just couldn’t risk not being on time. That was the reason why she rushed all her dancemates to get changed as fast as they could after the show to make their way to the club.

Ben drove the limousine through Hollywood Boulevard, the dancers stuck their heads out of the sunroof. They laughed, and screamed, and waved at tourists, like teenagers on their way to prom.

Brooke felt happy, the happiest she had been in a really long time. She wasn’t entirely sure why, or, better yet, she had so many reasons to be happy that picking one would be unfair. Instead of worrying about that, she basked in the feeling of accomplishment. They had finished one more leg of the tour and she couldn’t be prouder of her team. Everybody worked so hard and the results were a marvelous set of shows worth celebrating.

The loud music could be heard coming from the inside of the club when they got there. Brooke stared at the neon letters blinking in the same colors as the last time she was there. The girls had offered the strip club as the venue for the after party; Brooke figured the ballerinas would object, but the response was nothing like she had expected. Once again, she was surprised to realize how intertwined the different dance groups had become. Two completely different worlds had merged and given birth to one big, dysfunctional family.

Silky was on stage, thanking a dancer who picked a police uniform up from the floor, and did her attitude check. Brooke yelled her reply with the rest of the club as she led the girls to their reserved area. She sat on the same couch as the time before, and the rest of the company quickly filled that and the two adjacent booths.

A waiter appeared, tray with drinks already in hand, and informed them the first round was on the house. The ballerinas took one each and raised their shots at the same time, toasting to a job well done. Brooke gave a few words, not really in the mood to deliver a full speech when there was a girl removing her pants on the platform behind her. Nonetheless, she wanted to thank her friends for all their hard work, and encouraged them to take the next city by storm. They drank and danced to the music used to accompany the stripper on stage. The dancer wore nothing but a thong and a couple of the ballerinas approached her, placing dollar bills in the straps holding together the small piece of fabric.

After that performance, Silky took the microphone again. All the lights went out except for the big spotlight above the stage. “Alright, y’all! We are having a celebration tonight!” She shook her shoulders, making her breasts bounce arrhythmically. The crowd clapped and cheered, oblivious of the reason for the celebration, but infected by the happiness of the host. “We have some fancy-ass guests in the audience tonight. These girls, they can set stages on fire, girl. They are fabulous dancers, who sell out… theaters, probably arenas, too. I’m guessing. I’m not sure. And, apparently, tonight they were on a budget,” she spoke the last words between chuckles, eliciting the ballerinas to giggle right along with her. “Nobody is judging,” she pointed, and winked in their general direction. “We do have a little surprise for you, you high class hoes. Not only because you did that Disney princess movie typa thing, but for everything that you have done for us, for our girls, for our center. Now, y’all may have saved our asses but don’t forget to tip our girls, okay. Every dollar counts, honey. Hit it!”

Between cheers and whistling was that a girl appeared on stage. Trixie did a cute little number. Dressed as a cowgirl, she moved around the platform to an upbeat country song. Brooke’s eyes immediately went to Katya, who mouthed the words as Trixie peeled pieces of clothing off her body. Brooke had never heard that song before, and Katya never liked country; Brooke had to wonder how come her friend knew all the lyrics. As she fixed her stare on Katya, Brooke noticed she knew the steps too.

There was a sharp pain in her heart when Katya moved to place a stack of bills in Trixie’s bra. They kissed openly for a moment too long, before Trixie went back to her song. Katya mimicked every move from the side of the stage. Brooke could very easily see Trixie and Katya, really late at night, practicing the number; maybe at the girls’ apartment, maybe in Katya’s rented suite. It was a beautiful mental picture of two girls falling instantly in love. They had become so close just to be separated after a few weeks. Because that was what hurt Brooke, her friends having to part ways for a long period. That was surely it.

Looking down at her phone, Brooke realized it was already past midnight, they were technically leaving the next day. A sigh escaped her lips heavily.

Yvie was next on the stage. She twisted her body in ways that could not possibly be human, and took her clothes off in a way that was more entertaining than sensual. The crowd loved her, and showered her with money as she went around the pole at the end of the runway.

Brooke knew what was coming next. Her body tensed as she sat with her back impossibly straight.

The lighting changed again and, even when she was covered with a cloak, Brooke could recognize those pony legs stomping on the stage. Miss Vanjie stood in the middle of the runway as Rihanna’s voice sounded loudly all around them. The beat dropped and that’s when the covering garment found the floor. Vanessa’s hair looked incredibly long, let down in natural waves that almost reached her butt. She wore some sort of basketball outfit with her own name printed on it, white letters against black fabric. If it had been anyone else, it would have looked silly, on her, it looked insanely sexy.

Vanessa, with her mocha skin covered in glitter, moved around the stage at an incredibly fast pace. She commanded the entire floor doing nothing but walking in her leather boots, her hips swaying more than necessary as she waited for the music to pick up again. Her hair followed like a dark curtain behind her until she flipped it over one shoulder. There was a dramatic change in the tempo as she hit her second mark.

Her dancing was hot and sensual. She dropped to all fours, crawled across the floor, and knelt down right in front of the ballerinas’ booth. Her knees spread apart and closed together several times, the muscles of her thighs contracting underneath the pair of black shorts. The palm of her hand landed flat against her breast, her tongue went up against her lip as she massaged herself through her clothes. She lowered her hands and played with the hem of her shirt, revealing her toned stomach. Brooke suddenly wanted to run her tongue between the muscles of her abs. She settled for the best next thing. She got up and went to Vanessa, just in time to see the top flying across the stage. Her fingers came in contact with hot skin as she placed dollar bills, one at a time, in the waistband of the shorts.

“Thanks, Mami,” Vanessa whispered against her hair, before placing a soft kiss on her cheek and getting up.

The song ended too quickly, and Vanessa left the stage with her sparkling underwear still on. Brooke was actually happy about it, but that was a thought she wasn’t going to entertain. She knew what Vanessa did for a living, she knew that Miss Vanjie was a major part of who Vanessa was as a person, Brooke couldn’t possibly have any negative feelings towards it.

