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beary-rambles · 1 year

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Flowers | The Series | Chapter Four | Worries, Worries, and Worries

Summary | After a brief yet meaningful conversation with daemon, jacaerys has only one goal in mind. You

Pairing | Jacaerys Velaryon x Fem!Reader

Warnings | non canon house dunn (obv), Jacaerys is obvious to the gossip of the ladies, not proofread

Word count | 1.4k

a/n: as an apology for my delayed chapter release I'm releasing chapter five soon after this so i hope you enjoy the double post!

Series Masterlist

Daemon walked with jacaerys to the garden he began to speak without turning to him, "House dunn while being a minor house resides on some of the most vast flower lands in the reach." Jacaerys turns his head towards him, confused. "All the major or minor houses don't realize that any flower display of basket they get most likely was supplied from the fields of house dunn. Did you know that the rose bushes in the keep were supplied by house dunn many years ago." It's not a question more so a statement and all jacaerys can do is stare at him.

"I'm sorry I'm a little confused, why are you-" "I've always felt it's important to pursue what you want." Daemon finally turns to him, "i was….. forced into marrying young. Like you. I'd rather you have a better marriage than mine was."

Jace had heard bits and pieces about Daemon's first marriage, how he was sent away from the keep very young to marry an older lady in the vale. He realized what daemon was saying, "Thank you…" He placed a hand on his head before walking away.

Jacaerys didn't even realize they had made it to the door in front of the garden. He could hear the chatter of many ladies and lords but now there was only one he wanted to talk to. As he entered the garden many people greeted him and he donned a fake grin and he scanned the crowd.

There you are, also looking at him and he feels a real smile grow on his face. He should go greet you, it would only be polite. He moves towards you, greeting people along the way but he notices you walking away with the older man on your arm.

He feels himself getting irritated, why are you moving away? Before he could think anymore his brother tapped on his arm, "You're looking rather angry brother." He looks at him in shock, is it really showing in his face? Lucerys eyes you and he begins to laugh, "Are you yet to greet her brother?" He gives lucerys a blank look, "I have no clue what you speak of. I have been busy greeting many guests. Is there someone in particular you mean."

Lucerys pouts, "Don't be like that jace." Lucerys thinks before his eyes light up, "I have an idea." Oh no. Lucerys gives him a mischievous grin, "You continue to greet guests, I shall bring her to you, then you two can be alone ." "What-" before he can ask lucerys is already off on his way to follow you and the old lord.

Maybe this isn't so bad, he does want to talk to you. Jacaerys continues to make rounds continuing to look around looking for his brother and the beautiful girl that wont leave his mind.

There you are, on his brother's arm and he greets you. The color you wear now suits you well, its longer dress hitting your ankles, it's clearly an older dress not made for you but it suits you so well it doesn't matter to him. There's a look of reluctance on your face that he wishes would disappear as he offers you his arm, he admires you from the corner of his eye while you four walk. Lucerys soon leaves, taking Joffrey with him and he's finally alone with you. He asks you about the garden and he notes your eyes light up when he asks you, you clearly enjoy flowers. There's a small silence that feels you as he deliberates what to ask you, there's a nagging voice wanting to ask you a million questions about flowers to quench his years of curiosity regarding flowers.

As he builds up the courage to ask you to get interrupted and you leave quicker than he can blink. He felt a small ache in his stomach as he watched you leave, “Oh I'm sorry, I hope I wasn't interrupting anything.” Cassandra quickly tries to get his full attention, with fake concern, but he is not fully there and doesn't notice the fakeness in her tone. “No of course not lady cassandra.” Her smile grows and he feels a little sick looking at her overly happy face, “Then would you mind accompanying me around the garden, it's so large and I fear I may get lost.” His mood sours, all he wishes to do is find you but he knows that this whole event is being thrown for him and he needs to give everyone a fair chance.

The two begin to walk and he engages in conversation with her, his mind drifting back to you and wondering where you could be as he scans the open area and not seeing you. Clearly he wasn't alone in these thoughts, “I thought I told you to watch her.” “I was!” “Then where is she?!?!” he hears the loud whispers of your parents, he leads cassandra towards them and her face sours. “Is something the matter?” Your mother turns to him in a shock while your father has a more content look on his face. “Of course not my prince-” “Have you seen my daughter it appears she ran off somewhere after walking around with prince lucerys?” Your mother gives him a fierce glare at your fathers honesty. Worry fills him as he stares at the two of them his face turning grim, “I was accompanying her and showing her around the garden, she soon left and i have not seen her since,” the look on her mothers face sours though he does not comment on this, “i have not seen her since i apologize.”

Cassandra was clearly not happy about standing there listening to this and her face makes that clear but he can't be worried about that when all he can worry about is you. It's easy to get lost in the garden, he had plenty of times as a kid. “I can go look for her-” “You shouldn't my prince we don't wish to worry you-” “I know this garden like the back of my hand, it is not an issue to me, plus i wish to know that she- i wish to keep all my guests safe of course.” It's easy to almost let his words slip but he catches himself.

He turns to lady cassandra whose face is sour and clearly upset, “I'm sorry my lady but I must go.” She frowns and sighs, “Of course my prince.” She turns to leave, “I shall own you a dance tonight as an apology.” Her face brightens up and she smiles, “Of course my prince I would love to.” He walks off barely caring about her reply and searches for you.

He roams around the garden and skillfully avoids all the people who wish to stop him with polite words and smiles as his eyes frantically search around for you, soon enough he sees you laying on the ground and all he can think is the worst as he calls you names and rushes over almost tripping. As he realizes you're alright he feels like he can breathe again. A genuine smile graces his face and it feels nice after all the fake ones he’s given all day. Once you are all, all he can do is stare at you in wonder as your disheveled look as you brush yourself off, he thinks you look gorgeous. You two begin to walk as he feels the question he’s been longing to ask burning on his tongue. What if you think him to be strange, a man liking flowers is odd, unheard of. He doesn't want you to think he’s strange, especially since everyone probably already does this would only make it worse.

Yet he asks and he’s so happy he does, you seem so happy to talk about flowers and all he can do is stare as you rant about them, he loves the glow that shines in your eyes as you tell your story, he loves your laugh, it sounding better than any melody he’s heard. He laughs along with you. As the conversation falls flat he wishes to continue and attempt to come up with something else but he comes up short. You two are soon interrupted again and in fear you may run away again he tries to tighten his hold on you yet it does not work as you slip away from him once again and all he can do is stare at your retreating form. He turns back to the girl who has a satisfied smile on his face and he rolls his shoulders before greeting her. What a long day this will be.

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prince-liest · 2 months

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Your last 666 series installment is the best thing that happened to me. Its full of gore, somehow fluffy and wait-.. do I finally see some FRICKING COMUNICATION between the two idiots!?!?!

Ngl, Vox's 'Alastor not being able to love' statement hurt my soul. Your writing is brilliant and and let's just see what ending ya wro-..O MA LORD IS THAT VAL'S LOVE POTION!?!?!?!?

Now I need to know what's next!!!! And VOX I SWEAR IF U USE THIS SITUATION IN ANY WAY IM GOING TO SKIN YOU ALIVE.

This series is a blast♡ love it!♡ makes me weirdly passionate and excited hah!

Some communication, and some communication failure, hahaha. They're going to be talking a lot more in the next one, actually, because I meant to write some NSFW and they had to go and attempt a healthy conversation instead. What can you do.

Thank you so much, I'm delighted that you're enjoying! :D

And: Way more anon asks about the latest 666 getting answered under the cut! <3 I combined a bunch from the last couple of days.

prince, I'm going insane over the latest fic. so we know from Alastor's inner monologue that he knows the roofie was an accident, but considering the super stressful situation, the fact that Vox was the one to ask for a kiss and the fact that Alastor accused him of wanting instead of loving him not a few minutes ago…. makes me wonder if Vox might not be at least a little worred that Alastor might think it was on purpose <3 gonna be rotating this in my head for the foreseeable future - ✨

I am so glad that these things are on y'all's minds, hahaha. Because you can bet they are on mine. >:D And THANK YOU, very pleased to be dragging everyone down into insanity with me.

“Should I stitch together the scars your teeth left in me in a mirror of my own signature on your body.” Fucking. POETRY. 🐈‍⬛

I am always so happy when I write shit like this and instead of everyone pointing at me and going, "Look, what an EDGELORD!" the response is you people being VERY nice and leaning into the feelsy fun! 💛

holy moly ??? i love the new 666 addition aaaah 😭🙏 the trials and tribulations of feeling scorned and ghosted by a loser who confessed his love to you and the next time you see him he’s holding your LITERAL heart in his hands by alastor ! OMFG this was too good esp the part where vox is like “bro why do YOU CARE ?? i thought you didn’t love me huh?” and alastor is like well. maybe i.do. 😐 LIKE CMONN this really played out like some soap drama and i loved the neat details on resuscitative thoroctomy (learned a new word too so double bonus) the fact vel was on the line w her and val’s apparent surgeon for val’a little ‘incidents ??? GOLDEN I SAYY hope we see more of ur oc … 🫣🫣 btw ofc vox would love to an end an argument with a kiss OF FUCKING COURSE HE WOULD 😭 thank u sm for this chapter princeliest my dear <3 hope life is treating u well too !! -🦌

Vox is ahead of Alastor in terms of effective in-the-moment conflict resolution, but goddamn if he isn't fucked up in his own fun little ways. They're so not done with most of these issues, but at least they're on they're way to maybe be able to have a real conversation about them!

You know. If they chose to do that kind thing. Instead of whatever they will probably do instead.

Anyway, THANK YOU!! I had a great deal of fun writing this chapter and digging into some of the issues that have been slowly collecting underneath the surface of kinky radiostatic, so I'm happy you guys are enjoying as well!! :D

AS FOR MY OC... I WILL POST ABOUT THEM SOON. I LOVE THEM A LOT AND IT EXCITES ME THAT PEOPLE WANT TO KNOW MORE OF THEM. Tysm for asking Q^Q

Just read the new addition to the 666 verse, and inside of me are two wolves: The first is saying: Immaculate, artistry of the highest form. We finally get Alastor’s own confrontation with his vulnerability and him trying to figure out what exactly the relationship with Vox means to him. Cannot wait for how this all is going to develop. The other part of me: THE BREADCRUMBS WORKED THE MUSE IS WRITING!!! Followed by this image (since tumblr won’t let me attach it while being anonymous) https://i.redd.it/hx2shk642vs71.jpg -🕊️

LMAO THAT PIC. Amazing, flawless, thank you. The breadcrumbs DEFINITELY worked, please keep feeding. Digging into Alastor's shit is bringing me life and I'm happy to share it, hahaha. We're swinging even harder on the introspection in the next one!

As a sucker for medical gore and aroace angst, I lack the words to express my love and appreciation for your most recent installment of 666, but your writing of radiostatic's dynamic was captivating and proved to be such a lovely read as always! I loved that you touched on Alastor's relationships with the women around him as that has always been such an interesting aspect of his character to me! I never really put much thought into how Vox's apparent avoidance of Alastor in the show could mirror Alastor's disappearance, and now it will Not leave my mind. My heart hurts for these two dorks, super looking forward to chapter 2!

"Medical gore and aroace angst" should be the title of my memoir. Honestly, this series has ended up a lot more edgy-bloody than I expected it to, since I usually tend to prefer to portray my whump/angst/violence/etc in a much more roundabout way, but it's actually kinda tipped over into, like... part of the point is how banal it is, how beside the point. The upsetting heavy-hitting bits aren't the blood, they're everything else that goes on around it. Anyway, thank you so much! <3 I think your heart will find some relief in chapter two, haha, I hope you enjoy!!

Meanwhile alastor, completely convinced that there’s no situation where vox actually loves him and is happy with the way things are—either vox wants more and is going to start asking for more, or he doesn’t actually love him and just wants to have sex with him and thus either way he is a Liar. They’re so fucking bad at this. No one is capable of being the adult here. I think they need an auspitice.

It's really funny that you said that, because that is kind of exactly the role that [spoiler] ends up playing, though in a more roundabout way, hahaha. They certainly need someone to, like, get them to be having the same conversation with each other instead of two parallel ones. I think the fun thing about writing Alastor reacting to his own feelings is just how much his reaction can change based on how things are framed for him, and it leaves a lot of wiggle room for how differently I've ended up writing him reacting to the season 1 finale in 666 vs in Happily Ever After, and Other Shit Nepotism Can't Buy.

But, god, you really nailed the description of what Alastor is feeling. <3

Vox in the latest 666, my ENTIRE HEART. Literally nothing about how he read the situation was a bad take or a leap to conclusions, but alastor constantly says the opposite of what he means and refuses to admit vulnerability or friendship and what the hell else was vox meant to do with that, of course he backed off, they need to have this talk so badly

YES, PRECISELY! Like, I hope it came through that really neither of them was completely crazy to react the way they did! It's a result of how much of their communication has been nonverbal, implied, and talking around things - they'd been doing so well up until this point, but there's only so far that can take you before you start thinking that you're on the same page when really you're reading two completely different books! Thank you sm! <3

‘But I am capable,” Alastor says gently. “I love you very much.” Vox gapes up at him. “...I. Fuck you.” His voice is tight, strained. “I don’t fucking believe you.” Alastor feels his smile thin. “Well. That’s just dandy, then, isn’t it?”’ I AM NOT OK GOING FUCKING FERAL

Probably one of my favorite lines to write, ehehehe. THANK YOU ANONNNN <3 It's kinda interesting to see how differently some people read this. Some folks thought Alastor was saying it to hurt Vox (which is how Vox read it). Some folks thought it was true (how Alastor intended it). Some folks thought Alastor was trying to fit into the mold that he thought Vox wanted from him (how I intended it). All of them make sense as readings! >:)

#ask #personal #Anonymous #black cat anon #sparkle anon #deer anon #dove anon #t #long post #tumblr if you break the cut on this one I'm gonna fuckin cry #answering 9 asks in one post here

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merrybloomwrites · 10 months

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You Can Start a Family (Chapter 5)

Summary: Another few days spent with Mitch and Sarah lead to more developments in your relationship.

Previous Chapters: One ; Two ; Three ; Four

TW for this chapter: It contains smut

I did have one person mention that these posts aren't showing up for them, I'm guessing because the story now has a mature community label, so let me know if you want to be added to the taglist so you don't miss anything!

Hope you enjoy, and would love to know what you're thinking of the story so far!

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The following week is busy at work. Ryan’s mom, Beth, is a high school teacher and has been stuck working longer hours, as it was the end of a marking period as well as the week before spring break. You and Ryan had started going on more outings. You were busy taking him to baby music class, and story time at the local library.

Sarah and Mitch had also started to spend more time at the studio, often going for hours or even the whole day. You hadn’t seen them all week, and after having spent a whole weekend together, you were missing them.

Finally on Thursday you see them for the first time in days. You’re loading Ryan into his car seat as they get out of their car across the street.

They walk over to you waving hello before leaning in to say hi to Ryan.

“How are you love?” Sarah asks. “We’ve missed you,” she says as Mitch nods in agreement.

“I missed you guys too,” you say with a shy smile. “I’ve been good, crazy busy. We’re trying different activities for Ryan. His mom wants him socializing with other kids and burning some energy. Which definitely is needed. Plus, he switched to one nap a day so there’s a lot of time to fill.” You realize you’re once again rambling and turn the conversation to them, asking, “What have you been up to?”

“Mitch got some inspiration for new music, so we’ve been working on that.”

“That’s so cool! Can I hear some of it?”

“Sure kid,” Mitch replies. “Are you free anytime soon?”

“Ryan’s family is going away for Easter this Sunday and taking a long weekend, so I’ll be off next Monday and Tuesday. If you’re free, maybe we could have another sleepover? My apartment this time.” You blush, nervous that you sounded too forward.

“What are you doing for the holiday?” Sarah asks.

“Honestly, probably nothing. Maybe make a special meal or something. What about you guys?” You notice they didn’t acknowledge your invitation and grow more worried that they no longer want that aspect of their relationship with you. Before your mind spirals, Mitch answers.

“My aunt and uncle are visiting for a couple days,” Mitch answers before continuing, “And you will be coming over for dinner.”