Luckily, before she could spiral down that particular chain of destructive thoughts, the strippers joined the ballerinas. There was loud screaming, congratulations, and more glasses of shots going around.

Vanessa, still in her underwear, right away moved to Brooke and stood between her opened legs. “Hey, there, my little fairy.”

Brooke couldn’t help but smile. She ran her fingers through the ends of Vanessa’s hair as she spoke. “Did you like the show?”

“Bitch, I loved it. My ass sat there in awe for the whole two hours, ADHD and all!” She laughed loudly, sinking down slowly and finding a seat on Brooke’s lap almost without noticing.

Before she could reply, Nina called for Brooke’s attention. “Hey, Brooke! We have decided on a name for you two.”

Nervous chuckles left Brooke’s lips. “What?” she asked confused. “What are you talking about?”

“Branjie!” Nina offered, as if the word by itself meant anything. “You know, Brooke and Vanjie. Branjie!”

Brooke was shocked to see how everybody agreed with the name, commenting on how fitting it was and pronouncing it repeatedly, tasting the new term against their tongues.

With a roll of her eyes, Brooke dismissed the subject. “Oh, shut the fuck up everyone. Go away!”

The group laughed at her response, making her even more uncomfortable; but then Vanessa was getting up and pulling her by the hand. “Actually, Branjie,” she drawled the word, her voice going up a few octaves. “Is the one that’s gotta bounce. See ya later, hoes.”

They started walking away and nobody stopped them. Brooke allowed herself to be dragged to the back of the place, where she remembered the private area to be. A rush of heat went through her when Vanessa pulled the last curtain of the row opened, pushing her inside the pink cubicle.

“Sit,” Vanessa ordered, it wasn’t a request. Brooke could do nothing but obey. “You paid for a lap dance that you never got, remember?” A slight nod of Brooke’s head answered the question. “We run some serious business around here, child, and there’s nothing I hate more than an unsatis… unsate… a not so happy customer, okay?”

It wasn’t like she wanted to ruin the mood, Brooke knew exactly where the situation was going, but she had to laugh at the minx before her. It was fascinating how Vanessa was this sexy cultural mixture that would stumble with her languages more often than not.

However, the giggles died on her lips as soon as Vanessa’s hips started swaying. With her legs closed, and bending her knees, she slowly went up and down, her body moving in sexy waves that formed a perfect S. Her eyelashes fluttered rapidly and her lips parted slightly. Her hands went up and down her sides, stopping momentarily to unclasp her bra. Her fingers easily unhooked the little silver wiring between her boobs, and then dropped her arms, slightly stretched back, to let the garment fall to the floor. Brooke was sure she hadn’t seen anything sexier in her life. She bit her lower lip and pressed her thighs together. The wave of heat had found the perfect place to settle in her crotch, where she throbbed to the rhythm of her speedy heartbeat. She could feel the wetness pooling between her legs, and felt almost embarrassed. She felt like a teen, getting turned on just by witnessing a sensual dance; nobody had even touched her yet.

Vanessa took care of that right away, almost as if she could read her mind. Each of her legs landed on the cushions as she straddled Brooke’s lap. Her hands found support on Brooke’s shoulders and her hips started rocking back and forth. Vanessa wasn’t really following the music that came from the main area, but Brooke didn’t care. The soft touch of skin on skin made it irrelevant. She could feel the heat emanating Vanessa’s body, trespassing through her own skirt.

Tilting her head to the side, Vanessa made her hair rest on one side of her head. She pressed her cheek against Brooke’s face. Soft grunts and light puffs of hot air hit Brooke’s ear, who simply sat there as Vanessa’s core traveled across her thighs and hit her pelvic area repeatedly.

She looked down, just to admire the small perky breasts pushing against her torso. She licked her lips, wishing she could be licking something else.

“You know you can touch, right?” Vanessa asked, before her lips wrapped around her earlobe.

Brooke shivered unintentionally. Her body responded automatically to the movements and saltry tone of voice of the fireball on top of her. Without thinking about it, her hands landed on Vanessa’s butt, guiding her to rub against her harder and faster. She parted her legs slightly, and that was enough cue for Vanessa to snake her hand between them. Brooke knew what Vanessa was going to find, she was sure she had soaked her own underwear. In a twisted way, it turned her on even more. She wanted Vanessa to know what she was doing to her.

A deep groan came from the back of Vanessa’s throat when she found her prize. “Oh, Mami, you are so ready.”

Their lips met for the first time that night as Vanessa entered her. It felt like a million stars had burst inside Brooke’s body, galaxies crashed with one another and filled her with light. There was nothing but emptiness around her, she could hear nothing but the sound of wet lips smacking together. Fireworks were starting to line up, ready to be set on fire any minute now, which forced her to stop. Somewhere between the fog of desire, Brooke had a clear view of things. She didn’t want their first time to be like that. Not in a place with see-through curtains and on a couch where who knew how many people had done the same thing. They deserved more than that.

She took a hold of Vanessa’s wrist, stopping the thrusting of her finger. “Let’s get out of here.”

Vanessa bit Brooke’s lip, then ran her tongue over it to sooth the pain. “Your place or mine?”

“How is that even a question?” Brooke smiled, letting her know there was no harm in her words, and pushed her to stand. “Go get your stuff. I’ll get us a ride.”

Brooke gathered her things, giving explanations to nobody, and soon was joined by Vanessa in her basketball outfit. By the time they exited through the backdoor of the club, Ben was already waiting for them.

“You better look away, Benny Boy,” Vanessa warned as they climbed into the backseat. “Things are about to get real hot real quick back here.”

The driver chuckled softly. He didn’t respond but did move the rearview mirror a little bit higher, unsuccessfully avoiding the makeout session taking place behind him. It took mere seconds of mouths capturing lips, tongues running against teeth, and hands brushing over skin, before he decided to put the division up without asking.

Downtown LA was far from Century City, where Brooke rented a condo during her stay. Yet, without the day traffic, and time becoming completely irrelevant to the kissing couple, it felt like they got there in a blink of an eye.

Surprisingly, they were able to contain themselves as they went through the lobby. The elevator ride did nothing but build up the sexual tension. When Brooke punched in the code, and the doors slid open, all restraints were forgotten. She placed both hands on Vanessa’s face and kissed her, hard but slow. The nearest wall worked as support as Brooke pressed Vanessa against it. She wanted to take her time, to make each second count. She wanted to let Vanessa know just how much that moment meant to her.

“You are so beautiful,” she whispered into Vanessa’s mouth.

Vanessa was tiny, despite the high heeled boots she never failed to wear. Brooke had to hunch over just to kiss her properly. Taking advantage of her position, Brooke dropped to her knees with ease. She hooked her fingers to the elastics of the shorts, pulling down and letting them pool around Vanessa’s feet.

“I need you to tell me if I’m doing it wrong,” Brooke’s words got lost between Vanessa’s thighs.

“Bitch, don’t tell me you have never – oh!”

Brooke smiled proudly at the reaction. Her lips curled up as she sucked on Vanessa’s most sensitive spot. She dedicated her sole attention to the bundle of nerves, sucking, kissing and running her tongue around it. She kept a steady pace, literally feeling how Vanessa melted above her, before pushing a finger in.

“Yo, girl, you want to kill me, child?” A second finger was inserted to her words, making Vanessa scream in surprise.

It felt so natural to be there, on her knees, pleasuring such a beautiful girl. Brooke could stay like that forever. Vanessa, however, had a different idea. Just when her legs started to give out, she pulled Brooke’s hair, mumbling something about that being unfair and exhaling a request to be taken to the bedroom.

There was no time to lose. The pair of shorts was left right there in the middle of the hallway, and the black thong was dropped somewhere around the living room. When they reached the bedroom, Brooke gave Vanessa specific instructions to keep the boots on. She obeyed. With a kinky grin adorning her lips, Vanessa moved to undress Brooke. She took her time, and Brooke felt about the explode with each painful second.

They fell on the bed in a naked mess of limbs as their mouths devoured each other.

“I can’t believe this is actually happening,” Brooke confessed, when the lack of air forced them to pull apart. “It’s just so… unbelievable.” Her breathing was heavy, she could feel her chest going up and down erratically.

Vanessa’s hand traced lazy circles around her navel. “Do you want to stop?”

“Are you kidding me? Fuck no!” Brooke confirmed her words by thrusting her hips up, connecting Vanessa’s hand to her center.

It was a matter of seconds before Brooke was shaking uncontrollably, her inner walls clenching around three very skillful fingers. She returned the favor in the same matter, pushing Vanessa over the edge a few minutes later. The second round of sexual bliss found Brooke screaming Vanjie like a mantra, her hands keeping Vanessa’s head in place between her legs, allowing Vanessa to lick her through the waves of pure pleasure. The next orgasm hit them in an awkward position. Brooke’s flexible leg stretched up to rest next to her own head, meanwhile Vanessa sat on her crotch, and grinded their sexes together until they came at the same time.

Being with Vanessa was making love for the first time. All of those times that Brooke had had sex before crumbled and disolved into nothing in comparison. She wondered why she even bothered in having any other sexual partner in the past, it was clear she was meant to become one with Vanessa since the beginning of time. It had finally happened, they had finally found each other. It was a comforting thought, one that pulled her into the most peaceful sleep she’d experienced in her entire life.

#rpdr fanfiction #branjie #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #silky nutmeg ganache #smut #lesbian au #dance au #echappe #dendenmonmon #submission

[gotboredwrote]

The Walking Stick // BHM

Pairing: Brian May x Fem!Reader Word Count: 3.5K Style: One-Shot Warnings: Fluff, childhood trauma in relation to bugs (entomophobia) Summary: Brian, being the animal-lover he is, starts to develop feelings for a new roadie who happens to have a severe phobia of one of the creatures he loves. He wants to help her when nothing else could. Permanent Author’s Note: To clarify, I write because I get bored. Nothing is meant to be professional in any way, nor is meant to offend, cause anxiety, cause anger, cause sadness, or promote disagreement among readers in any sort of (semi)permanent way. A/N: A small little thing that came to me out of nowhere, so this is just kind of… eh. Decided not to even edit this either. Sorry lol.

Masterlist

~

Some people called it irrational. Some people laughed at you when you freaked out. Very few people were okay with a panic attack if it happened. But it was not like you could control it. The fear was rooted deep within an experience from your childhood, so there was not much you could do about it.

In truth, for many years, any time something would happen, you tried to figure out what it was that could calm you down and you were never successful. Your parents always tried to help you, but any time they interfered, somehow it got worse. You were always completely on your own. Despite their attempts, your parents did offer one piece of advice you could see the advantage of taking, which was make sure to get a job where you would not be exposed to said fear. So, what did you do?

Take a job where all you would do is travel and be introduced to new species of bugs each and every day.

~

You had been interning at Chelsea College and you saw a job opportunity posted on one of the bulletin boards. Something related to being a roadie for a band called Queen. It paid well, and you desperately needed the money. Except you noticed that all the pull tabs had already been pulled, so you were not sure how you would go about applying. You noticed a phone number on the flyer, so you just decided to write it down and call it.

“Chelsea College music hall.”

“Oh, um hi. My name is Y/N Y/L/N and I was calling in reference to a… a flyer I saw on—”

“Queen?”

“Y-yes. Could you put me in contact with them?”

“They’re here now, walk over and I’ll send you back.”

“Oh, okay, um… thank y—” And you heard the phone hit the receiver.

You walked over to the building, reintroducing yourself to the, frankly, rude receptionist for the building. He directed you to the room you needed to go to, and once you were in front of the door, you quietly knocked and waited. What exactly were you going to say? You knew this position had already been filled, if the pull tabs being missed was anything to go by. After about 30 seconds, you heard some heavy footsteps toward the door, probably by someone in boots, and then it swung open, revealing a shorter blonde, cigarette dripping from his lips.