“I really don’t want to intrude-” Sarah cuts you off, saying, “Y/N, you will be coming over for dinner. No question. You’re never intruding. And if you don’t mind, maybe we could come over on Sunday after dinner and stay a couple of days?”

Your face lights up and you reply, “I absolutely would not mind.” At that moment Ryan starts loudly babbling, tired of listening to the adults. “I should get going, story time starts soon.”

Sarah leans in and gives you a light hug, saying, “Of course! Sounds like we’ve got a great plan.” She pulls back and Mitch rests his hand on your shoulder for a second before squeezing once and pulling away. You know that these are the only types of contact you can have with them in public. Even if you were spotted, those casual touches wouldn’t raise any suspicions.

You double check that Ryan’s car seat straps are tight enough and continue with your afternoon. You have newfound energy now that you know that you’ll be spending multiple days with Mitch and Sarah.

Friday passes quickly and you keep busy on Saturday, doing a much deeper clean than usual since you would be having guests. You also go food shopping and make sure to pick up ingredients for an appetizer and a dessert which you make Sunday morning before heading over to the Rowland’s house in the early afternoon.

Mitch’s father answers the door and leads you into the kitchen where the rest of the family is congregated. You’re greeted by Mitch, Sarah, and Tammy, and introduced to Mitch’s aunt and uncle. You have a wonderful afternoon with everyone, enjoying the stories they’re all telling.

After dessert is over, and you finish playing a few rounds of a card game that got way more competitive than expected, you’re saying goodbye to Mitch’s family. He and Sarah each grab their bags and walk out to your car with you.

It’s a quick drive to your place and next thing you know, Mitch and Sarah are walking around your apartment, complimenting the view and decorations.

“This apartment really is beautiful. I love the windows and it’s so spacious in here,” Sarah says.

“There aren’t many perks to most of your family dying in your early 20’s, but being the sole recipient of all life insurance payouts and inheritances would probably be the one bright side.”

They both stare at you, as they do when you mention your trauma so nonchalantly.

“What?” you say, “I’m talking about the positives! Don’t give me those faces. Anyone want some water?” You decide it might just be best to move on from the discussion of your dead relatives. You grab a couple bottles of water from the fridge and hand one to each of them asking, “Do you guys want to sit out on the deck?”

They agree and you lead them outside to show them one of your favorite parts of your apartment. It’s a decently large deck, big enough to fit an outdoor loveseat plus another comfy chair, and since you’re a corner unit, it faces the woods behind your building, allowing for privacy. You sit in the single chair, leaving them to share the loveseat. You start to tell them about the wildlife you’ve seen in the woods, then point out the constellations you could see.

You all spend a few minutes sitting quietly enjoying each other’s company as well as the mild early spring weather. You feel a hand on your arm and know that it’s Sarah. You turn to her, and she gently pulls you, saying, “You’re too far away, come here.”

You get up and stand in front of them, not sure exactly where to sit. She pulls you down so that you are seated sideways on her lap, your legs extended over Mitch. He runs his hands over your shins and Sarah wraps her arms around your waist, holding you close. After another few minutes of listening to the calm sounds of the night you feel Sarah brushing your hair over your shoulder so she can start to kiss your neck.

Your eyes close at the feeling of her lips on your skin and of Mitch’s hands traveling higher on your legs. You slowly turn your head and seek out Sarah’s lips with your own. Neither of you hesitate to deepen the kiss, tongues immediately searching each other’s mouths. Mitch leans in to take over peppering your neck in kisses, occasionally switching to do the same to Sarah. He eventually turns you away from Sarah to himself, and you get lost in the feeling of kissing him. Next thing you know you’re watching them make out in front of you as your hands absently trail along their skin.

You all continue on like this for a while, getting lost in the sensations.

“Should we head inside?” Sarah asks, and you nod your head.

You all stand up, Mitch steadying both you and Sarah. You walk into your bedroom, immensely glad you had decided to splurge on the king bed. You stop just in the doorway and feel Mitch’s hand on your lower back. You’re equal parts excited and nervous about what’s about to happen, and you wonder if you’ll ever move past your nerves. You feel Mitch’s lips against your ear, and he asks, “Would you like to learn something new tonight?”

You turn your head to him, eyes practically crossing trying to look at him when he’s so close, and you nod again. He turns to whisper something to Sarah, and she smirks before climbing in bed and leaning against the headboard.

“C’mere, love,” she says to you, and you climb up the bed towards her. She pulls you in and says, “Mitch thinks we can teach you some different things to do with your mouth, what do you think?” Your eyes practically roll back in your head at the suggestion. You bite your lip and nod before saying, “I think that’s a great idea.” You start kissing her neck, biting gently as though overeager at the idea of using your mouth to please them.

Clothes are thrown off bodies and onto the floor. You start to kiss down Sarah’s body. You’re leaving kisses on the inside of her thighs when you suddenly feel kisses on your own thighs from behind. You glance back to see Mitch is behind you, just as bare as you and Sarah.

“Just follow along with Mitch,” Sarah says. You’re confused for a moment but then gasp as you feel him lick along your core. You understand what Sarah meant and lean to do the same to her. The sounds she lets out spur you on, each whimper turning you on even more and you barely hold yourself back from pushing closer to Mitch’s mouth.

You take note of the different things he does with his lips and tongue and recreate the moves to the best of your ability on Sarah. You feel the familiar tightening in your belly as your orgasm approaches. You hum in pleasure and the vibrations push Sarah over the edge. She grabs your hair, careful not to pull too hard. You work her through her orgasm and a second later fall into your own.

You lay your head on Sarah’s stomach as you both catch your breath. Her fingers weave through your hair as Mitch presses light kisses to your back. He climbs up towards Sarah, and she pushes him to lay on his back. Your eyes meet Sarah’s, and she beckons your closer. You crawl up to kiss her, then Mitch.

You think about what today’s lesson is, and take a deep breath before moving back down, this time trailing kisses along Mitch’s torso. You kiss just above his groin and look at his hard cock before glancing back to Sarah, silently asking for advice on what to do next.

She starts to whisper instructions in your ear, and you lean down to wrap your lips around him. He groans and clutches the sheets to keep himself from thrusting into your mouth. At Sarah’s direction you switch between sucking on what you can fit in your mouth and running your tongue along his length and around his tip. After a few minutes he pulls you off of him and sits up so he can press his lips to yours and you share a kiss so messy you can feel your teeth clashing against his.

“You did so good, baby,” he says in your ear before nipping at your neck and pulling away. He turns to Sarah and kisses her before pulling her onto his lap. He reaches down, and in a move so practiced and smooth that you almost miss it, he slides inside her. They both throw their heads back, moaning as they come together before sharing a moment of eye contact. You realize he’s checking in that she’s okay before they start to move together. You’re fascinated by what’s playing out in front of you. Sure, you’re turned on, but you’re more curious to watch than participate. That doesn’t mean they’re okay with you being left out, and they make sure they each have a hand somewhere on your body the whole time. You watch Sarah fall apart, Mitch following right after.

You all collapse onto the bed, a jumble of limbs, bright smiles on everyone’s faces. You’re once again surprised at how right this feels. You fall asleep with your head on Sarah’s chest, hand clasped with Mitch’s over her.

The next day you again wake up first. You slide out of bed, throw on some clothes, and go to the kitchen to make a cup of tea and reflect on the night before. You think about how safe they make you feel and how patient they are teaching you about intimacy. You’ve been so scared about being physical with someone that you thought it might never happen. But now you think back to how gentle Mitch was with Sarah, how he made sure to check in with her, and you start to think that you might be ready to have that as well.

Mitch and Sarah join you in the kitchen and you make them tea as well. As you set the mugs down Mitch’s phone starts to ring with an incoming FaceTime call. You glance at it and are surprised to see that it’s Harry calling. Harry Styles. Somehow you had yet to interact with him at all even though you’d been hanging out with his best friends for weeks.

Mitch answers the call and starts talking to Harry. Sarah quietly laughs at the look of panic on your face. You take some deep breaths, forcing yourself to stop fangirling before you somehow make a fool of yourself in the background of the call. You’ve just managed to contain your excitement when Mitch pulls you over to officially introduce you to Harry. You learn that he does know who you are, and Mitch and Sarah have apparently been talking about you to their friends.

It’s a short call, Harry had just wanted to check in on everyone and soon they hang up. Breakfast that morning is simple, everyone pouring a bowl of cereal and you discuss what to do that day.

“Do you still want to hear some of Mitch’s new music?” Sarah asks and you answer with an enthusiastic, “Of course I do!”

After everyone showers and gets ready for the day, you all drive over to the studio. Mitch plays two of the songs he’s working on, and you listen closely, watching in amazement as he sings the songs he wrote himself.

“I was wondering if you could help me with something,” he says timidly after you compliment him on his music.

“Sure, what is it?” you reply.

“I’ve got some ideas for guitar harmonies and want to test them out against the melody. If I tell you the chord progression, would you be able to play melody so I can see if it all works together?”

“Yes, absolutely.” He teaches you what to play and you spend the next couple of hours working on his songs, fascinated to see what goes on behind the scenes.

When you all start to get hungry you leave the studio to pick up sandwiches for lunch. You mention a walking trail nearby that has great views and you decide to take your lunch there. It’s a short walk to the first outlook and you settle there to eat. You ask Mitch and Sarah about their childhoods, wanting to know more about them. You continue your questions after lunch when you’re all walking towards the waterfall at the end of the trail.

When you reach it, Sarah starts taking pictures, including a selfie of the three of you which she immediately sends you. You’ll later make that your phone background, but no one needs to know that.

You start walking back and Mitch says, “So, I was thinking we could all go to Bella Luna’s tonight for dinner.”

You’ve heard of Bella Luna’s before. It’s one of the nicer restaurants in town. Ryan’s parents have gone there a couple of times for date nights, and you know it’s viewed as highly romantic.

“Oh, I’ve heard great reviews about that place,” Sarah replies with a cheeky smile. You nod and agree and spend the rest of the afternoon wondering what this fancy dinner might mean.

Back home everyone starts getting ready. Mitch informs you that the reservation is set for 6PM and you wonder when he set that up, as he hadn’t been on his phone at all that day aside from talking to Harry. You also realize that they both had fancy clothes packed and wonder if they had planned this ahead of time.

You walk out of your bathroom after getting changed, smoothing down your dress and fiddling with your hair to make sure it’s lying just right. You look up and see Mitch and Sarah staring at you.

Sarah walks over and places her hands on your hips, saying, “You look amazing,” before pulling you in for a kiss. “You look amazing too,” you reply after breaking apart. Mitch walks up to you saying, “You both look beautiful,” and you each kiss and compliment him as well.

You have a wonderful time at dinner. The conversation flows naturally, and the food is delicious. There’s never an awkward silence, and you realize how compatible you all are in every way.

Once back at your apartment, the evening goes like the one before and you find yourselves again out on the deck. Instead of you sitting on the chair, Mitch immediately pulls you on the loveseat with him and Sarah, and you’re sat half in each of their laps.

“Dinner tonight was delicious, thank you for taking me there,” you say.

“Of course, love,” Sarah replies. “We needed to make our first date special.”

At the word date you quickly turn to her, a shocked and confused expression on your face. You knew they cared about you, knew they were interested in you physically, but hadn’t dared to hope for the relationship to take this turn.

No one has ever expressed interest in you this way before, and here are two wonderful people wanting to bring you into their relationship. Two people who had everything they could want, but still opened themselves up to another person.

“We really care about you, Y/N,” Mitch says, and you turn to look at him. “Not just in a friendly or familial way. We care about you the way we care about each other.” Sarah is nodding in agreement, and you reply, “I care about you both too. More than anyone else.”

“I know this won’t necessarily be easy,” Sarah says. “It’s a complicated dynamic, especially with us being so well known publicly. But Y/N, we want to be with you. We want you as part of our relationship. Would you like that too?”

“I would. I really would. I know it’ll be difficult, and we’ll have to keep it a secret, but I want a relationship with you both. Being with you two just feels right in a way nothing ever has before.”

“We feel the same way,” Mitch replies.

They each press a kiss to your lips before sharing one with each other. The three of you sit there in an embrace, and the fact that you’re in a relationship sinks in. You can’t help the huge smile that breaks out on your face.

“What is it?” Mitch asks, noticing your expression.

“Nothing,” you reply. “I’m just really, really happy.”

“We are too,” Sarah says and meets you for another kiss. Mitch turns you towards him and he quickly deepens the kiss. This time you don’t get lost in the feeling, too lost in your thoughts of what you want to happen next.

Mitch notices your hesitance and pulls away asking, “What’s wrong, baby?”

You shiver at the nickname, holding one of his hands in yours and fidgeting with his fingers while building up the nerve to tell him what you’re thinking.

“Nothing’s wrong. I just. There’s something I want to do. And it makes me really nervous, but I think that I’m ready.” You pause a moment before continuing, “I know that I’m ready. To do this. With you.”

With the hand you’re not currently holding, Mitch cups your face to bring you to look at him. “Y/N, what is it you want to do?”

Even just saying the words feels impossible, not used to wanting this, let alone asking for it. “I, uhm, I want to- I’m ready to go all the way.”

He looks you in the eyes before asking, “Are you saying that you want to have sex with me?” You try to look away, somehow both embarrassed and turned on at the blunt way Mitch is clarifying your desires. “Because it’s absolutely okay if you do. I want to do that too. But only if you’re really ready,” he continues.

“I am,” you say firmly. “I’m ready. I’ve always been so scared of sex, but I saw the way you were with Sarah last night and, I dunno, I just know that you’d take care of me. I realized I don’t have to be scared with you. With either of you,” you finish, reaching one of your hands to rest on Sarah’s leg.

“Of course I’ll take care of you baby,” he says. “It’s all we want to do.” He leans in and presses his lips to yours, picking up where he left off a few minutes earlier. You feel like you’re too far away from him and move to straddle his lap. His hands immediately go to your waist, pulling you in so you’re flush against him.

You feel his hard cock against you and begin to grow excited at the thought of what’s about to happen. He guides your arms around his neck and tells you to hold on tight. The next moment he stands from the couch, hands sliding to your bottom to support you so he can carry you inside. The three of you make your way to the bedroom, and Mitch lays you down on the bed, immediately crawling on top of you.

You get lost in the feeling of Mitch’s tongue stroking yours, on his hands sliding along your body. You tug on his shirt and break away to pull it off of him. He does the same to your dress and within minutes all of your clothes are on the floor. His fingers are at your entrance, slipping in one at a time to slowly open you up.

You look over to see that Sarah is fully clothed and you pout. She notices your expression and says, “I’m okay love, I just want to watch tonight. This is a special moment for you.” You reach out your hand to hold on to hers and she passes something to Mitch before sliding her fingers between yours.

You hear a noise and look back to Mitch and realize what Sarah had handed him. He opens the condom wrapper and slips it on before running the head of his cock through your folds. He looks at you and asks, “Are you sure?” Without hesitating you tell him you’re sure, that you want this.

He lines himself up and starts to push in. You gasp at the stretch and squeeze Sarah’s hand. Mitch leans down to pepper kisses and love bites along your neck as Sarah runs her free hand on your stomach. You focus on those feelings as Mitch continues to push in, checking that you’re okay throughout.

Finally, he’s flush against you, letting out a loud groan in your ear at the feeling of you wrapped around him. Tears leak out of your closed eyes and you’re unsure if they’re from the uncomfortable pressure of being filled for the first time or from the overwhelming emotions running through you.

Sarah wipes away the tears, leaning in to quietly say, “You’re doing so well, love.” After a moment of letting you adjust, Mitch checks in again to see how you’re feeling, and if you want him to continue or pull out.

“Keep going, I’m good, please, you can keep going,” you tell him in a breathy voice you’ve never heard from yourself before.

He starts to move, slow thrusts at first before building up a rhythm after he’s sure you’re ready for more. It doesn’t take long to switch from uncomfortable pressure to intense pleasure. You’re still holding one of Sarah’s hands in yours and she uses her free hand to rub circles on your clit. You’re lost in the sensations, Mitch inside you, Sarah adding to the pleasure, both of their lips leaving kisses all over your body. It all builds until you come with a loud moan, clenching around Mitch. It’s an intense feeling, one that causes you to see stars, and you’re only vaguely aware of Mitch reaching his orgasm just after you.