“Well, hello. What do I owe the pleasure?”

“I was um, looking to see if the position you guys were offering was still available. The assistant one?”

“Well, I won’t speak for the band, but you could be my personal assistant—”

“Roger, let the poor girl in here!” You heard a more posh and deep voice from behind the blonde who filled the doorway. The blonde huffed out some smoke and rolled his eyes, but complied with the voice’s request.

When you could finally look into the room, you noticed a handful of women scattered around the room, a few older men, and then the three other men you needed to pay attention to. You were hoping to put the voice to a face, but someone else, clearly a different voice spoke up first. Glitzy.

“What do we owe the pleasure, darling?”

“Well, I was uh, interested in the position you have posted on that one bulletin board. But, I saw that all the little tabs are gone, so…”

“Nonsense dear! Many of those tabs were pulled by the blue-eyed floozies you see littered around this room.” You looked at him nervously, amazed at his boldness saying that with the girls within earshot. “Don’t worry about them, trust me. They’re more consumed with the other boys physically than anything we say them.”

You tried to smile at him lightly, still a little bit in shock, and looked around the room, landing on one of the tall men in the room, one with a mound of poofy, dark brown curls atop his head who happened to be staring at you with wide eyes and parted lips. As soon as you locked onto his eyes, you smiled, and he returned it, but quickly looked at his current situation and a frown replaced it. Three of those blue-eyed floozies the one man mentioned were laying around him, and he clearly did not want you to think that was the kind of guy he was, so he sat up, much to the girls’ dismay. He placed a hand into his curled and scratched lightly, and you practically could not tear your eyes away from him. It felt straight out of a meet-cute, but you were getting way ahead of yourself. The man from before tore. You from your thoughts.

“Oh, how rude of me! I’ve never introduced myself or the lads in the band. I’m Freddie, the blonde who answered the door was Roger, John is over there with his beau Veronica, and the tall man you’ve been ogling is Brian.”

You were slightly taken aback by his comment, ever forward, and Brian clearly heard him too because his face went red as well.

“What might we call you, dear?”

“Y/N.”

“Well, Y/N, the job is yours if you’d like it.”

“What? I-I didn’t even tell you about me or anything.”

“Doesn’t matter. My personal goal is to break you out of this shell you have, and giving you this job is the best way to do it.”

Freddie gave you a wide smile before returning to nursing the drink he had in his hand, and you watched each of the boys in their element – Roger with the girls, John reading a book with Veronica wrapped under his arm, and Brian pushing the girls away because there was only one he was interested in.

~

Freddie had told you that they were leaving in four days, so you had that long to prepare for tour life. Whatever the hell that meant. You were a shy and reserved book worm, the idea of hanging with rock stars was not something you really expected to happen in your life, but here you were. Somehow, by pure luck, even though Freddie will tell you it was your personality, you got this gig.

You had an apartment right near the campus, hence why you were at the school in the first place for an event. You were folding a load of laundry you specifically did for the tour when you heard the buzzer for your door, signaling someone wanted to see you. Not expecting anyone, you were hesitant at first to let the person know you were home. You heard the buzz again, and decided it could not hurt, since you did not have to let them in.

“Can I help you?”

“Y/N?”

“Yes?”

“Oh, whew, good, I found the right flat. Uh, it’s Brian. Could I come up?”

The voice. You finally heard it again. The one who stopped Roger from his pursuit of you. A deep voice, intelligent. You realized in that moment you had not actually spoken to John or Brian the other day when Freddie gave you the job. You walked away before ever officially meeting them.

“Y/N? You there? I still can’t open the door.”

“Oh! Yeah, yeah one second.”

You buzzed Brian through the door and unlocked your door so you could walk back into your bedroom to continue folding your clothes. You waited about 4 minutes and then you heard the knock on the door. You called out to him telling him he could just come in, and you heard the door open. If a door could sound reluctant, yours did in that moment. You called out from your bedroom, telling him where you were, and he slowly made his way through your apartment. Taking in your style as he went through. Very much similar to his, and he made it a point to commit the poster you had of the planets and their descriptions to memory. Made him happy to see that you shared an interest of his.

He made his way back to your bedroom and saw you hovered over the side of your bed, clothes all neatly stacked in piles that clearly had some type of order.

“Hi, Brian!” Your voice came out a little bit less strong than you would have liked, almost like his presence knocked the wind out of you. “What do I owe the pleasure?”

“Well, I wanted to offer my assistance.”

“With what?”

“That.” He gestured to all the clothes littering your double bed.

“My laundry?”                                                        

Brian suppressed a laugh but a toothy smile escaped anyway. “No, silly, your packing. I understand you’ve never done anything like this before? It isn’t like vacation, you can’t just pack a handful of clothes.”

“I know that, but I’m honestly not sure where to draw the line.”

“Did you want the assistance I was offering, love?”

“That would… actually be marvelous.”

Brian was instantly at your side, helping you fold some of the clothes from your basket. He was careful not to select any of your undergarments, but he accidentally grabbed a pair of your underwear at one point, and not by the elastic or the bum, and he immediately went beet red and apologized profusely. You just laughed and nudged him on the shoulder. You did not mind, it was honestly sweet to see him get so worked up and not really aroused by it like most men would. You did not even want to imagine how Roger would have handled that.

“Brian?”

“Yes?”

“How exactly did you find my flat?”

Instantly the color drained from his face because he was afraid you were going to hate him for seeking it out.

“Bri, I’m not angry with you. Quite the contrary. I am not the type to ask for help, so you showing up was actually a blessing. You’re like, an angel to me.”

“Well, essentially…” Brian started talking about the process of finding your apartment, which was much more complicated than he initially planned for it to be. Hence why he did not come the day before. By the time he found out the apartment and where it was, it was late and he did not want to disturb you. He continued talking but noticed that your side of the laundry pile had not gotten smaller while he was talking.

“Y/N? You okay?”