They both slow down before stilling completely. Mitch tucks his face into your neck saying, “I’m gonna pull out now, okay babe?” You nod and he slowly pulls out as Sarah presses more kisses to the top of your head.

Mitch gets off the bed and you whimper and reach for him, not wanting him to be far away from you. “Shh, love,” Sarah says gently. “He’ll be right back; he’s just gone to get a cloth to clean up.”

A moment later he’s back and uses a damp washcloth to clean between your legs. He slips on a pair of boxers and places a large t-shirt on the bed for you. You know he’s giving you the option to put it on if you’d like but not pressuring you to, and you realize how well he already knows what will make you most comfortable. You slip on the shirt as he climbs in bed next to you. As you curl into his side, Sarah gets up and you pout again but refrain from grabbing for her as well. She changes into pajamas and gets back under the covers, holding you tightly.

You fall asleep almost immediately, missing the whispered conversation between the other two.

“How are you feeling?” Mitch asks her. He knew they had talked previously about the possibility of you and Mitch having sex, but he still wanted to make sure Sarah didn’t feel any different after seeing it happen.

“Honestly?” She replies. “I feel great. Y/N said it earlier, it just feels right. Watching the two of you together was mesmerizing, and beautiful. I think I may have fallen even more in love with you.” He grabs her hand and squeezes gently. You stir in their arms, turning towards Sarah and tucking your face into her neck. They share a smile over you and fall asleep as well.

Shockingly, you’re the last one awake the next morning. When you do finally wake up, you realize you’re sprawled on top of Mitch, clinging to him. He’s running his fingers through your hair, and you feel so content you almost fall back asleep. Before you do, Sarah walks in with a tray full of food. You climb off of Mitch to sit in the middle of the bed and Sarah sets down the tray before sitting next to you.

You rest your head on her shoulder and she says, “Good morning love. You feeling okay?”

“I’m feeling absolutely wonderful,” you reply with a shy smile. You glance at Mitch and see he’s looking at you with a similarly fond expression. “I’m also suddenly starving,” you continue. “This looks amazing!”

They laugh at your enthusiasm for breakfast, and you all start to dig in.

“What would you like to do today,” Mitch asks.

“Nothing. I want to do nothing today. I want to stay here with the two of you and have a movie marathon or binge TV and just cuddle.”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” he replies.

And that’s what the three of you do. At lunch time you switch to hanging out in the living room instead of the bedroom, but that’s the extent of your effort for the day. They end up staying that night as well, brushing their teeth beside you in the bathroom before bed, and you revel in how domestic it feels.

They wake up bright and early with you the next morning and make sure to get their goodbye kisses before you all leave the apartment together. You drop them off in their driveway on your way to work and they each give you a quick hug before going inside the house.

You turn the car around and pull into Ryan’s driveway and sit in there for a moment before going into the house. You give yourself a couple minutes to think about the past few days, smiling and letting out a giggle when you can no longer contain the pure joy you feel.

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A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I'm excited for the next part, we're finally adding Harry to the mix soon!

Taglist:@akkatz @pandeebearstyles @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @theekyliepage @numafarawayglxy @booberry019-blog @hillzrry @ssareidbby

#harry styles x reader #mitch rowland x reader #mitch rowland x sarah jones x reader #sarah jones x reader #mitch rowland x harry styles #sarah jones x mitch rowland x reader

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missmaywemeetagain · 10 months

Text

Broken Glass Chapter 7 💔🥂❤️‍🩹

A/N: And we're back, babies!! ❤️‍🩹 Thank you for being so patient and also thanks to those of you who've checked out and joined my new Patreon already--y'all are the bee's knees and I'm so so grateful for your support!! (Head's up--There's a lot of great extras coming on Patreon soon related to Pink Scarf, the Scarf Universe, and other new series!💗)

If you didn't get in on the early access on Patreon, here's the next installment for Dolores and Elvis! I really wanted to show how vulnerable Lori is feeling while trying to navigate her first night at Graceland and how Elvis responds to that, especially after Chapter 6. Let's just say you are in for a big dose of hurt/comfort...🥰

As always, thank you so much my darlin's for your support on here and other platforms as I work on growing as a professional writer! I couldn't do it without you! ❤️ While I currently am posting in various places, I may be streamlining things in the future towards Patreon and (*hint hint*) my future website. 🎉 (Don't worry though--many stories will still be free!!)

TW: panic/anxiety, shame, allusions to previous sexual assault, nightmare-related violence/blood, vomit, references to previous sexual activities, lots of hurt/comfort! Mature 18+

Everything is wrong.

You watch helplessly as Elvis stands bravely before an enemy army that stretches so far into the distance that the soldiers meld together into one dark entity. He is alone, with shoulders squared and chest puffed out defiantly, but you can see that his chest is heaving too quickly.

He can’t breathe, yet he needs to fight.

You scream his name. The sound is swallowed and dies before it can reach him. That horrible army advances, and heart dropping, you break out into run. Every part of your body screams for him as you try to get to there, but it’s as if you are slogging through mud in slow motion.

“I have to help him…have to help him! SOMEBODY HELP HIM!” your mind cries helplessly.

The horde descends.

Elvis disappears as they heap on top of him. The sound of them tearing him to pieces is too much to bear.

You gasp, swallowing air that doesn’t seem to reach your lungs. Sorrow aches through you with such force you feel as though you’re going to split in two.

No, no, no, no…

Your stomach cramps as though you’ve been punched there. You double over with pain, squeezing your eyes shut as if that will make it all go away.

Everything is wrong.

When you open your eyes again, you’re back in your bedroom, in New York, but it’s as it was when you were a child, your dolls and toys and petal pink bedsheets on display. When it used to be home and not a dreary husk with four walls.

Elvis barrels through the door as though running from something, still in his green army uniform. He slams the door behind him, turning the lock.

“Thank god, you’re alive!” you gasp, but he doesn’t take notice of your words. He’s too busy searching the room for something.

“Elvis. Elvis! What are you looking for?”

“We have to go, Little Bird.” He’s struggling to breathe again, you can tell. The hope you feel from seeing him alive dissipates as your heart starts to pound with dread.

“Go? Go where? Why?” He doesn’t stop. “Elvis, you need to rest!”

“But they’re coming.” His blue eyes lock onto yours with such intensity your reply catches in your throat.

“Who? Who’s coming?” is what you try to say, but you can’t get it out before the door bursts inward, splinters of wood fracturing around you.

Gianni appears, sauntering in too casually, his eyes black and depthless as obsidian. “Oh, Bella, Bella, Bella,” he tsks venomously, his mouth spreading into a hideous grin. All his teeth are razor sharp and pointed, glistening scarlet with blood. “You’ve been a naughty little fidanzata.” He steps closer.

Horror courses through your veins. You recoil and stumble backwards and your heart begins to race incredibly fast. You try to speak, to scream, anything that might get Gianni to leave, but your panting breaths prevent anything from getting out.

“Lil’ Lo’, don’t ya worry now, it’s all gonna be okay,” Elvis says in his lilting Southern drawl, turning to you. His sparkling blue eyes make you believe him, if only just for a moment. You get caught in his stare, in his crooked, endearing smile. He grabs your hand and squeezes it comfortingly. You notice instantly that he is much too warm, fever making his eyes glassy. Concern floods you, ratcheting up your fear.

“Oh, how noble the little king is!” Gianni laughs—a vicious sound that grates on your nerves—before it dies abruptly in that hideous mouth and he continues, “But you belong to me, Bella, no matter how far you try to run. I made sure of that.” His brutal grin spreads.

“No,” you whisper, shaking violently, your terror threatening to consume you. Only Elvis’ hot hand in yours somewhat grounds you.

Gianni advances, and suddenly your father appears behind him with several other goons. The room becomes unbearably claustrophobic, the air heavy and sour.

Elvis pulls you behind him, shielding you with his long frame. You can’t help but peek around him to see Gianni and your father getting closer.

“My love, we know you are only good for one thing, and this mook,” Gianni says, pointing at Elvis, “knows it, too. He wants it, same as the rest.”

“That’s not true!” you cry out, finally finding your voice.

“Isn’t it?” Gianni purrs.

You press yourself into the blazing, sweaty heat of Elvis’ broad back, wanting to disappear, desperately wanting not to believe such a thing. Doubt creeps in when the image of him between Anita’s bare thighs, his pupils blown and laden with arousal, flashes through you. How he looked at you so intensely and his body seized, and you knew, despite your inexperience, that something wildly inappropriate had occurred. He’s included you in something—a sinful pleasure—you shouldn’t be a part of.

You want to be disgusted, appalled, afraid even, by what it might mean, and yet…

Yet it sends fiery heat coiling down low in your belly instead.

As if reading your thoughts, your father spits out, “Puttana. Donnaccia. You filthy little sullied slut.”

“Aren’t you just?” Gianni agrees silkily, as if remembering what it was like between your legs, ripping away the innocence that was not his to take.

Bile rises in your throat, and you push back from Elvis, hitting the wall behind you. Icy cold shame washes over you. Shivering uncontrollably, you want to run. You want to hide. You don’t want Elvis to see what you are. But you are frozen.

Elvis doesn’t look at you, however. Instead, he erupts into a roaring fury, running at Gianni and your father like a bull. The force of it should knock Gianni over, but like some supernatural being, he doesn’t budge.

You watch in horror as Gianni grips Elvis by the shoulder, pulls him in close, and rips his throat out with those glistening fangs.

The sound of grief that explodes from you is unrecognizable. The metallic tang of fresh blood pierces the air. You watch as Elvis’ eyes widen in shock, then roll back into his head. As he starts to slump, your father catches him, driving a knife deep into his abdomen.

“No, no, no, NO!” you scream, needing to get to Elvis, needing to save him. But you can’t move, no matter how hard you thrash and try.

“Dolores,” Elvis sputters, coughing up blood as he falls to the floor. The fact that he uses your given name sends another kind of ache punching through your chest.

Then Gianni has reached you, pressing you against the wall, his stinking breath cloying as he whispers mockingly in your ear, “Poor Bella. It’s all your fault. If only you’d stayed where you belong…”

“No, I’m sorry, please, I-I-I…it’s not—,” you hiccup, gasping for breath as Gianni’s hand closes around your throat. His other hand presses hard into your belly, moving down slowly. Nausea rolls over you.

“I’ll always be with you,” Gianni whispers into your mouth, his hand cupping the mound between your legs, “whether you like it or not.”

Choking and gasping, you wake with a start. Your eyes fly open, and your hands clutch at your neck desperately. When satisfied you aren’t being strangled, your place your hand over your thundering heart, forcing yourself to take in slower, more measured breaths.

It takes a long, panicked moment to figure out where you are and find your bearings in the dark room. Frazzled and dazed, your stomach churns, thinking you are still trapped in your old room, not laid out on a luxurious mattress with satin sheets.

Where…?

In Elvis’ bed. Next to him.

Your head turns rapidly, and it’s only when you feel the weight of him so close and hear the quiet wheezing of his breath beside you, that you realize he’s alive and not bleeding out on the floor. The relief only lasts a moment, though, as you picture Gianni’s bloody teeth and hear his words echo in your head:

“I’ll always be with you, whether you like it or not.”

Your stomach rolls violently, and throwing the covers aside, you stumble through the dark and unfamiliar space and into the ensuite bathroom. Flinging on the light, you barely make it to the toilet it time. Acidic bile burns on its way up and out, but at least it distracts you from the lingering phantom smell of blood that still permeates through you.

You purge the memory of Gianni and your father out of you, again and again. Even once your stomach is long emptied, you dry heave viciously, a part of you hoping that this will make you feel untouched again. Clean. Undamaged. Guiltless. Worthy.

“Lil’ Bird?” Elvis’ voice is gravelly with sleep, dreamy yet concerned as he stands behind you.

You sob in relief at the sound of his famous lilt, a definitive reminder that you didn’t get him killed. You would feel more mortified at the state he’s caught you in except your body keeps trying to expel your demons through your mouth, so all your energy and attention goes back to clutching the sides of the toilet.

“Oh, honey,” he drawls sleepily, dropping to his knees on the carpet next to you. His hand falls heavy and warm on your back, and you want to flinch away but another heave shakes your body.

Instead of being disgusted, Elvis gathers your hair up in his hand, his fingers brushing and catching in the long, dark strands, pulling it out of the way of your sick.

It’s unclear whether it is this kindness, your embarrassment, or your sickness that has tears streaming down your cheeks. Your weakness feels untenable—it’s you who should be taking care of him, not the other way around—but here you are, vulnerable as can be with Elvis cooing quietly into your ear.

You aren’t sure how long you sit there, huddled over the toilet, your dry heaving eventually turning into wracking sobs. Everything from the past week seems to hit you all at once. Your entire life has been upended in a multitude of ways and your valiant effort to keep it stoically inside has been ripped apart.

“Come’ere darlin’,” Elvis says gently, pulling your shivering form into his warm embrace.

You stiffen at the contact, your mind flooding on how it’s not right because he’s your patient and he should be relying on you to take care of him instead of whatever this is. You must be murmuring it aloud, however, because then he’s answering back:

“Hush, lil’ girl, lemme take care of ya.”

Elvis moves, sitting with his back against the vanity cabinets now, drawing you up and into his lap. Boneless, you let him, any semblance of fight drained out of you and flushed down the toilet.

Tired.

You are so, so tired of being strong and stoic, of pretending not to be terrified, of blaming yourself for everything that has happened to bring you to this moment. And here you are, in the most unlikely of places, being lulled into submission by a man you hardly know, yet somehow know better than any other man in your life. Inconceivably, you feel safe in this strange embrace, and perhaps that is why you can’t stop the hiccupping sobs escaping you or the tears pouring down your cheeks. The unfairness and cruelty in your world threaten to break you apart.

But you are safe, at least for the moment, in the arms of the most famous man on the planet, who seems nothing but kind and generous and gentle.

He doesn’t have to be. He shouldn’t be—I don’t deserve it—yet he is.

You bury your head into his shoulder, the satiny silk of his pajama top clutched fiercely in your hand as if it’s the only thing keeping you tethered to reality, an anchor keeping you moored in the churning ocean of your mind, of your past. You cling harder as images of your father’s violence and Gianni’s assault crash over you, threatening to drown you.

The more you cry, the tighter Elvis seems to hold you. You vaguely register that his gentle words have turned into a low, crooning lullaby, the reverberations in his chest pacifying your trembling form.

It’s so beautiful and lilting, a light and soothing sound meant for picturesque moments. Has his voice always been this lovely? Or had it changed and matured in his time across the ocean? Regardless, it pulls your focus away from your fears, and you finally begin to relax. Though by the exhaustion you feel coupled with a strange sense of calm, you wonder if it is numbness that you are succumbing to.

Elvis stops abruptly, jolting you out of your stupor. This sudden change of focus has his hand trailing feather-light over the bare skin of your thigh. You hadn’t realized the hem of your nightgown had creeped up towards your hips. Your heart begins to thump against your ribcage at the contact, not understanding why he’s touching you so intimately. Panic edges its way back in, held at bay by the kindness he’s showed you up until now.

Before embarrassment and your instinct to cover yourself in modesty even has a chance to settle, your eyes follow his up your legs.

His whole body goes taut. “Who did this to you?” he asks, voice lower than you’ve heard it before. He says it in such a measured, eerily calm manner that you immediately know the tone is only for your benefit and not because he’s feeling in any way calm.

The kerthunk of your heart sinking into your stomach makes it obvious what he’s asking without you having to look, but you do anyway, even though you’ve spent the last week avoiding looking at all costs.

Your thighs resemble a macabre rainbow, the purplish-blue giving way to a mottled yellow-green. You fumble for a reasonable excuse—lord knows you’ve become skilled at them over the years—but these bruises were different. Gianni had not been gentle with you, as evidenced by his greedy handprints leaving horrific reminders deep into your flesh, too far up your thighs to be proper.

If your stomach wasn’t already empty, you think you might have vomited again, right there in Elvis’ lap, but as it stands, you manage to swallow the lingering bile back down your throat. But you cannot get the words out to make him understand, so you settle for shaking your head vigorously, as if to say, I swear this wasn’t my fault. I’m not that kind of girl. My innocence is intact. This isn’t your problem.

But the look in Elvis’ deep eyes is not one of judgement or disappointment—instead, they burn with unfettered protectiveness, something you have never experienced from anyone other than your mother.

“Dolores, who did this to you?” The question is insistent and firm this time. The use of your full name and not one of his endearments makes it clear how serious he is.

Shame blooms across your cheeks and you give into the urge to bury your head back into his shoulder, trying to hide away and pretend this isn’t happening. No one was ever supposed to know. You feel yourself wanting to slip far away. Unfortunately for you, Elvis counters your move, lifting your chin with his index finger so you cannot escape his question.

The violent remnants of your nightmare make it clear that you can’t tell Elvis about Gianni or your father. They are much too dangerous. You stomach turns again at the thought of Elvis getting hurt because of you. You’ve already, unbeknownst to him, put him at risk. But you must tell him something, anything to stop the intense emotions churning in his eyes. His gaze threatens to swallow you whole.

“A very dangerous man,” you rasp out, finally acquiescing something. Your eyes settle in your lap—anywhere but looking into the pools of his eyes.

He is quiet, and you can feel the weight of his stare examining your body in search of answers, taking in the pieces of you—the scars, the bruises—that you are so used to hiding under your clothes and resigned exterior. You can’t help but squirm under the scrutiny but have no energy to climb out of his embrace to hide your shame away. It’s too late for that anyway, and you are so very tired.

After taking you in fully, you feel the press in the air of all the questions he wants to ask but doesn’t. Instead, he purses those full lips of his together in a line and nods solemnly, making some decision you are not privy to.

“Is he why you wanted to leave New York so fast? Why you said yes to this?” he asks quietly.

You close your eyes, and for the first time in your life, you yearn to unload your burden. It’s as though you are just realizing how utterly exhausting it’s been keeping everything locked up tight, building and keeping the walls around yourself secure. And none of it makes sense, this fact that it is Elvis knocking a hole straight through to the truth.

Your lip trembles. “Mmm hmm…” you manage before pausing, “b-but he’s n-not the o-only man I n-needed t-to get away from.” The chattering of your teeth has your admission stuttered and fumbling, but the crushing weight that has been on your shoulders lifts slightly with what little you’ve given him.

Elvis’ hands clench and release your nightgown, his jaw ticking as if he is holding himself back from an eruption of emotion. You are completely baffled by how concerned and protective he appears. This man who you barely know. This man who is in your care, not the other way around.

The rumbling growl which comes out of him is so low you might not have registered it except that by being so close to him, it reverberates through you.

“Nobody’s gonna touch you like that ever again. You hear me, Little Bird?” he says firmly, cupping your cheek to make you look at him and see how genuine he is. “Not while I’m around.”

This time when your heart plummets, it’s not out of fear. No, it’s more like the drop of a roller coaster on Coney Island or one of the elevators in the Empire State Building: a momentary loss of control followed by giddy excitement. It is joined by a wash of warmth over your chilled skin, and you are suddenly hyperaware of every single place his furnace of a body touches your own. The rolling of your stomach settles, your trembling beginning to ebb. The logic you so pride yourself on has been totally circumvented by your basest needs to be held, nurtured, and cared for, for once.

It's selfish. But your disorientation and Elvis’ ability to disarm you has you relishing in his warmth, his gentleness. You don’t flinch from his touch. Curling into him, a quiet sob escapes your lips at the feeling of being protected for the first time in a very long time.

Elvis wraps his arms around you carefully, as though knowing the fragility of your soul. Eventually, you relax, your exhaustion taking over fully, and your vision blurs and dims.

The first thing you register is how warm and cozy you are. It’s so very different from the cold you usually experience when waking up. You are cocooned so pleasantly and snuggle into the feeling, wondering if perhaps you are dreaming. How else would you feel like this, as alone as you are?

It’s not until that warm cocoon shifts and sighs around you that your eyes pop open. Your heart skips a beat.

Oh, God, where am I?

Panicked disorientation cuts through the comfort you’d been enveloped in, sharpening your focus, and it only takes a moment for you to remember you are at Graceland. With Elvis Presley. In his bedroom.

You blink the gritty sand of sleep from your eyes as a flash of memory comes from the night before: Elvis, between Anita’s legs. Their argument. His roaring tantrum and its aftermath.

Swallowing, you are quickly reminded by the sting that the night didn’t end there. You shiver at the thought of your horrible nightmare and the subsequent retching in the bathroom. Then Elvis found you, gotten on the floor with you, and held you…

Oh, Madone…I’m in his bed.

But it’s when you register that your comforting cocoon is Elvis holding you under the covers, that you are curled into his side, that shock and embarrassment washes over you.

Oh god, oh god, oh god.

The surprising thing is that fear is perhaps the one thing you are not feeling. What if I went far away like I do sometimes and didn’t remember him taking advantage of me? But taking stock of yourself, you are sure he hasn’t done anything to harm you. No, he feels so different…like safety. His gentleness from the middle of the night floods back to you, causing an ache in your heart you do not entirely understand.

The rise and fall of his breath is evident to you now by how his ribs expand against your curled up hands. It’s almost hypnotic coupled with the sound of his breathing. But that seems a little labored, and his body is an oven, reminding you of his fever last night.

This situation is beyond improper, your logical mind butts in, knowing you should get out of this compromising situation as quickly as possible, preferably before he wakes. But another part of you relishes in it and wants to lie here in his protective embrace for as long as possible. You take a deep breath, committing this feeling to memory, even though you know you shouldn’t.

As your head clears, the panic from last night dissipating, you realize you cannot let this go any further, as innocent as it may seem now. You need to move.

He is your patient, Lori. Get a grip.

Well, and my boyfriend in public, technically.

You roll your eyes at yourself, resisting the urge to tear yourself from his grasp and leap out of the bed as though he is on fire. No, you don’t want to wake him, to be a burden on him, you think as shame slithers back into your thoughts. The things he knows about you now, those things he guessed and you confirmed…oh, lord, what he must think of you. How he must pity you.

That bite of shame is what finally has you extricating yourself as slowly as possible, rolling and sliding your way out of his arms. You think this one thing has gone right when you manage to swing upright at the edge of the bed, but the moment you start to rise, feet sliding towards the floor, a warm hand catches your wrist, startling you.

“Where ya goin’, lil’ Bird?” Elvis croaks, voice heavy with sleep, eyes barely open to slits. “You okay?”

Your heart flutters. “I-I’m fine,” you whisper quietly, the humiliation and intimacy of last night hot in your veins. “You can go back to sleep.”

His dazed eyes drift closed and you think maybe you’ve gotten away with it, but then they pop open like he’s startled himself awake. Head shaking once, twice, he mumbles, “Mmm, can’t. Not without you…”

You freeze, the fluttering of your heart cascading down into your stomach.

He’s half asleep. He doesn’t realize what he’s saying.

Rapidly, the events from last night rush back to you. It’s as if you both crossed over some precipice of trust when you each saw the other in your worst moments.

Oh, he knows so much about you now that you never, ever planned to tell him.

In your state last night, you didn’t consider the repercussions of this new trust and familiarity. You’ve never felt intimate with a man emotionally and certainly not physically. You’d never had the occasion or confidence to do so.

For Elvis to want you to come to bed so he can sleep soundly feels profoundly personal, and yet, from what you felt moments ago wrapped in his arms, you think you might understand it just a little bit. And that flusters you in a way you’ve never felt before.

“I have to use the bathroom,” you eek out. A non-committal answer.

“Okay, baby…jus’ come right back,” he murmurs, blinking his glassy eyes slowly.

You scurry off, thinking about how him doubling down about it means it’s not a fluke that he wants you near him. A strange little shiver rolls through you as you take care of your business, a little disturbed and distracted by this illogical pull you feel towards him.

I shouldn’t feel this way, but…

But maybe you can use it to your advantage. Maybe he will listen to you now if he trusts you and feels connected to you. Perhaps this is the best way you can help him, even if it is unconventional.

And manipulative.

You try not to think about that or how it makes you feel when he looks at you a certain way. The truth of the matter is, if you focus on him, you can’t think too hard on yourself.

Steeling yourself in the mirror gives you pause. You look terrible—gaunt with little red freckles littering your cheeks and jaw from all the broken blood vessels caused by heaving your guts out last night. Your deep-set eyes are even darker than usual, almost as though you have two black eyes to match the horrible, mottled bruises on your thighs. The sight makes you shudder.

Well, even if Elvis found you attractive in the first place (and that’s a big if), your current state is sure to change his mind and eliminate any awkwardness in that regard. In fact, looking as terrible as you do will probably help the situation. Maybe he’ll follow your directions out of pity.

Sighing audibly, you steady yourself and head back into the freezing, darkened bedroom. A part of you hopes that maybe he’s fallen back asleep so you can avoid any awkwardness.

“What took ya so long? Sure you’re okay?” he probes sleepily, but it seems to come from a place of concern. Flipping on the lamp on the nightstand, he furrows his brow and lifts his head up as if to inspect you. This continued protectiveness takes you aback.

“Yes, I’m alright, I promise.” The truth is you are far from alright but have no energy to untangle that now. Instead, you turn the question back to him: “How are you feeling? How’s your breathing?” You sit on the edge of the bed, using your wrist to feel his clammy forehead.

Elvis pulls on your other arm, gently, but enough to cause you to topple over next to him as he moves you where he wants you. When you stiffen, he seems to realize he’s overstepped and takes his hands off you.

“I-I-I’m sorry, honey. I-I din’t mean ta—I just thought—” he stutters, “but w-we both just seem ta feel better together…”

A little voice in the back of your head reminds you his comfort felt awfully nice last night when you fell apart. Forcing yourself to breathe evenly, you consider his words—there is truth to them and you know it—and you wonder again if this is how you get him to do what you ask more often.

Trying not to freeze, you settle on a bit of honesty. “I know, b-but this is new for me, Elvis. I’m not used to…, and…and…” you trail off, finding it hard to get the words out now that you need to say them aloud. Propriety and shame have you flailing in the strangeness of the situation.

He scoots over, pulling you gently down to face him, like two girls sharing secrets at a sleepover. “Of course, honey. I-I w-wasn’t thinkin’,” he says as if reading your mind, “Is this okay?”

You nod. There is such a disarming way about him that even in your apprehension at his closeness, you begin to relax. He curls his warm hands up around your icy cold ones. It soothes you more than you anticipate.

“How are you feeling, really?” you ask softly. Your current physical closeness has your words coming out more familiar and informal than you’ve been with him before. You figure after the events of last night, you can let go of some of the harsh professionalism that had been trained into you the past four and a half years.

Elvis shrugs, seemingly nonchalant, which is telling. “I’m tired,” he concedes, quickly adding, “You must be tired, too, after…being sick.” He seems to choose the words carefully.

It’s a sort of bargaining chip, you realize—his attempt at an “If I have to rest, so do you.” It’s a bit flipped from the ultimatum you’d given him on the train, and may be a dangerous precedent to set, but this is the closest you’ve gotten him to rest by his own volition since you met him.

The thing is you are bone tired after a week of trauma and rapid adjustment to a completely new and hectic way of life. And as much as he drove you crazy at first with what you had assumed was arrogance and entitlement, he has now, inexplicably, become someone you might confide in.

But your stubborn nature and need for self-protection balks at this. Your shame makes you want to hide away from him. Yet you are beginning to understand that Elvis, while surrounded by people, lives a very lonely, isolated existence and seems to yearn for connection.

Maybe we aren’t so different, he and I.

“I am rather exhausted,” you finally relent, knowing if you lie he will see through it, through you, in that strange way of his. You don’t want to jeopardize your progress with him.

His eyes are darker than usual, looking at you with what you can only explain as tenderness. “Ya need to rest, honey. I-I-I know I been runnin’ ya ragged.”

“I can only rest if you do,” you point out.

He nods. His head is so close to yours that the action nearly causes his head to bump into yours. Apparently unable to resist the urge to touch and fawn, he brushes a lock of your haphazard hair back behind your ear.

“Okay, lil’ Lo, I’ll rest.”

It is music to your ears.

“That means staying in bed actually resting, not ‘resting’ while working or at a party,” you warn playfully because you’ve learned he responds better to this type of request.

“Well, what if I need ta use the bathroom?” he jokes.

“Hmmm…I suppose I’ll allow it,” you say, managing a small, almost flirtatious smile.

Oh, Madone, who am I becoming?

“I need to take your vitals and give you your medicine,” you add quickly before he can respond, forcing yourself to be logical and practical rather than borderline swooning.

It’s then that your stomach growls so loudly it’s impossible to deny.

“Lord, woman, we better get some food in ya!” he laughs, rolling over and grabbing the receiver on the nightstand.

When he shifts, you shiver, yearning for his body heat again. It’s just because he keeps the room frigid, you tell yourself. He orders food to be brought up, but doesn’t ask you what you want, which bothers you a little, though you suppose he’s used to doing things his way, especially in his own home.

You use the distraction to get up and retrieve your medical bag. You know between the insane travel, the publicity schedule, his romp with Anita, and then his massive outburst that he must be running on empty. It worries you how he runs himself into the ground, and you know you need to find a better way than this quid pro quo to make sure he’s resting regularly and taking breaks.

If you don’t, this job will be much more difficult than you anticipated. You worry his condition will worsen rapidly at this rate. A heaviness settles on your heart at the thought.

It doesn’t make you feel any better when his vitals show he hasn’t improved much from last night. His blood pressure is a little better since he’s not worked up, but it’s not where it should be, and his temperature is only down a degree. No wonder he’s so warm.

Looking at him closely, you see that his eyes are rimmed black like yours and glassy, his fatigue showing through his moments of playfulness and concern for you.

“You know, you don’t have to pretend with me, Elvis.” It slips out quietly before you can think better of it, your eyes flitting down to meet his briefly.

The tired haze in his eyes clears and he blinks, as if trying to comprehend what you are saying.

“What I mean is I know you have to pretend you are alright with almost everyone else in your life. It must be very tiring.” Yet another similarity between you. “But you don’t have to do it with me.”

“I…” he pauses, looking down, not sure how to process that information. It’s like he never considered that he could drop the façade. That realization makes your heart ache for him.

Something significant shifts within you. Elvis knows more about you now than anyone you’ve known your whole life. And you know the world’s most famous singer’s biggest secret. Both of you are going to have to accept it and learn to trust one another, as out of character as it may be for you to do so.

Boldly, you take a move from his book, grabbing his chiseled chin and pulling it up to make him look at you. His eyes widen in surprise and compliance.

“Elvis, I am here for you and you only. You don’t owe me any sort of excuses about how you are doing in order to make me feel better. But you do owe me honesty about how you are truly feeling so I can help you. And that means doing what I tell you to do in terms of your health,” you say in a steady, firm voice.

The sudden pliable submissiveness in his heavy-lidded eyes surprises you somewhat. You expected more of a fight. He blinks slowly, and the intensity of his open and needy gaze sends a bolt of electricity through you.

“Right now you need to eat, take your medicine, and get back into bed to rest. Understand?” you continue. It’s not unkind, but there is a slight edge to your voice that indicates you mean it.

“Yes, ma’am,” Elvis responds sincerely and quietly, nodding.

You release his chin but keep your eyes fixed to his, your heart pounding for reasons you don’t want to consider. Something unspoken passes between you, creating a molten heat deep in your belly. There is an element of control you seem have over him in these private moments that you don’t quite understand yet. It makes you feel safe and grounded…and powerful.

It also makes you want to scoop him up in your arms and comfort him as he did with you the night before.

You know you’re in trouble because your normal boundaries that keep people at a distance have been skirted expertly by him. But it’s a give and take. The more you open up to him, the more willing he is to listen to you and do what you ask.

If you want to save his life, and in turn your own, you’ll need to do whatever it takes to keep Elvis well and happy. And if that means you have got to let him in a little, so be it, you decide, because your safety relies on him now. You have no other plan if this goes south.

It’s all rather terrifying.