When he looked over at you, your face was as white as a sheet and your eyes were laser focused onto something. Your body was stiffer than a piece of wood. Clearly, you were in a state of shock. Brian followed your gaze and saw what you were looking at – a moth about the size of a polaroid picture was on the wall opposite to where the two of you were standing. Brian looked back at you, calmly speaking to you.

“Want me to take it outside, love?”

All you did was nod stiffly, not moving any other muscles. Brian nodded and carefully walked over to the wall, capturing the moth in his larger hands, careful not to crush it. He walked over to the small balcony you had off of your bedroom and released it off the edge.  When he walked back in, he expected you to be back to normal, but he was met with you almost having a panic attack. At first, he was not sure what to do, but he decided on pulling you into a tight embrace, rubbing circles into your back in an effort to calm your breathing.

It worked.

Nothing had ever worked before. Not a single thing. And then here you were, standing in your apartment in the arms of a man you hardly knew, and he was able to calm you down. When you felt your breath return to normal, you pulled back to look at him. And you just stared at him, wide eyed.

“Alright, love?”

“Y-yeah. I, um…”

“You don’t have to talk about it.”

“You deserve to know. After that.”

Brian helped you sit down onto your bed, one arm moving to rest on your knee, the other still rubbing your back. And you began to explain what happened just now.

[Flashback Start]

“M-m-mommy…”

It was disgusting. The sight of it all being played out in your head.

“Mommy?”

It had to be thousands of them.

“MOMMY!”

Your childhood home had a small pond and frogs liked to live in it. You always liked to watch them, and that day was no different. You went outside, small snack in hand, and watched as one of the frogs lay dead on the stones on the edge of the pool. Its corpse being devoured by thousands of different kinds of bugs. Flies, spiders, roaches, grasshoppers, moths. Crawling and buzzing. It was deafening, louder than nighttime cicadas. It made you want to vomit. The dark side of the circle of life.

Bugs used to not faze you one bit. Now, with the knowledge that they could be as vicious of predators as a lion or a tiger made you absolutely petrified of them, afraid if you stop moving in front of them, they are going to think you were dead, just like the frog. And eat you.

[Flashback End]

“So… bugs and you don’t get along, huh?”

You shook your head.

“And nothing anyone has ever done has been able to help your through the panic attacks?”

Another shake.

“Except for me.”

Now a nod.

“Well.” Brian thought carefully about his next choice of words. “Guess it’s a good thing you’ve got me on this little adventure, right?”

Finally, you looked up at him, and you smiled. He had grown fond of that smile, and never wanted to see it go away. You could say the same about his, little fangs and all. He was still rubbing circles on your back. You felt so relaxed in his presence.

With a small peck on the cheek, mean to be completely harmless,  he spoke again. “Let’s continue packing, love.”

~

The tour went pretty smoothly. It was a relatively local tour, so the travel was not all that bad. You were on a bus separate from the boys, but Brian always made it a point to travel with you, and only leave when it was time to sleep. He only left when you were at the last rest stop before bedtime, and then he’d switch busses. He always was on watch for bugs so you did not have a panic attack in public. There were a few times a spider or something would end up on the tour bus, prompting you to enter a state of panic. But, Brian was always there to remove it. He never killed the bugs – always trapped them and let them go. He was nice to every living thing he met, no mattered the circumstances. It was enchanting. Everything about him.

One day, on tour, the boys had some time off and Freddie had suggested they walk the little hiking trail that happened to be near the venue. When Freddie was the one who suggested it, you all kind of scoffed at him, but he seemed determined. The new guy he was talking with seemed to be into it, so you blamed it on that. Before everyone had started gathering what they needed, Brian made his way onto your bus and saw that you had packed a backpack, ready to go, and he got anxious.

“You’re actually coming with us?”

“Of course! I was hoping I could walk with you. If… that’s alright, obviously.”

“I would adore spending all my free time with you,” Brian winced at himself internally at the slight confession. He was hoping to tell you how he had started feeling about you in a more intimate way, maybe under the stars, but the cat might have been out of the bag at this point. Why could this cat have not been like Delilah? That cat loved to play in plastic bags. “But, you do understand that there’s going to be a lot of bugs out here, and I can’t release them into the air if they’re already there.” “I know, and I appreciate your concern, but I think if you just let me stick by your side, I’ll be okay.”

“But I don’t want you getting embarrassed—”

“Bri.”

He sighed at your determination, another thing he had come to really like about you. “If you insist, love. Ready to go, then?” He held out his hand for you to take, a bold move considering what he was trying to keep private. Yet you took it with strength, almost as if you were egging him on to admit what he was feeling. The two of you walked from your bus hand in hand and made your way to the back of the trail. Everyone else had already started making their way.

You and Brian remained close together the whole time, hands still interlocked. Brian was glad you could not hear how hard his heart was beating from the touch, and he was also glad you could not hear the small shattering he felt when you drew your hand away. But, he noticed it was not because of him, it was because you wanted to take some pictures with the camera you packed. Yet another thing for Brian to like about you – you both liked photography. He was beginning to wonder where you had been his whole life.

Then he stopped hearing the shutter of your camera. He had walked to the other side of the relatively wide trail, opposite you, to look at a really beautiful bird. But the second he stopped hearing your camera he was turned around and walking in your direction. You had been kneeled down to take a picture of the foliage, but now the camera was dangling between your legs and you looked stiff again.

Instantly his arms were around your neck and shoulders, his head buried into your neck. He thought you saw a big bug and were starting to panic and he wanted to nip the panic attack in the bud. He squeezed tightly to make sure you knew he was there and that you were safe.

Now you could heel how hard his heart was beating.

Yours was beating the same amount, but not because of a bug.

“Bri?”

“You’re okay, it’s not going to hurt you love.”

“Bri—”

“I’ll move it far away from here, it’s not going to get you.”

“Brian! I can’t breathe.”

“I’m here, please try to breathe, love.”

“No, you’re squeezing really tight.”

Brian yanked his arms away to look at your face, which had no tears. All your color was there. You even had a smile on your face. You looked up at him, and he had a look of shock on his face. You started to laugh really hard, and he almost started laughing himself – he was just too confused to.

You pressed a kiss to his cheek to attempt to break him from his trance before you spoke again.

“There’s just a walking stick here.” You stopped speaking to gaze at the interesting bug. “For once… I’m okay. I think it’s because this little guy reminds me of you. Physically, he’s long and lanky—” “Hey!” “But moves gracefully and independently. It’s also really intelligent compared to other bugs, it seems. And he’s really friendly. I even held out my hand and his little antenna came up to inspect me. But, he reminds me of you through and through, somehow. I think that’s why he doesn’t scare me.”

You were still looking at the bug while Brian was gawking at you. In a very weird but extremely endearing way, he could feel himself falling deeper into his feelings for you after that comment. You looked so at ease, and he knew he had a chance. He reached up to lightly grab your chin so he could pull your forehead to lean against his. The two of you just stared into each other’s eyes, almost in a trance.

“Y/N… you’re such an enigma, but I’m determined to figure you out.”

“I’d be glad to let you try, Bri.”

Brian started to lean closer to you, like he was going to kiss you, when Roger’s voice ruined the moment.

“Would you two c’mon? Freddie is currently trying to climb out of a creek and it’s pretty funny.”

You and Brian just looked at him, chuckling at his excitement. Then you looked back at each other. Brian started to stand up to keep going on the trail, but you grabbed his face to keep him at your level.

“Thank you, Brian.”

Instantly he pressed his lips to yours for a quick but searing kiss. When he broke away, he saw you had the shocked look he had earlier.

“I think I just cracked the first code of the Y/N enigma, huh?”

Permanent Taglist: @bensrhapsody @chlobo6 @gardnerlangway @xtrashmammalstefx @bohemiandeakyy

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#brian may x reader #brian may imagine #brian may #queen #fanfiction #fanfic #fluff #entomophobia #fear of bugs #walking stick #stick bug #roger taylor #freddie mercury #john deacon

[colubrina]

Ooooh! You want a Dramione prompt??! 😀 Mistletoe can be deadly when you eat it A kiss can be even deadlier when you mean it 😄

Hermione closed the lid of what she hoped was the very last box of Christmas decorations.   It was a bit grim, decorating her own flat.  By herself.  Alone.  Just her and her cat.   That hadn’t stopped her.  Ron could move on, she could be uninvited from Burrow parties, and she could have to hang ever fairy light herself, but she was not going to let him ruin the pleasure she took in Christmas.  She wasn’t.

Anyway, her cat hadn’t liked him. She should have listened to that.

She leaned against the wall and ran her eyes around the room.  Tree, down.  Stockings, put away.  Garland, in a bag ready to take down to the alley for the rubbish collection on Tuesday.  She was pretty sure she’d gotten it all, and she would treat herself for all her hard work to a meal out in the pub.  And a drink. Not because she was the slightest bit melancholy.  Harry was engaged to Ron’ sister. It made perfect sense he’d go to parties with them.  People had their own lives, their own friends, and it wasn’t as if she minded being alone.  She liked solitude.  She got more done when no one was bothering her.

She pulled herself off the wall, said goodbye to the ball or orange fluff ignoring her from the coach, and went down to get dinner.  The pub was warm and cheery and the bartender gave her a little wave as she tucked herself into a booth in the back corner.  She liked this place.  The food was good, and if it was more crowded than usual tonight, well, she supposed she wasn’t the only one who’d decided that she didn’t want to cook tonight.

The crowd got thicker. The waitress put a bowl of beef stew and a pint in front of her, and Hermione felt the tiniest bit of guilt she was taking up a table all by herself when so many people were standing around the bar, juggling drinks and baskets of chips while they waited for a table to open up.  That guilt turned to a strong desire to hide when an all-too-familiar blond head made its way through the crowd.  Draco Malfoy.  She knew he’d moved into the neighborhood, which was annoying enough.  They’d met on the street a few times and exchanged the sort of polite things adults who hadn’t liked one another as children said.  

The weather was wet.  

Oh yes.  

Good thing I brought an umbrella.  

Always good to think ahead.  

Have a good one.

You too.

She could handle that level of interaction.  If they kept it right there, at impersonal civility, she’d never have to demand things like how could you or why did you.  Not that he’d answer her.

She looked down, hoping not to catch his eye, hoping to avoid another round of discussion about the weather, but when she risked a glance up, he was standing right at the edge of her table. It was too impossibly rude not to tip her head toward the opposite bench, not when this place was so full, so she did.  The trap of societal conventions was too real.

“Busy tonight,” Draco Malfoy said as he slid into his seat.

“Yes,” she agreed.  This was awful.  How quickly could she eat and escape?

“Good stew here,” he said.

“The best.”

The waitress brought him a bowl of his own, and a glass of wine, and, worse, another pint for Hermione. He ate here often enough they knew him. That was just great. And now she had more ale to get through before she could leave without it looking awkward.  “Have a nice Christmas?” she asked.

Malfoy shrugged, but under that polite geniality, Hermione saw a sudden flare of misery that he squelched so quickly she thought she must have been mistaken. “It’s the happiest time of the year, isn’t it?” he asked.

It was her turn to shrug. “I suppose,” she said.  Her parents, safely rescued and their memories restored, wanted nothing to do with her.  Betrayal, they’d called it.  We can never trust you again, they’d said.   She would have done anything to keep them safe. It had been a war.  Their lives had been in very real danger.  She’d tried to explain, but her father had very politely shut the door in her face.   “I enjoyed it when I was a child a bit more. Hard to keep that magic going as an adult.”

“Quite,” Malfoy said.   He looked down at his hands and then said, the words almost mixing up they came out of his mouth so quickly, “I-would-like-to-apologize-to-you.”

Hermione set her spoon down in her shock.  “I’m sure there’s no –” she began.