Breakfast comes with a knock on the door, interrupting the moment. Ravenous, you see that everything you could possibly want is brought in and placed on a side table near the door. Your eyes widen. It’s enough to feed the whole house.

“I-I didn’t know what you wanted, so I just had Alberta make a bit of everythin’,” he says sheepishly.

“Oh. Well, thank you, that’s very kind of you,” you say, unable to take your eyes off the spread. Your mouth waters at the sweet smell of maple syrup and perfectly golden pancakes, and you can’t help but be a little shocked by the mountain of burnt-to-a-crisp bacon that sits next to it.

He gives you a boyish smile, stands, and hands you a plate, which you gladly take and gingerly fill with food.

Settling back on the bed, both of you eat quietly and for the first time, it is not uncomfortable. Maybe it’s the informal setting without the entourage that does it. Perhaps it is the mutual fatigue, hunger, or the newfound trust between you two. For whatever reason, it takes a little more weight off your shoulders.

Finishing up, you move to get up and place your plate on the tray by the door, but Elvis’ hand catches your wrist and pulls you back.

“Wait. You have a little syrup…” he starts, pointing to the corner where his lips meet.

“Oh, thank you,” you say, a flush bourgeoning across your chest. You swipe the corner of your mouth with your napkin, then look at him expectantly.

“Mmm…no,” he says, eyes glimmering in the dim light, “Here.”

His tongue licks a stripe up the pad of his thumb. Before you can think fast enough to move away, he leans in and his dampened thumb wipes slowly over the sticky crease, removing the syrup from the corner of your mouth.

Frozen, your heart throbs so hard in your chest, you are afraid he might hear it, but he is too busy bringing his thumb back to his mouth and sucking it clean of the sweetness that moments ago graced your lips.

Oh, Madone.

The fever does not quell the unabashedly open look he gives you. How a man can all at once look as innocent as a lamb while at the same time exuding such raw sexuality, you’ll never know. It’s not as if he’s meaning to make a pass, yet a swell of tension rolls between you all the same. You force yourself to breathe, to blink, to do anything that will break the spell he seems to have on you.

Blood blooms like fire across your cheeks. You stand quickly and busy yourself as though nothing has happened, taking both plates away, silently ordering your heart to settle.

He is your patient, Lori.

You are grateful for being able to turn away as you prepare his medicines, combinations of vitamins and antibiotics that need a full stomach. It allows time for your face to cool and your body to become your own again. When you turn back to him, he sits at the edge of the bed, waiting for you. The sleepy look on his face has returned, those bedroom eyes low, docile, and submissive. He looks far away, you think, as if caught in deep thought.

You step in front of him. Boldly, before you can think better of it, you use one finger to tilt up his chin to look at you. He blinks up at you dreamily while one hand absently plays with the hem of your nightgown. It’s intimate and endearing.

“Time for your medicine, Elvis,” you say, pouring the pills into one of his hands. You watch as he throws them into his mouth, then you hand him a glass of water to swallow them down.

In a moment of déjà vu, you realize you are lightyears away from the annoyance you felt for him back in the hospital, doing nearly the same thing. It’s strange. It hasn’t been that long, but time has a funny way of warping in Elvis Presley’s world. Despite your efforts to keep him at arm’s length, he’s managed to worm his way past your defenses. It’ll take some doing for you to keep him well and following the doctor’s orders, but you think this newfound closeness will help your efforts.

As long as I keep my wits about me.

When you both lay down to go back to sleep, the terror that gripped you back in New York and slashed through your dreams in the night feels far away. As you get comfortable on your side of the bed, Elvis intertwines his long fingers in yours. Your normal impulse to pull away doesn’t interfere. No, he is dutifully respecting your space, so you give him this concession. You can’t tell if it’s him needing the assurance of your presence, or him assuring you of his.

Maybe it’s both.

Either way, as the haze of sleep finds you again, a fleeting thought drifts in your mind:

I’ve never been safer than I am right now.

The thought floats away again before you have time to think on it. The comforting weight of Elvis’ hand grounds you to him and sleep consumes you once again.

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cinnapuppymilk · 1 year

Text

Rose Thorn in His Side(Chpt 2)

A/N: Thank you to everyone who put up with my account switch!! Yall are the real ones.

This part is long, I hope that isn't a problem :v I promise after this it's gonna be SOO much more interaction with Death..fluffy interactions..cute interactions..spicy interactions..hehe.

Also I put my own spin on how Death collects souls, I hope yall like it! Mwah mwah mwah, please enjoy!

TW: Alcoholism, death(like, someone dying.)

Chapter one 🔽

Chapter Two: Deadly Reveal

That next morning, you enjoyed the peaceful bliss that was an empty mind in the first few seconds of waking up. No thoughts or worries, just the calmness of the usual first morning stretch.

. . .

Though your calves hurt more than usual.

Suddenly, within a split second, you remembered why, ruining the morning calm.

Mateo's morning interruption. The bar. Gabriella being the most freaked out you ever saw her. Death. His eyes. His voice. His poncho. The rain. The walk. His fur against your cheek as he carried you. His goodbye. It all came back like a movie being played 10 times the normal speed.

You rubbed your face with your hands, hoping to wipe away the tired feeling.

You felt a bit stupid, you would normally never let a stranger walk you home after only an hour of meeting. Let alone let them be close enough to carry you. You didn't even feel entirely comfortable with Mateo giving you a friendly pat and you've known him for five years.

You decided you'd blame it all on being tired from a double shift, not wanting any more overthinking to happen this morning. Though, in the back of your mind flashes of Death kept appearing while you got up and ready for the day.

You sat down at the dining table for what you thought was morning tea, however glancing at the clock revealed it was 1pm already. So you had to have slept in. You frowned, upset that your normal schedule was messed up for the second day in a row.

Deciding that you needed fresh air to soothe your mood, you took your tea to the front porch of your cottage and sat in the rocking chair placed neatly in front of a window.

The air smelled damp and earthy. Like him.

'. . . . I don't want to see you too soon.' His words replayed in your mind.

You wondered what that could've meant, worried that it means he won't be back anytime soon.

You then racked your brain on why you cared so much. You don't know him, there isn't a meaningful connection. There isn't any connection at all, he's a customer who was kind enough to lend you his poncho on your walk home. Nothing more.

Though even with all of that being true, you couldn't shake the want to see him again. You couldn't shake the memory of his eyes and smile, his voice, his smell. You couldn't shake him.

"Buenas tardes Y/N!" Diego's voice shattered your thought bubble...to your appreciation.

You saw his lanky figure try to approach your front yard, attempting not to slip in the mud.

"I would help you, but I think you might deserve to have a sore ass today." You laughed while getting up to help him anyways.

Thankfully, he was able to manage before you got to him. You really didn't want to get covered in mud.

"Sí, sí. Tienes razón (you're right.), I am an absolute lowlife," he chuckled while finally approaching you.

"But that's why I'm here now! I want to make it up to you. We can go out to town, everything you get is on me, promise." He gave you a wide smile.

Normally, you would rather spend your off time at home, learning a new hobby and tending to your small vegetable garden. You enjoyed living away from all the noise and movement of the town, you felt like you could breathe easy in your little cottage.

Simultaneously, however, today was different. You didn't want to be left alone with your thoughts, going back and forth on how you felt about Death. Thinking about if you'd see him again, or if you should even want to. A distraction from all that mental conflict would be nice.

"Ahh, well. I guess you can convince me to let you buy me breakfast at a café. Let me grab a jacket."

_________________________________________

The inner most section of town was only about a 20 minute walk from your home. To avoid any more shameful thoughts about your night with Death, you decided to interrogate Diego on the walk over.

You knew he had a drinking problem, it was evident when he showed up for work a bit woozy every now and then. He was also a lightweight, you felt bad that he was burdened with such a terrible combo.

"Soo, I thought you said you were gonna say no next time Mateo offered a shot or two..or five." you said carefully, not wanting to offend him.

Diego gave a deep sigh before responding.

"No is a hard word to find when drinks get mixed in...but I'm trying, that night will be my last relapse. Wouldn't want you covering for my sorry tail all the time otherwise you'd get sick of me." He laughed, trying to keep the mood light.

You nodded and asked him the normal run around questions. How have you been, done anything new, blah blah blah.

You focused hard on his rambling answers, not wanting to let your mind wander.

When you finally arrived to the café, Diego sped ahead of you, rushing to pull out a seat for you. You shook your head playfully at his over the top gesture.

You both looked over the menus, ordered and chatted about the mundane.

Completely unaware you were being watched from the moment you left your door.

Across the street, hidden in a shadowed alleyway stood Death, with an annoyed expression resting on his face.

He spent the night thinking about how to handle this situation and his irritating feelings on you.

He's already wasted too much time playing with you and even more time thinking about you. He's death. He has an eternal duty, and nowhere in his job description did it say he had time for...playthings.

But he was also honest with himself. He couldn't get you out of the sacred space that was his head.

His solution was to reveal to you that he really was death, the grim reaper, la muerte etc..then he could watch you flee in terror and be done with it all.

However, his plans were soiled by Diego whisking you away.

Something about Diego pissed Death off.

"¿Por qué estoy perdiendo el tiempo aquí?(Why am I wasting my time here?)" Death growled to himself before vanishing to go back to work. He figured he will settle this where it started, at the bar.

. . .

"Oooh, that looks good." Diego commented on the torrijas that arrived at your table.

Diego ordered just eggs and bacon, which he hardly took notice in as he kept his eyes trained on you.

"So, Gabi told me there was some creep at the bar last night? She said she left you with him and she feels bad about it, what's that all about?" he asked nonchalantly.

This was the last topic you wanted to talk about, however, he asked you so directly, there was no way to avoid it.

"I wouldn't say creep, I mean his looks were intimidating I guess? Well anyway, there wasn't any problems with him and I'm not upset with Gabi over it, I mean she takes customers I don't wanna deal with for me all the time so, we're even." you stared down at your food, feeling a bit guilty. Somehow, you felt like you were lying by not mentioning the full details.

"Well hopefully he won't show up to the party tonight cause I'd beat his a-"

"What party?" you interrupted Diego before he inflated his ego too much.

"Y/N, no seas estúpido (don't be stupid), it's the first of October. Maria always throws a party, it's her birthday month. We do this every year, how do you not remember by now."

"Ah damn, you're right...she's crazy, celebrating for a whole month sounds so tiring." you said while finishing up the last bit of your food.

"So hey, you skip the party every year..why not change it up and go this time? I'll be your party buddy and you can keep my drinking in check" he laughed, placing the money for the meal on the table.

Truthfully you normally weren't a party person. You had been to a handful of them and they usually end up with you sweating and hyperventilating in a bathroom stall, suffering from a panic attack.

But your encounter with Death did make you realize you must be seriously socially starved if a brisk walk with a stranger could make you feel so...flustered. You also came to the conclusion that maybe jumping back into the dating pool could be good for you. You hadn't had a romantic relationship since high school after all.

Finishing the last of your orange juice you answered Diego.

"Yeah alright, but promise not to ditch me during okay?"

"That's what I like to hear! Now it is a costume party so, we'll have to find you something to go in. But hey no worries, we're in town now so we can find something here." Diego said while standing up to leave.

You hadn't realized you'd have to dress up, and the thought of it made you kinda want to back out, but reluctantly you let Diego take you to a clothing shop anyway. You wanted to give your all into enjoying this experience.

. . .

Entering the shop you were greeted by a young woman who encouraged you to check out their extensive Halloween costume section.

"Hmm, I think we should find you something cute to wear, not too flashy, easy on the eyes..like you." Diego said as he bumped his elbow into your arm.

You decided to ignore the flirting and instead started to scan the racks of clothing, hoping to find something you'd be comfortable in.

Diego started to rummage through clothing, apparently eager to help you find a costume.

"Soo, what are you going as?" you asked plainly while scanning a skeleton body suit.

"Ah you know me, I gotta go big or go home so I'm going as a pirate all decked out in everything gold I could get my hands on." He said ruffling through more costumes.

You were about to give up your search and just go as a sheet ghost before Diego called out to you in joy.

"I found the perfect costume! Come here, come try it on!!" he said a little too loudly, causing the cashier to glare at him breifly.

He held out to you a red hood accompanied by an old-timey looking blouse and black corset attached to a silky red skirt for the bottom.

"It's Red Riding Hood! You'd look so cute in this!" Diego was beaming proudly at his find.

Not really wanting to go as a sheet ghost, you took the costume and headed for the dressing room.

Putting the costume on, you were pleased with how it fitted your body. Hugging the right places, while being flowy where it needed to be. Diego wasn't wrong, you did look cute.

When you exited the dressing room you saw Diego's disappointed expression.

"Aww what you're not gonna show me?" he whined.

"You'll see at the party anyways." you shrugged.

Diego paid for the costume and you both left the shop.

"Well, the party is at 10, so you should go home and get ready. Can't wait to see you there!" Diego chimed as you parted ways.

. . .

That night you had gotten dressed and admittedly were having to convince yourself time and time again to just go. You tried hard to silence the nagging voice in your head telling you to stay home and feign sickness the next day.

You took a deep breath in before opening the bar doors and stepping inside.

The bar was filled to the brim with people, some you recognized others you don't. All of them laughing, drinking and dancing in their costumes.

You looked around to try and spot any of your coworkers. Suddenly, an arm wrapped itself around your shoulders, startling you.

"You actually came!! That's good cause I didn't buy that costume for nothing..speaking of, you look adorable Y/N!"

It was Diego and you could instantly smell the liquor on his breath.

"Yeah I came, I didn't wanna leave you hanging..plus I'm supposed to keep you in check, have you had any drinks?" you asked, slipping out from under Diego's arm.

"Ah yeah, just two shots though, no more, I promise!" He laughed and whisked you away to a table before you could scold him.

At the table sat a group of people you didn't recognize but were supposedly Diego's friends. They were loud, slamming drinks on the table, screaming in each other's faces, pushing and pulling on one another. Deigo joined in the fun but you sat quietly, giving small smiles to the group whenever one of them accidentally bumped into you.

For the first half hour you did fine, even made a few light jokes and took a few shots to loosen up, however when the alcohol hit your head, you started becoming more and more sensitive to the lights and sounds around you. It started to become a bit much to handle.

You felt your face getting warm and you started to notice how much your clothes rubbed against your fur, making you uncomfortable. You attempted to take a calming breath in but it felt like the heavy scent of liquor and sweat absorbed all the oxygen. Your breaths became shallow and your mouth dry. You tugged on Diego's arm, wanting to ask him to move to a quieter spot for just a few seconds.

"Diego I think I need a break-" you started only to have Diego lightly shove you off of him. You looked up at him with confusion.

"It's a party, you want a break? You go home." he slurred his words a bit before taking another shot.

You decided to shake the hurt you felt from his comment and push.

"Hey, I think you've had too much to drink, let's go get water and-" you tried to pull Diego away from the table only to be shoved harder this time, almost causing you to fall backwards.

"Go get your water then." Diego said before returning his attention to his drinks and friends.

You felt the sting of tears in your eyes but blinked them away before heading towards the bar to get water. To your relief, you saw Gabi in an angel costume at the bar, making herself a drink.

When you got there, Gabi immediately saw the tired hurt in your eyes.

"Oh honey, you tried. You can't change him. Trust me, I also attempted to keep him sober. It's like stopping a fish from getting water" She guided your head to rest on her shoulder and gave you a few back pats.

She then pulled away and poured you a glass of water. You gladly accepted, grateful to have a 'mom' friend like Gabriella.

"You can hang with me for the rest of the night, I'm way more fun anyway" she winked at you.

You smile and nodded. She gently led you to a cleared spot in the bar, meant to be a makeshift dancefloor. She grabbed your hands and swayed to the music, singing along terribly. You couldn't help but laugh and sway with her. You felt a weight evaporate off of your chest and felt like you could breathe again.

After a bit of dancing, Gabi slowly came to a stop, staring off at a certain direction.

"No way that stalker-looking dog came back, who even invited him?" she scowled.

You immediately whipped your head in the direction she was looking. Your chest felt tight again..but this time in anticipation.

In a table all the way in the corner of the bar, sat Death. Looking straight at you with a grin on his face.

'Why is he here? He doesn't know Maria, so he wasn't invited. He only knows me...sort of. Did he come to see me?'

The thought of that made your heart flutter. Suddenly you and Death were locked in a staring contest, neither of you wanting to look away.

"I can get some guys to throw him out, hold on-" Gabi interrupted your stare down with Death.

"No no!..ah I mean, he's fine. I invited him." you lied.

"Oh, well then.. maybe you should talk to him. He's all by himself. Not that I care though, I'm gonna make another drink." Gabi said in shock. She gave you a quick hug before leaving for the bar.

You turned your attention back to Death who never stopped looking at you. He motioned his head towards the seat across from him at table.

Your heart did flips as you approached his table and sat down.

"No drink conejita?" he said tilting his head.

"I'm off the clock..and I've personally had enough to drink.." you said trying to keep your composure. You felt so confused yet happy in this moment.

Death nodded before shifting his gaze to look at something behind you.

"I think your friend has also had enough to drink." he laughed lightly.

You turned your head to see Diego drunkenly picking a fight with a stranger twice his size.

"Aye Diego..." you said putting your face in your hands. You were embarrassed Death saw you and him together while he acted like a fool.

Death gave a deep laugh that made you feel something you couldn't explain.

You looked up at him, you weren't sure if your cheeks were burning from the alcohol or your shyness. Even so, the alcohol gave you some courage and you were feeling ecstatic now that you're with Death again.

"So, you crashed the party and if Maria sees you she's gonna lose it..how come you're here?" you asked trying to not stare at his eyes.

"I needed to see you again." he stated plainly.

That sentence made something in you snap.

"Well I'm here." you breathed shallowly, your voice low, unable to hide the way you were feeling.

"Indeed you are, conejita." Death said in a similar tone, leaning forward.

You swore the entire world started moving in slow motion. Death was close enough to you that you could feel his breath on your fur. It took everything in you to not lean forward and rest your head in the crook of his neck.

'I really did have too much to drink' you thought helplessly.

You wanted to ask him a million questions about himself, you opened your mouth to speak only for his voice to ring out first.

"It's warm in here, no? Why not take another walk." He said standing up. You frowned at the sudden space he put between you and him.

Looking behind you, you saw Gabriella and Maria dancing together sloppily with huge smiles on their face. You also spotted Mateo for the first time tonight, flirting with a girl by the bar. Finally, you saw Diego, cursing while holding a cold glass of beer to his now blackened eye while his friends assure him it wasn't his fault.

'I feel kinda bad just leaving them without saying anything..' you thought before turning back to Death who now stood against the entrance doors in his dark poncho. He smiled at you before speaking, just barely audible to your ears in a smooth but teasing tone,

"You coming little bunny?"

'Nope, I don't feel bad at all.'

You followed Death out the door, into the cool dark night.

________________________________________

The alcohol was definitely affecting you more than you accounted for as you followed Death blindly in a random direction, no clue as to where you're going.

Again, normally something you wouldn't do.

Death was moving quicker than you remember him moving last time, it took a bit of effort to keep in step with him.

Happy to be alone with him again, you took this time to ask him everything that was on your tipsy mind.

"Why did you need to see me?" you asked.

"I want to show you something." he stated with amusement in his voice.

"Like what?"

"I want you to see my work."

"Oh you're job...but it's so late, what jobs still runs this late?"

"I don't get breaks." he said plainly.

"Well that's kinda dumb..and maybe even illegal? What's your job?" you furrowed your brows, trying to understand what he was saying.

"I'm Death." he said deadpanned.

"Yeah I know." you said matter of factly.

He laughed that deep laugh that made your heart flutter in your chest.

He then stopped to crouch down and face you so that he was just above eye level to you.

He raised his paw to your cheek and gently brushed his thumb across it.

Your breath hitched and suddenly your chest felt tight.

"I take the souls of the dead..." he whispered in a way that had you completely frozen in place.

He moved his paw to cup your chin and gently lifted your head so that your eyes met head on.

"and bring them to the afterlife." he was dangerously close to your face. Your heart skipped beats in anticipation for his next move.

"and there's no one.." he gently skimmed his claw from your jawline all the way down your neck.

"Who has ever escaped me." he finished in a deep hushed voice. He gently pinched your cheek before standing back up.

You let go of a breath you didn't know you were holding.

"Oh, I see.." you said quietly, your body still reeling from his touch. You didn't even really pay attention to what he had said.

"We're here conejita." Death said looking into the distance at something.

You moved to the side slightly to try and see what Death was looking at. A little bit away from where you both stood, a man sat slumped against a well, clearly intoxicated. He swished his beer bottle around, mumbling a song that sounded like something a sailor would sing.

Not understanding if that's what you were supposed to be looking at, you looked up at Death who now had an almost disappointed expression on his face.

Shifting your gaze back to the man, you could see his movements slow, as he started to slump to the side more and more, eventually laying on his side completely. His bottle spilling out onto the street.

"Did he just-"

"Die. Yes, yes he did." Death cut you off.

Your heart began to race and your mind filled suddenly with a million thoughts.

'What should I do. Do we get help? Do we call someone?? Can we revive him?? Did I actually just watch someone die??'

"No..wait I'm sure we can-" you began to take steps towards the man, but Death put a paw on your chest to stop you in your tracks.

"There's nothing anyone can do for him now." He said emotionless. He then approached the man, crouching down next to him.

"Then what are you doing??" you asked, following him, absolutely confused by what's going on.

"I told you..." Death started. He took out a sickle you didn't know he had and swiped it at the man. You gasped, but before you could say anything you were once again in awe of what you saw. On the point of the sickle there was a glowing ball of light. Death grabbed it and held the soft glowing ball of light in his paw. It looked ethereal, both tangible but also as if it could disappear at any moment.

Death brought the ball to his mouth, and said something inaudible. Then suddenly, the ball of light blew away, as if it were merely made of sand.

"I'm Death." he said coldly.

A few short seconds of confusion followed before finally your brain put all the pieces together.

You stared at him, unable to find the right words to say.

He once again crouched down to your level.

"And I don't mean it in any other way than literal. When your grandfather died, I was there. When your friends die, I'll be there, when you die, I'll. Be. Right. There. So whatever infatuation you have with me can end now. Go on. Run away like all little bunnies do." he said in a cold and harsh tone.

You admit, you had natural instincts that were screaming at you to run. But you also were...annoyed?

What did him being Death have to do with you? He wasn't soul reaping when he teased and taunted you at the bar that first night. He wasn't the grim reaper when he carried you home. He didn't have to be some terrifying entity that no one can get close to.

You felt frustration build in your chest and decided not to hold it back.

"What does that have to do with me liking you?! You don't get to decide if I like you or not, I do! You don't get to make me feel things and then think I'm gonna just run away over something like that! You started this with me, so finish it and walk me home!"

You yelled at him, using the last of your energy you had for the night. You sighed as you laid yourself down onto the ground, staring up at the night sky, much clearer than it was last time you saw it.

Suddenly you felt your body being lifted off the ground, once again being carried bridal style.

You looked at Death who had a grin on his face, looking ahead of him. He then looked down at you and leaned in close to your ear.

You breathed in the familiar after-rain scent he had. Something about that was so calming. You were slightly upset that his poncho stopped you from feeling his fur, but you also couldn't ask for anything more than to be in his arms right now.

"If I promise to stay do you promise not to run?" he said quietly.

You gently tightened your arms around his neck, taking in more of his scent.

"Of course." you hummed into his neck.

Truthfully, Death's entire day went wrong.

He spent the night thinking of you instead of carrying on his work.

He meant to scare you off way earlier in the day, only for your friend to ruin that.

He never meant to crash a party at the bar.

He didn't mean to caress your face.

He meant to scare you off after taking that mans soul.

Truly, he did the opposite of everything he wanted to happen today.

And with a grin on his face while carrying his sleepy little bunny home, he couldn't be happier.

End of Chapter Two.

#pib death #death puss in boots #puss in boots death #puss in boots the last wish #puss in boots #death #death x reader #wolf x reader #lobo x reader #pibtlw #pib the last wish

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ros3ybabe · 7 months

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Daily Check-in: October 12th, 2023 🎀

Today has been a lazy yet somewhat decent day? There's not much to complain about. Besides the fact that I didn't do a single homework assignment, I'm exhausted, so that's alright. I did do a decent amount of Japanese studying today though I didn't open up my Genki Textbook like I had wanted to but oh well, there's always tomorrow!

🩷 What I Ate Today -

Brunch - Spaghetti with ground Turkey and meat sauce

Dinner - Taco bowl with ground beef, black beans, shredded cheese, shredded lettuce, sour cream, a small dollop of avocado, and red salsa with 1.5 low carb tortillas

Snack - bunny tracks ice cream, 16oz bottle of Dr pepper

Extra - 4? cups of coffee (or 5, I can't remember)

I was not very productive today in terms of academic progress, but I still feel like I did what I could given my energy levels. (and caffiene intake). Did not eat the healthiest, but I listened to my body, and honestly, not every day will be perfect, and that's okay!

🩷 Personal Achievements, Oct 12th -

cooked ground beef (leftovers woooo!!)

washed dirty laundry

put away all clean clothes

did my therapy phone call

video called my boyfriend

morning + night skincare

completed 2 duolingo lessons

completed 1 busuu lesson

completed 3 kanji lessons

typed up one draft for upcoming blog post

I had heard about an app called Kanji that teaches you kanji based on JLPT Levels, and I actually really like it, so I bought access to all levels for 11$ USD!! feel like that's a fair price for over 2000 kanji, and I'm excited to start expanding my Japanese knowledge. Also, I am trying out the LingQ app. It's pretty interesting and seems useful for reading practice! I don't know why I got such a kick to study japanese but I am not complaining!!

No Academic Achievements for Today

🩷 Personal ToDo, Oct 13th -

Review previous 3 kanji lessons

Complete 1 duolingo lesson

Complete 1 busuu lesson

Continue Genki I Lesson one (?)

morning + night skincare

morning + night journal

morning workout (at home)

make bed

read 1 chapter of atomic habits or other self help book

🩷 Academic ToDo, Oct 13th -

Culinary Chapter 10 Quiz

Consumer Debt Inventory Assignment

Chapter 9 Notes Psyc

Chapter 9 Quiz Psyc

Attend Psyc Lab

Attend Anatomy Lab

Using Credit Personal Finance assignment

module notes fitness health and sport

module quiz fitness health and sport

work on component 2 for psyc paper

Giving myself a lot of school work to complete tomorrow but that's okay because I have the day off from work so I know I'll be able to get a lot of it done, if not all of it! I'm hoping I sleep decently tonight so I can wake up ready to rule the world tomorrow. My goal is to wake up early, workout, shower, do some makeup and get ready, and be on campus early to get back into the school mindset because I know I've been slacking these last two days. I work a double shift on Saturday, so tomorrow is really the ideal time to finish everything as much as possible.

🩷 Song of the Day: Fearless, Jp Version - Le Sserafim

This has been my anthem lately. It's catchy, and I kind of prefer this to the original version in Korean, but that's a bit biased on my end as I am studying Japanese at the moment.

🩷 Tomorrow Morning Workout - Pilates

Even if I only finish the first video, I will be proud of myself. It's the effort that counts, and it's definitely gonna be a start! I will be posting an updated current workout schedule with routines soon!!

That's all for now! I will update tomorrow night!

Til next time, lovelies 🩷

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quietwingsinthesky · 2 months

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Rules: List the first line of your last 10 (posted) fics and see if there's a pattern!

Tagged by @roxannepolice :3!!! and for my own sake, I've gone with my actual fics and not my daily drabbles.

"Rose is always surprised by how barren Jack’s room seems compared to her own." - New Discoveries, in Good Hands (my transmasc!rose/jack fic)

"Amy watches her boys, a grin on her face." - up a creek without a paddle (and the water rushes so loudly) (the uhm. amy/eleven/rory watersports fic. that happened.)

"He should be better at knowing when Jack is scheming." - tell a story, make it a good one, make it come true (human!doctors au where they are siblings, inspired by some of lazer-screwdriver's tags on those posts, i swear i'm gonna write the chapter about ten soon.)

"'Don’t look at me like that,' Even says, softly." - i was not taught forgiveness (OC fic, starring Even and Twelve reconciling. poorly.)

"Even stares at Clara until she gets uncomfortable and looks away first." - love is a promise, trust is a feeling (Also OC fic, with Even & Clara this time.)

"I should be dead." - Stalemate (....look. writing about my silly little OC is fun, okay. this time starring even & simm!master)

"Toshiko knows something is up from the moment Jack begins to grin from across the table." - put a ring on it (fake proposal with real kissing jack/tosh fic)

"'No. I'm not doing this. It's humiliating,' Owen protests, slapping Jack's hands away whenever he tries to get a grip on him." - if you follow your friends off a bridge, better hope they pick you up afterwards (jack/owen fic that i am cheating for and including more because otherwise the first sentence would just be 'no')

"'There's no way we're getting inside without getting soaked,'" Gwen says, as if she isn't already dripping. - the forecast calls for (silly gwen & ianto fic about getting caught in the rain)

"Harriet Saxon is not having a good day." - go looking for ghosts (my post-amy & rory leaving mourning fic where eleven makes bad choices and paradoxes are considered. and they were both girls.😳)

double-tagging @lazer-screwdriver to peer pressure them into sharing their oc fics to everyone again, and also @fandom-space-princess, @artoodeeblue, @buddyapologist, and @a-shard-of-quartz-lol (have fun :D)

#tag game

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authorsadiethatcher · 30 days

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It's a new month and that means it's time for another State of the Thatcher Address. I considered doing an April Fool's post where I would announce my retirement from writing, but that could easily be taken the wrong way and I'm not going anywhere. I've got a ton of great content upcoming, which I'll highlight toward the end.

It's also properly spring now, which I love. And after a rough March where I felt like I was constantly playing catch-up with my writing deadlines, I am finally ahead, meaning I can relax and push the fun angle a little more, at least in my writing process.

A quick reminder that you can find my books on Amazon, Smashwords, Google Play Books, Apple Books, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, and Everand. You can also read everything I’ve published under my Sadie Thatcher name since last May on Ream, which is a subscription platform built specifically for authors. You can check out my Ream page below.

Ream: https://reamstories.com/sadiethatcher

And speaking of Ream, I have a Ream exclusive novel called The Muse (extreme dollification) that is now complete. I've made the first three chapters available for free. All you have to do is sign up as a follower at the link above to get a taste of my first real story that is too extreme for Amazon.

I also post the occasional bit of flash fiction for followers on Ream. I have one up already and plan to post another one this week. This week's flash fiction story will be called Reduce, Reuse, Recycle.

This month I plan to actually spend some time on my other pen name, Libby Feron. As Libby, I write fantasy romance. I've got two projects I'm working on. The first is a series of novellas that could stretch into novels by the end of the series. The other is focusing on the sister in Magic's Most Wanted as she heads off to college. I don’t talk about my fantasy writing often, so checking out https://libbyferon.com/ and signing up for the email newsletter is the best way to stay informed. At some point, there will be a free novella offered.

Now it's time to talk about what to expect this month. First, there is one last book in the Spirit Week Series. That will be a double transformation with an orgy at the end. Be wary of the Bimbo Blonde hair dye. I will also be releasing a series about body glitter that turns people who touch it into bimbos. That should be a lot of fun.

The big one that I'm looking forward to, and will begin writing as soon as I finish writing this post, is College Investigation Journal. There is a dorm section at Thatcher College that keeps turning out bimbos. Every woman who lives there turns into a bimbo. And the college is sending in a graduate student to discover why. This will be written in a diary or journal format, similar to Experiment in Submission.

After that, I've got two more series that will appear toward the end of the month. One is about using bimbofication to hide secrets. The other will involve dreams somehow. I haven't figured out the details beyond that yet.

So as you can see, there's a lot of cool stuff coming this month. And I'm hoping April makes for an all around good month for my followers and readers.

#sadie thatcher #writing #buildingbettergiggles #story #state of the thatcher address

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dearshelby · 1 year

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The road to peace

Summary: Tommy rents a house on the countryside and has to deal with his family's reaction at the same day peace is declared.