“Oh, there is,” he said.  “I was horrid to you as a child, then let the….”  He stumbled and stopped, then tried again. “I let the Death –”

“You don’t need to say this,” Hermione said.  For all she’d thought about the opportunity to ask him How could you, now that the opening was here, she wanted more than anything for him to be quiet.  Everything about that time was terrible.  It had taken everything from her – from so many people – and she didn’t want to look back at it.  She wanted to eat her stew and go home to her flat, alone.

Except she didn’t.  If she stood on her floor, looked at her bare walls, at the places picture of family and friends should go, she’d start to cry.  She’d done everything right.  Why didn’t she have any friends to spend Christmas with?  To spend New Year’s with?  She’d smiled at Molly and learned to make her wretched cottage pie and she’d loved Ron since they were teenagers and it had all fallen apart and Harry had picked the Weasleys.  

“It’s fine,” she said now to Draco Malfoy, the person who would eat with her because the pub was too crowded to sit anywhere else.  “We can let the past go.”

“It was my parents,” he said.  The words were a near whisper and filled with so much pain her heart clenched.   “He said he’d kill them. I would have done anything, but in retrospect –”

Hermione reached across the table without thinking and grabbed at his hand.  He stared at her in obvious shock as she tightened her grip.  “We all did things we regret,” she said.  

“You didn’t let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts,” he said.

“No,” she said, but she didn’t let go, and he didn’t try to pull his hand away.  They sat like that for so long it became uncomfortable, and then she had to lean back, had to let him go.   Her hand felt cold away from his, and she began to sip at her ale slowly, asking him simple questions about his life as they ate. He wasn’t working. No one would give a job to a former Death Eater, no matter how good his N.E.W.T.s were.  He’d just recently moved out of his family home.  It was odd being alone.  He’d tried to decorate for Christmas but hadn’t known how. His mother had always had a floral company do the whole house.

“We used to hang the decorations and sing,” Hermione said.  “My parent collected them for years.  It was strange to have to go to a shop and buy things.”

“Didn’t they save any for you?” Draco asked.

“We aren’t speaking,” she said.  She looked down. “Or, rather, they aren’t speaking to me.”

“I’m sorry.”

She shrugged. “They haven’t forgiven me for… I wiped their memories, you see. So they would move away.  To keep them safe from –”

“From people like me.”

There wasn’t much she could say to that because it was true.  

“He would have gone after them,” Draco said.  “You did the right thing.”

“They don’t think so.”

This time it was Draco who reached across the table to rest his hand on hers.  She laced her fingers through his and smiled a bit wanly. “Anyway,” she said. “Here I am, decorations down, having dinner.”

She turned, meaning to try to catch the waitress’ eye, to ask for another drink, to extend this night a little longer.  Draco Malfoy let out a little laugh and plucked something off the back of her jumper.  “I think you missed one,” he said.

He had a little spring of mistletoe in his hand.   It had died. The leave had withered to a dull green, and the white berries had shriveled.  It had been pretty when she’d bought it over a month earlier, and the red ribbon tying it together had seemed festive rather than limp and sad.  “Something got a ride down,” she said, trying to laugh.  “Wanted to come to dinner with me, I guess.”

“Don’t put it in the stew,” he advised.  “Mistletoe can be deadly when you eat it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said.

He held it for a moment, then raised his hand so it was above his head.  “I mean,” he said, “we shouldn’t let it go to waste. Bad luck or something.”

She rolled her eyes but leaned across the table to give him a peck on the cheek.  She miscalculated, or he turned at exactly the wrong moment, and her lips brushed across his.  They were soft, despite a scruff of hair on his cheeks, and opened in a started ‘Oh’.

She sank back down into her seat, blushing.

Draco Malfoy was staring at her.  Then he set the tiny plant down with immense care, stood up, and made his way around the table so he could slide in next to her.  She swallowed hard and could feel her throat bobbing as he placed hands on either side of her face.  “Say yes,” he murmured.

She did, and this time instead of an accident, their mouths met with cautious, careful purpose.  She could feel goose pimples rise all along her spine as her tongue met his, as she slid her own hands into his fine, fine hair.  Something she hadn’t known was tense within her relaxed, and the part of her mind that wasn’t reeling in shock that she was kissing Draco Malfoy – kissing him in public – noted that this was what kisses seemed like in books. This losing of herself.  This urge run her hands over his skin. This sense that she’d found someone.  She’d always thought of kissing as wet and a little unpleasant but she’d been wrong.  With the right person, it was marvelous.

“Get a room,” she heard someone in the pub say, and she pulled away from him with sudden, sharp embarrassment.  

His eyes were dilated, and she could see the pulse pounding in the base of his throat.  “I can pay the bill?” he asked.

She nodded.  Bill paid, mistletoe abandoned, she led him up to her flat.  This wasn’t over.  This wasn’t done.  Maybe the in public part was done, but not the rest. Not tonight.  Not, she suspected, ever.

Mistletoe might be deadly when you ate it, but a kiss could be just as deadly. If you meant it.  Hermione unlocked her door and, before she even had it shut again, Draco pushed her up against the wall, the length of his body pressing against hers.  She wasn’t naïve.  She knew what he wanted.  “Tell me yes again,” he whispered, and she looked into his eyes. So grey.  So lonely. “Tell me you mean it.”

“Yes,” she said.  She tugged his head to hers until only a hair’s breadth remained between them.  “I mean it.” Then there was no space at all between them. Not then, and not for the rest of the night.

In the morning, she discovered her cat liked him.  A lot.

#dramione #*writing #jayciethings

[afewmarvelousthoughts]

Stay Ch. 8

Master List: @afewmarvelousthoughtsadmin

Pairing: Natasha X Reader (Female)

Summary: You have a gift, the ability to see other people’s innermost secrets. For years you used it to gather intel for the highest bidder when you take on The Widow. After she becomes more than a mark the two of you spend years stealing moments. Post snap you wait in your designated meeting place, look back on the sordid past you share with the woman you love and hope against everything that she’s still alive.

Warnings: Some REALLY light violence, feels.