A/N: I wanted to post this last Thursday but I had a small problem that took three days to solve 😩 But, it's finally here, hope you like it!

Chapter 2: His eyes are blue.

Tommy's eyes switch between the house and the key in his hands. There's no going back now, the rent contract stipulates he must live in the house for a year at least, otherwise he will have to pay a quite expensive mulct.

Logically, Tommy will be only allowed to leave the place on 11th November, 1919.

His car is parked in front of the house, on the side of a dirt road, he supposes the lack of ground roads is a good sign, he's far enough from civilization to enjoy the silence, but close enough to not go mad from isolation.

Walking to the front door, he enters the building with hesitant steps. He lived his whole life with his parents, Polly and his siblings, his house at Watery Lane had stories on its walls, stains in the carpet reminding him of childhood, marks on the walls evolving with his growth.

This house has nothing, no memories, no signs of previous tenants, nothing. It's a blank sheet for Tommy to write something new.

The first room is the living room, displaying blue walls with paintings he would never buy; A wooden corner table, two white sofas and one armchair near the fireplace.

The kitchen is also simple, containing only a stove, sink, table and cabinets. The window in front of the sink is huge, which allows the wind to enter the place and sway the red curtains.

Upstairs, a bathroom and two bedrooms on opposite sides of the hallway. Entering the first one, he finds a double bed without sheets, bed tables on which side and a medium wardrobe.

Walking to the window, Tommy touches the curtains, beige and expensive, something his family could never afford in his childhood, still can't since he's only renting, but he knows his mum would have liked them.

He opens the window and sees the garden, there isn't any flower or place to plant, he can only see a few trees far away. At last, rests his head on the window's jamb, he supposes he can make a home out of it.

A thousand possibilities run through his head, he can work in the betting shop, buy his own car instead of using the family's shared one, he can finish school and get an accountant job, he can build a stable and have horses close to him.

He can bring Polly to live with him, the idea tenses him up. Tommy lived with her for so long after his mother's death she practically became his mum, sometimes he reminds himself she's not much older than him, she could be the oldest Shelby sibling.

Polly isn't only his aunt, she's his mother, sister and adviser, the woman he can look up to and at the same time, perceive as an equal. He doesn't know if he's able to carry on without her, at least not in a moment of fragility.

With a deep sigh, Tommy checks the last rooms of the house and makes his leave. The way home is quiet until he enters the Small Heath's streets, the constant movement of children playing and people working makes him think he made the right choice to leave the neighborhood.

Neither Polly, Ada or Finn show up when he gets home, but he can hear them giggling. Heading to the kitchen, he finds them reading the newspaper.

"What is going on?" he asks.

"Tommy, where the hell were you?" Polly gives him the newspaper with a huge smile on her face.

"War is over, Tom!" Ada hugs him and quickly lets go, "I'm gonna pour us a drink!"

"You do that," Polly agrees, "we should write to John and Arthur! They'll be home soon!"

As his aunt walks out to grab paper and pen, Tommy reads the headline: Great war ends. Simple as that, nineteen days after he's home, twenty five after he left the battlefield, war is over.

He can't believe his own eyes, the most rational part of him says it's alright, peace would be declared eventually and he should be happy because that's what everyone wanted. Surely, he's happy, but also nervous.

"Ain't you happy?" Finn asks while Ada hands him a whiskey glass.

"Yeah," Tommy guzzles his drink, feeling it burn its way down his throat. The spice in his mouth brings some comfort.

"You're alright there, Polly?" Ada calls, "There's more pens in the drawer!"

"I started writing my own," Polly brings paper and pen to everyone else.

"Can you help me write mine, Tom?" Finn asks.

"Not now,"

Grabbing the paper on the table, Tommy goes to his bedroom. He locks himself in and sits on the bed, taking Arthur's old letter from under his pillow.

He runs his eyes through his brother's words trying to find the right answer to them. There's a while the letter had been sent, more than it'd take for an answer to get to France. Tommy knows Arthur is clever enough to deduce he didn't write back. After all this time, he doesn't know what to say.

The pen touches the paper crookedly writing: Dear Arthur. Nothing else, Tommy grits his teeth coming up with something. War is over? No, Arthur will know that before the letter gets to him. Come home safely? Well, there's nothing left to do.

Taking another paper, he greets John the same way. "Your kids will be glad with the news," he writes and frustratingly scribbles it, "There's a whiskey bottle and excited children waiting for you," he tries and scribbles again.

Taken by anger, Tommy crumples the letters and throws it in the fireplace, his failure shall do a decent job at keeping him warm at least.

After all, he decides to pack his bags. He opens his wardrobe and puts the organized piles of clothes on the bed, next taking an old suitcase and placing important belongings in it.

Staring at his empty wardrobe, Tommy broods over his doubts, he hasn't told anyone of his plan yet, he is simply packing his things and turning his back on them.

Tommy sighs and grabs another suitcase, packing the rest of his possessions. The bedroom is empty now, however much of him still hovers in the room, like the peeled wallpaper and stains of shoe polish on the floor.

Three knocks on the door followed by Ada's voice makes him hide the bags under the bed, not that it would change anything, certainly she'd realize his missing belongings.

"Tom?" she calls again.

"It's open,"

His sister enters the bedroom with her letters in hand, "Finn is upset with you, I told him to write things the way he thinks it is and you'll help him revise later,"

"Why don't you help him?"

"Because you're his big brother, he wants to spend time with you," Ada sits on the bed and Tommy does the same.

"And you don't?" he jokingly asks.

"No," she chuckles, "y'know, sometimes I think of when I was ten and you took me to school, but I never knew which brother would pick me up,"

"Tsk, and that time we all forgot about you?"

"Oh, I was desperate, I thought I'd have to stay there forever,"

"Should have let you there," he smirks.

"Sod off," Ada giggles, "and then, when the teacher was about to take me home herself, you and Arthur showed up and you told me we'd never forget about you,"

Tommy looks at her through the side of his eye, perhaps it's his big brother side speaking, but he doesn't think she changed much from that time to now. He'll miss her too when he moves out.

"Where are all your things, Tommy?"

"On my bags under the bed," he hesitantly answers.

"What? What are you on about?"

"Alright," Tommy sighs, "I'm gonna tell you and you won't tell Polly, let me do it myself,"

"Tell what? Tommy- What the hell-"

"I'm moving out, Ada,"

"Why?!"

Tommy bites his inner cheek without an answer to give. He can't say because our grandad did the same or because I'm going mad in here, it would make him sound stupid.

"Because otherwise I'd have to pay a mulct,"

"What?! Tommy, why didn't you talk to Polly? Or to me? Do Arthur and John know that?"

"Just you,"

"My God," she scoffs, "we used to decide things together! Why didn't you call a family meeting?"

"A family meeting to decide if I should move or not? I'm not a kid, Ada, I don't need the family's permission,"

"Alright then, I'll call Polly and you'll tell that to her face!"

As Ada leaves the bedroom, Tommy tries to call her out of it, it's useless though, the Shelbys are stubborn and strong-willed, it runs the family.

In the meantime he hears Polly's steps coming upstairs, he lights up a cigarette, thinking that another whiskey glass could help him through a difficult conversation.

"Ada told me you're moving out," his aunt closes the door behind her back, "speak out, your aunt is listening,"

"I told her to not tell you yet,"

"She's just upset you're leaving, probably thought that now things would go back to normal,"

"I don't think they ever will, Pol," he admits.

"I know, that's why you're going away," she sits beside him, "tell me about your house, is it big?"

"Quite, yeah, a living room, kitchen, bathroom, two bedrooms and a garden,"

"Where is it?"

"Where else? Warwick,"

"Tommy, that's nearly an hour away from here!"

"Yep, you have to go away to escape from the city smoke,"

"Fuck, you're right," Polly suspires, "I suppose I didn't do bad then,"

"What do you mean?"

"I wasn't going to tell, but I looked for a nurse to keep an eye on you,"

"Fucking hell," he complains, "I'm not sick,"

"You'll be if you don't sleep, she'll be here by four o'clock,"

"Well, I'll be in Warwick at this hour,"

"I'll give her a call and tell your new address,"

"I don't need a babysitter," he insists.

"Give it a shot, Tommy, the first two months are already paid off,"

"And where did this cash come from?"

"The same place where you got the cash to pay rent, the family's savings,"

"It's a fucking waste, dismiss her and get it back,"

"If she tell me you're fine then we dismiss her the next month,"

"You'd rather believe a stranger than me?"

"Tommy," she smirks, "you're my nephew, but you're also a bloody liar,"

"Uhm," he smiles and nods, unable to deny the truth.

"You already packed your bags, so when are you going?"

"After I help Finn to revise his fucking letter,"

"You should take him with you,"

"What?"

"Yeah, at least until John comes back, it'll be one less child for me to take care of," noticing Tommy's unwillingness, she continues, "you used to be so close when he was a baby, what changed?"

"He's not a baby anymore,"

"If you spent time together you'd know he is,"

The sunset is near when Tommy parks the car in front of his new house. The bags are on the backseat and Finn is sitting beside him with a backpack of clothes.

"Where am I going to sleep?" the boy asks.

"On the sofa," Tommy answers while climbing out of the car.

"You said there were two bedrooms!"

"There are, but it's not for you,"

"Why?!"

"We'll host a woman,"

"Oh, a woman?" Finn giggles, "Like Greta?"

Tommy's heart aches at the mention of his past lover. A characteristic pout forms on his lips as he unlocks the front door, he doesn't want to bring back such poor memories in a moment of new beginnings.

"No," he quietly says, "not like Greta."

The brothers bring their bags inside and settle themselves in the bedroom, Finn leaves his backpack in Tommy's wardrobe and both walk to the living room.

Tommy looks around without a clue of what to do, he had never moved to another house before.

"What now?" Finn asks.

"Why don't you go play outside?"

"I have no friends in here, nor toys," he sits on the sofa, "and I'm hungry,"

"Fuck, right," Tommy whispers to himself, then instructs, "take some shillings from my wallet and go buy things to make- uhm- soup,"

"Like what? And where?" Finn pouts.

"Garlic, tomatoes, onions and potatoes, at that small market we drove by, go on,"

"Do you even know how to make soup, Tom?"

"'Of course I do,"

"Fine," the boy whines.

Finn makes his leave and Tommy heads to the kitchen. He opens the empty cabinets and runs a fingertip on its surface, as he expected, the furniture is covered in dust.

He sighs with frustration before cleaning it with his own handkerchief, the expensive cloth shouldn't be used this way, but he has no other option.

Ten, twenty, thirty minutes pass and Tommy finishes cleaning the kitchen, he checks if the stove is working and waits for Finn to come back.

Outside, the boy carrying two paper bags walks slowly. Arriving in front of the house, Finn finds a lady with a suitcase.

"Excuse me," she calls, "I'm looking for Thomas Shelby, I was told he lives here,"

"Who are you?" he questions.

"I'm Y/N, a woman called Elizabeth Gray hired me to look after her nephew,"

"Oh…okay, come in," Finn awkwardly guides the lady in, Tommy didn't tell him they would host a nurse.

They enter the house in silence, he puts the heavy bags on the floor before calling, "Tom? Y/N is here!"

Tommy comes from the kitchen with a frown, but when his eyes meet her figure, he freezes for a second, questioning where the hell Polly found that woman.

Her widened eyes hold perceptible sadness, her white dress exposes her silhouette and matches the ring on her finger. She is too young to work as a home nurse, it could be dangerous for a beautiful lady like her.

She stares back at him, also surprised, nearly confused. The man before her eyes seems to be in his early thirties and have no need for special care, on contrary, his posture gives the impression he should be someone to be wary of. Then, she notices,

Blue.

His eyes are blue.

"Mr. Shelby?" she hesitantly calls.

"Yeah," he falls off his trance, "you must be Y/N,"

"Yeah, nice to meet you," she shakes his hand.

Tommy politely nods and they get awkwardly silent.

"Mrs. Gray said-"

"She paid you two months, yeah," he interrupts.

"Uhmm, Tommy?" Finn calls.

"Yeah?"

"Will you make the soup now?"

Both adults chuckle, relieved the kid cut the tension.

"Are you his father?" Y/N asks.

"Brother," Tommy explains, "Finn, show Y/N her room while I make your bloody soup, eh?"

"Oh, I can help, I love cooking," she offers, "if you can wait some more, of course,"

Finn looks between the nurse and his brother and shrugs off, "If you're a good cook,"

TRTP MASTERLIST - MAIN MASTERLIST

#tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinder fanfic #the road to peace #civilian!tommy au

64 notes · View notes

laracrofted · 1 year

Text

baby, i'm high octane (ii)

synopsis: nora recovers from friday night and in an attempt to evade a persistent jake, she overplays her hand.

pairings: jake seresin x nora rogers (oc)

warnings: 18+, minors dni, explicit language, existential dread, mentions of alcohol consumption and hangovers, more slutty (affectionate) rooster, not a love triangle though, eventual smut in later chapters. set after the movie, so spoilers!

note: reading everyone's comments on the first chapter made my whole week. thank you for all the love! i'm aiming for six chapters total.

previous chapter | series post | next chapter

tagging: @theharddeck @rolycolysficrecs @t-nd-rfoot @double-j @bioodforbiood and a few of the people who reblogged which motivated me to keep posting (@princessphilly @winterrebel04 @deadratio @a-littlebit-ofeverything @wildxwidow) and as usual, let me know if you want to be added or removed!

Gulls caw in the distance, and over the ongoing buzzing sound from the mounted AC unit on the wall, Nora can almost imagine the sound of the ocean waves, crashing onto the shore, pulling back out to sea in an endless white noise machine. It is so peaceful here.

Could get used to this, Nora thinks, nuzzling further into the sheets, tucking her hand under her head. Letting out a gentle sigh like an actress in some cheesy Tempur-Pedic commercial.

A persistent knock-knock-knock starts up again.

“Fuck off, asshole,” Nora grumbles, voice scratchy from sleep and alcohol. She blindly fumbles for her phone, buried under the pillows, and a cheery 8:24 AM shines from the screen, along with a 10% battery notification. She must’ve forgotten to charge it after the Hard Deck last night.

Plugging it in, Nora casts it aside, pulls a pillow over her head, and tries her best to ignore the steady pounding at the front door. Probably a delivery person with the wrong address. They’ll go away.

She hopes.

It continues for another two minutes with no signs of stopping soon, and finally, Nora gives up and drags herself out of bed with an overdramatic groan, leaving behind a pile of sheets and pillows that cartwheel from the mattress in her wake. She ignores them.

Muttered curses spill from her chapped lips the whole way down the short hall that connects the bedroom to the living room and kitchen. She can feel the telltale tightness in her forehead that often signals an oncoming headache. Pressure expands in her skull like a hot air balloon.

Another knock, and Nora is close to blowing a fuse.

“Heard you the first 50 fucking times. I’ll be there in a second!”

She doesn’t even bother to look through the peephole – which, in hindsight, is probably unsafe – before unlatching the door and turning the lock in two jerking motions. Throws the door open without a warning, and unfortunately, Bradley Bradshaw doesn’t so much as lose his balance, freezing in place with a half-raised fist, ready to knock again.

It is exceptionally bright outside, and Nora holds up a hand to block the light to keep her eyes from watering. It is a little hard to give someone a full-force death glare with tears streaming from the corners of her eyes.

“It’s 8:30 in the morning. What could you possibly want?”

He is still wearing the same sunglasses from last night, and Nora wants to ask if Bradley sleeps in those things too. They seem to be perpetually glued to his face. He tugs them down his nose with a crooked finger, looking her over: oversized NYU shirt that’s better than any nightgown on the market, pale tangles that desperately need a comb and some anti-frizz oil, and finally, an unimpressed scowl on her face, promising violence.

He smiles wide and obnoxious, without self-preservation, and Nora briefly wonders if Admiral Simpson would fire her for decking a Naval officer. “Morning to you too, sunshine. Did I wake you?” She glares at him, and Bradley holds up the cardboard carrier in his left hand like a shield. “Coffee?”

Coffee is his saving grace and the only reason Nora decides to let him into the apartment, weighing the pounding in her head against the tease of a good cold brew and begrudgingly stepping out of the threshold. He moseys on over to the kitchen, whistling a jolly tune, and Nora retreats back down the hall to throw on some pants and wash the sleep from her eyes.