A/N: It’s kind of a shorter chapter (though let’s be real all my chapters are pretty short) but lays down a log of pieces for later. Just. Ugh. Stress.

Tags are open!

@mywinterwolf  @disagreetoagree @breezy1415 @peachthatdrinkslemonade @5aftermidnight  @jeromethepsycho @daniellajocelyn @marvel-randomness @katecolleen @yanginginthere  @wonderlandmind4 @piensa-bonito

-

Post Snap

-

A part of you thinks maybe you should go to your room. Maybe shower. Sleep… well, that wasn’t really going to be an option for a while. But you worry (senselessly) that if she gets here, doesn’t see you at the bar, that she’ll leave. Your mind instead goes to that first plan you two had laid out.

You both set up a phone line, no phone to go with it, just for the voicemail. The only two with the number was you, the only ones who knew the complex system to access the messages, you.

She would go back to Russia. Do what needed to be done. Then she would call and leave a message with coordinates. In the meantime you would wrap this job, collect, and lay low. That was the short term. After that, you would talk about longterm options.

Saying goodbye to her that first time almost did you in.

-

January 2005

-

“I fucking hate this,” you press your forehead to hers, refusing the tears that burned on the backs of your eyes.

You were holding on to one another, so tight it was a wonder either of you could breathe, in this room you’d shared for months. Natasha’s green eyes bore into yours, refusing to look away.

“I do too,” she kisses you, eyes still open, “it’s only for now. I will make it back to you. I swear.” You knew she needed to be gone five minutes ago but knowing what she was heading toward made you ache. “I love you, Y/N. I. Love. You.” There’s so much conviction in her words, the intensity of her emotion wrapping itself around you.

You take a shaky breath, “I love you too, Natasha.” Pulling her hard against you press your right hand to her cheek and kiss her, letting just how much you love her flow into her consciousness, she gasps a little and kisses you with even more intensity.

After several minutes she pulls away, both of you panting, “Ok… ok. I have to go.” All you can do is nod. She gathers her bag and you follow her to the door. In the hall she looks back at you, “I’ll see you soon.”

You intended to let her go without another kiss but you can’t help placing one more on her lips, “See you soon, honey.” And with that, she’s gone.

Back in the room, you collapse on the bed. The lingering tendrils of her emotions fill the room like perfume. Mingled with your own it’s like drowning. You can’t remember ever being so sensitive so… empathic, to the emotions of another. Except… maybe your mom but… you push that dark memory away. This wasn’t the time or place to fall into that hole, and right now you weren’t sure you’d come back. Not to mention, you had a job to finish.

You spend the next day compiling the report your employer had been demanding, impatiently, for the past month. Filled, you hoped, with more information than they thought they’d get about the Red Room but little about The Widow herself. Well as little as you could get away with.

When you contact your mystery employer they demand to meet up in Istanbul.

“Seriously?” You’re emotional, nerves fried, not in any way in the mood to run around Europe for some fuckers with far too much interest in an organization that makes little girls into weapons. “You paying for this jaunt?” There’s a pause while the messenger listens to the response.

“If you think we are going to pay after you drug this out-“ Their monotone delivery of what was no doubt an incensed message is annoying so you cut them off.

“Fine, Istanbul.” You roll your eyes and think of places, “Meet up at The Grand Bazaar in two days, at 21:00.” You don’t even wait for a response just hang up. They could meet you then and pay or not, honestly, at this point, you didn’t much give a fuck.

Walking to the bazaar two days later you feel a familiar sense of foreboding that usually accompanies a bad decision. You used the time afforded by travel to try to find out anything else about this employer you could. It had been clear for a while they had smoke screened with S.H.I.E.L.D. but what you couldn’t determine was why. C.I.A., MI6, really another government agency would have made more sense than S.H.I.E.L.D. They were the clandestine of the clandestine, hell, most civs didn’t even understand, really, what they were. Not to mention S.H.I.E.L.D. had an uncanny finger on the pulse of underworld happenings. Using them was a risky ploy for anyone.

All of this was filling you with dread. Something was very very off about everything. Still, you walk up and down the stalls of the bazaar, basking in the scents and sounds of such a beautiful place.

Glancing at your watch you note it’s 25 after your stated time. If they thought they would power play you by making you wait they were going to be disappointed. You may enjoy cities like this but you weren’t about to linger in a place they picked. About ten minutes later you catch a man watching you. He’s not really trying to hide, obviously hoping you’d notice. Finally.

You casually walk toward and past him leading the way to a small booth slinging coffee off a narrow alley passage. Not private but not in the middle of everything. Taking a seat at one of the small tables you wait for him to follow. For a minute he just stares at you, visibly unhappy with this. You flash him a smile, making your voice flat, accentless, generic.

“You can have a seat and we can finish our business or you can tell our mutual employer that we have no deal. Don’t think that’s going to go over very well. Your call.” The way this man holds himself says soldier, not a random hired street thug, and that makes you nervous.

Finally, he takes the seat opposite you, saying nothing. “That’s what I thought.” Not taking your eyes off him you reach into the bag at your side pulling out a file. “I believe they will find more than enough pertinent information on the topic in there, the more sensitive intel is on two thumb drives, encoded, but I have no doubt that with their resources they can manage to find someone to extract the information for them.”

The man opens the file and scans some of the information, devoid of emotion. He looks up at you, he’s young, maybe just a year or two older than you, brown hair and eyes. When he opens his mouth he has a distinct East Coast, likely New York, accent. “This seems good enough for now.”

Without another word, he stands to leave. “Hold the fuck up,” you grab his hand as he passes you pulling what you can at that moment, “Brock.” What a fucking name. He looks down at you, a sinister smile curling his lips and you get the sense you’ve just been caught in a snare though you don’t know why.

Pushing that away you release him and focus on the situation in front of you, “Getting that amount of information took time and a lot of effort, we have an agreed sum that-“

“Oh, you’ll be paid, Oracle,” he cuts you off. Danger, that’s what all your senses are screaming. You say nothing else and he disappears down the alley.

Fuck.

#natasha x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanov #the black widow