Mascara’s still crusted under her eyelashes from last night, and Nora scowls at her reflection in the bathroom all the same. Her flushed cheeks are pillow-creased, lined with red patches and indents from a really good, really hard slumber. Bradley interrupted a jet lag and hangover double feature. They should make laws against that sort of thing.

She pulls on a pair of loose sweat shorts, tightening the drawstring, and returns to the living room a new woman. Feeling better after splashing some cold water on her cheeks and wrestling her hair into a loose braid. Significantly less disoriented, but unfortunately for Bradley, no less annoyed.

He is lounging across the pale blue couch, like a house cat in a warm patch of sunlight, making himself right at home in her living room. He spots her on approach and reading something in her sour expression that promises a slow and painful end if Nora doesn’t have that coffee in her hand in about five seconds, gives a silent nod to the coffee table.

She sinks to the carpet on the opposite side of the table, tucking her legs underneath her weight, cross-legged. Carpet fibers scratch against her bare legs, and for a brief moment, Nora regrets both not having more pairs of full-length sweatpants in her suitcase and not forcing him to move off the couch.

Free food is enough of a consolation, and after a moment of quiet contemplation, poking around various brown paper bags, Nora finds an everything bagel with cream cheese and a cold brew. It’d be better with a splash of oat milk and a little vanilla, but Nora hasn’t been here long enough to get to the grocery store.

Bradley tucks his sunglasses into the neck of his dark blue United States Navy shirt – at least, not paired with a Hawaiian shirt this time – and reaches for a grease-soaked wrapper labeled BEC. It leaves a smudge of wet condensation behind on the table, and Nora holds back a sigh.

She might not own that couch, but Nora doesn’t want to spend the next two months sitting on stained cushions that smell like singed cheddar and bacon grease. Thinking about it is enough to make her gag a little or – Nora takes a deliberate sip of coffee to wash the rising nausea down – maybe it is the four Old Fashioned hangover talking there.

A haphazard stack of crumpled napkins sits on the table, and Nora plucks one from the top and flattens it against the surface. Holds it between two fingers and shakes it in his direction for a good 20 seconds until Bradley takes it, making a choked sound that sounds suspiciously like a laugh.

“So,” Nora starts, between delicate nibbles of the bagel. Cream cheese spills onto her fingers. She makes a point to wipe it off with a napkin, not licking it from her fingers like a hungover gremlin. She has more dignity than that. “What’s with the room service? Did you kill my cat or something?”

He’d been chewing a mouthful of bagel. Doesn’t even bother to swallow before asking something unintelligible and taking another overlarge bite, dark brows raised like Nora should’ve totally gotten all that.

Sometimes, Nora just wants to… “Chew with your mouth closed, Bradshaw.” He shrugs and kicks his socked feet onto the edge of the table. She swats them away from her food and more importantly, away from the coffee. If Bradley knocks her coffee onto the floor – onto the carpet, mind you – even Admiral Simpson won’t be able to save him. Something occurs to her all of the sudden. “How come you’re not comatose right now? You were so drunk last night.”

“Pilots have great metabolism, baby.”

He shoots her a wink between bites, and Nora wrinkles her nose.

“Right. Sorry I asked.”

Unbothered, Bradley explains: “Couldn’t find my keys, so I had to sleep on Payback’s couch last night. Crazy bastard gets up at the crack of dawn every morning to go sit on the beach and practice mindfulness.” He says it with such disdain, like a borrowed phrase. Payback is… Reuben, right? He must be the one to call it that. “Kicked me out onto the street, and I had to find my way home.”

“You all live in the same building. Here.”

“I know…” Bradley lets out a forlorn sigh. Sets the greasy bagel down in his lap, as if remembering such a dark ordeal made him lose his appetite. “It was awful.”

Such a drama queen. Nora rolls her eyes.

“Totally get it. I didn’t have the best morning either,” Nora replies mildly, sending him a pointed look. “Some asshole wouldn’t stop pounding at my door at like 8:30 in the morning. He also didn’t answer my question.”

“What question?”

Nora sends him an unimpressed look, and Bradley folds like a lawn chair.

“Fine.” Bradley blows out a long breath, shaking out his legs, and in the up-down shift of his thigh, the bagel comes that much closer to being in immediate danger of sliding from his athletic shorts onto the cushion. Her left eye twitches a little. “I was pretty drunk last night, and Phoenix gave me an earful this morning. Something about being an overbearing asshole and ruining her chances of making new non-male friends.”

He pitches his voice up an octave in an impression that sounds nothing at all like the smooth, cooler than you voice of the female aviator, but Nora rewards his effort with a tired smile.

“Think I overdid it too,” Nora admits, “I underestimated the lethal jet lag and alcohol combo. You weren’t so bad…” She remembers the heated back-and-forth at the end of the night. “Except that little display between you and…”

It’s Jake. Lieutenant Jake Seresin, said low and intent in her ear, and Nora can almost feel the vibration of the warm words against her throat.

She clears her throat. “...Hangman. What was that all about?”

“That was…” Bradley sucks down the rest of the bacon, egg, and cheese bagel and balls up the discarded wrapper. He overhand tosses it into the nearest trash can. It misses by a good foot, bouncing on the kitchen tile and rolling out of sight under a cabinet. She tries not to laugh. “We only started to tolerate each other pretty recently, since the October mission really. He used to be a real asshole, got a kick out of showing me up, and I guess I just… It really had more to do with him than you. ‘M sorry about that.”

“Apology accepted. Both in verbal and bagel form.”

“Got a banana bread too.”

Her brows raise, and Bradley bends to push a tan pastry bag across the table. She peers inside, breaking off a large chunk and popping it into her mouth. Cinnamon coats her fingers.

“Wow,” Nora says, both to the gesture and the banana bread. “You either felt really bad or are really scared of me. Am I really that scary, Bradshaw?”

“Nope, but Phoenix is.”

She grins. Now that Nora believes.

He doesn’t stay long, less than an hour, but in that time, Bradley fills her in on the last year or so of his life in here in San Diego. All of the Daggers were sent back to their squadrons after the October detachment – only for Maverick to call him up two months later and tell him that Cyclone wanted to pull most of them back to North Island to form an official squadron.

“Some of them,” Bradley explains, “are still finishing up missions with their old squadrons. Maverick’s busting his ass to get them transferred here later in the year. Hopefully sooner.”

Callsigns that Nora doesn’t recognize like Coyote, Fritz, and Halo come up in that category.

He seems to be in a much better place with Captain Mitchell than the last time Nora saw him. He used to duck out of those Naval parties early if the infamous Maverick was rumored to show his face, and now, Bradley is working under the man, taking orders from him.

She asks if Bradley has forgiven and forgotten, remembering how Bradley had seemed to hate his godfather. It’s a lot of bad blood to put aside.

He pauses in thought, staring into space for a long moment.

Eventually, Bradley says, “I don’t know about that. Total forgiveness is a ways off, but I was willing to try if Maverick was,” and Nora tamps down the journalistic urge to pry deeper into that and changes the subject.

Naturally, Bradley has some follow-up questions about the documentary and what exactly Nora will be doing on the base, having only caught fragments of her conversation with Bob last night.

She explains it in bits and pieces: a Naval sponsored project with a goal run-time of around 30 to 40 minutes for the YouTube audience, versus the Oscar hopefuls and Netflix specials that ran in the 60 to 120 range. She’ll be on the base with them every day for the next eight weeks, observing them in their day-to-day environment and sitting down with them for interviews at some point. Getting to know the men and women who made up Naval Aviation’s newest and most elite – repeated with a wry smile and a knowing look to check his ego – squadron.

She’ll have a small production crew, joining her later in the week to take care of the lighting and sound logistics that are as important to a successful feature as the script and the camera work. Two guys, based out of Los Angeles who’ve worked on similar projects before. They’ll come armed with the equipment and the expertise to manage what the magazine expects to be a huge part of the documentary: capturing footage of the Naval aviators in their other natural habit, soaring through California’s blue skies in an F-18.

He takes it all in with a surprisingly attentive expression and minimal interruptions. Can’t blame him for the excited flood of follow-up questions after Nora mentions the in-air footage. She thinks all Naval aviators probably wanted to be Hollywood action heroes in another life.

Bradley doesn’t ask why Nora would take such a random pause in her seemingly blossoming career to come out here and do something like this, and Nora doesn’t offer it up either. They move on.

Around 9:20 AM, Bradley mentions running a few errands and hitting the gym with Payback and Fanboy. It is a vital part of their usual Saturday morning routine to stay so shredded, Bradley claims. He doesn’t say the last part quite like that, but Nora can make her own conclusions.

Are all Naval aviators immune to hangovers? It’s hard enough for her to push to her feet and walk him the whole five feet to the door. She can’t imagine doing a full resistance workout right now.

Lingering in the threshold, Bradley is tall and broad enough to shield her from most of the light that pours in, arms stretched out to grasp either side of the door frame.

He unfolds his sunglasses with one hand, sliding them back over his eyes, and Nora doesn’t trust the mischievous expression on his face. Not for a second. He leans down, bringing his face closer to hers. A crooked grin hangs from his lips, and Nora narrows her eyes.

“What’re you doing later tonight? Still got the Bronco.”

He’s about as subtle as a freight train, and Nora gives him a blank stare. “Really, Bradshaw? You had to go there, didn’t you? We were having such a nice little catching-up moment here.”

“Seemed worth a shot.” Bradley shrugs, still grinning. “No then?”

“It is a definite no.”

Harmless flirtation was all well and good, but in the light of morning, Nora doesn’t plan to take it any further than that. Well… Take it any further than that again. It is easy enough to chalk up any potential interest from last night to exhaustion, too many drinks, and the fact that Bradley is the only familiar face Nora has seen on North Island.

Lieutenant Jake Seresin, on the other hand…

She’s less sure about that. She’ll cross that bridge on Monday.

“Understood.” Bradley nods, looking unbothered. “Let me know if you change your mind because I did get the back seats redone recently if you’re…”

Nora cuts him off with an emphatic, “Goodbye, Bradley” and shoves him out into the sunlight with a hand on his chest. She shuts the door behind him, ignoring the disembodied snicker from behind the door, and looks around the living room, warming up with the promise of noon in the near future.

She is wide awake now, and in an ideal world, Nora might shower and spend the rest of the day out and about, seeing the sights and getting used to being back on American soil. Check out the darling little coffee shops and boutiques in the Gaslamp Quarter. Pick up her rental from the San Diego airport and drive up the PCH to Del Mar for dinner in that little beachside seafood restaurant Mom always loved.

Instead, Nora clears the trash from the coffee table and snags the second pastry bag containing what looks like a half-melted chocolate croissant, before crawling back into bed. Fishes her laptop from her backpack and by the opening credits of Ocean’s Eleven, Nora is fast asleep again.

Monday comes in a blink, and at 7:30 AM on the dot, Nora is walking across the Naval Base to meet Captain Mitchell. Dressed in her favorite button-down – buttoned over a neutral tank, in case the San Diego heat decides to be especially brutal this afternoon – and wide-leg trousers. Hair flowing around her shoulders. She has an iced coffee in one hand, resting the other on the strap of her black Madewell backpack.

It is big enough to fit the essentials – camera, water bottle, laptop, chapstick, claw clip, chargers, a million extra pens, etc. – but slim enough to not make Nora feel like an undergrad walking home from their last lecture of the afternoon.

She recognizes Pete Mitchell in an instant, pulling into the parking lot on a motorcycle in the same jacket that Nora had seen hanging off Penny Benjamin’s shoulders on Friday night. He has a few more wrinkles and a few more grey hairs, but Pete is a spitting image of his 20-something self from Charlie’s old Top Gun photo album. He holds himself in the exact same here. Like a firecracker burning down the fuse, seconds from ricocheting off the damn walls and waiting for everyone else to realize.

Even so, Nora can’t look at him without flashing back to sitting on the roof of Aunt Charlie’s suburban home as a 17-year-old. She snuck an illicit cigarette on the same night that Pete Mitchell came to ‘visit’ Charlie and ‘catch up for old times’ sake’ during his DC trip. And watched the illustrious Naval aviator slink from a second-floor window in his underwear, only to immediately trip over a knee-high shrub and scatter his clothes across the lawn, before picking them up – leaves and all – and hopping on his rented motorcycle.

Good times.

Seeing Pete again goes as well as Nora could’ve hoped. Always the professional during billable hours, Nora takes it upon herself to extend the olive branch. She orders him a cordial handshake and the promised well wishes, in case Penny Benjamin hasn’t had the chance to pass them along.

Pete Mitchell greets her with a genuine if slightly awkward close-lipped smile and gets right down to business, sparing them from further awkwardness. He offers her a quick tour around the building, pointing out all the important spots – like the main cafeteria, closest women’s locker room and bathroom, vending machine – and fills the silence with short anecdotes. Some of them are even clever. She makes a note to ask him to repeat one or two during the on-camera interviews in the coming weeks.

“We’ll set you up in a temporary space in here during the week,” Pete Mitchell explains, propping open the door to the Ready Room so Nora can peer inside. Not a single inch of white wall is wasted in the room, decorated meticulously with rows and rows of framed photographs. Is it aircraft carriers? Combat jets? She steps in to give the ones closest to the door a better look and sees TOP GUN, CLASS 07-1989 in neat black type, underneath a faded photograph of men in uniforms.

“You’ll be able to listen in on the radio during the drills and talk to some of the pilots in their downtime. Good view of the tarmac too.” Pete pauses, sounding slightly uncertain. “Did you need a real office? We might have an empty one somewhere or…”

Her ‘office space’ looks to be little more than a small fold-up table in the back corner of the room, hidden between the bar and the windows with a chair on either side. It is better than being elbow to elbow back in the cheap seats of a sardine can airplane. At least the Ready Room has some natural light and a rotating fan.

Nora shakes her head. “I’ve done with more with less, but I appreciate it.”

He seems disproportionately pleased by that response, but Nora doesn’t have much time to ponder it before Captain Mitchell is leading them down the stairs and onto the next few stops.

He ends the tour in the Debriefing Room, waving her in ahead of him and crossing the room to the podium.

And with approximately eight thousand screens behind him, like the goddamn Batcave, Captain Mitchell explains, “We start our days in here at 0800 hours. We’ll usually go over the drill schedule for the morning and afternoon, and if anything needed a special emphasis from the day before, run through a few simulations, but I’ll make it quick today. Let you run through the basics with the team.”

He picks up a remote and starts clicking buttons left and right to turn on the screens. “We’ve got a few minutes to kill. Make yourself comfortable.”

Nora finds the seat in the back of the room that’s closest to an outlet and sinks into it. It’s not hard to make herself comfortable in a chair that feels like a first-class airplane seat. She pops open her laptop, dives into a mountain of reminders, emails, and reference notes, and doesn’t reemerge until after the six Daggers have trickled in for the 8:00 AM meeting.

Pete Mitchell gives his opening remarks, and as promised, soon enough, Nora is standing at the front of the room, resting her hands on the camera hanging around her neck. She looks out at the rows of familiar faces and opens with a casual, “Hello, I’m Nora Rogers. Nice to meet you in a place that doesn’t have the soundtrack of a John Hughes movie.”

Mickey chuckles in the third row, along with Natasha and Bob on the other side of the aisle. A certain someone is parked right in the front row, like a straight-A student, but Nora doesn’t look to see if Jake laughs.

She gets through her usual spiel in record time, walking them through the same basics that Nora pitched to Bob on Friday and Bradley on Saturday. It was good practice in hindsight, giving her the confidence to say it all with ease in front of a live studio audience.

They are surprisingly attentive.

Her 8:10 AM introduction turns into an 8:15 to 8:53 AM Q&A session – Mickey is either really curious about the logistics of the in-air footage or really does not want to start the drills for the day – and afterward, the Daggers who are scheduled for the AM drills head to the locker rooms, and Nora follows Phoenix and Bob to the Ready Room, dropping her backpack onto one of the couches and setting off to explore the base with her camera in hand.

Over the weekend, Nora had developed a mental checklist of tasks for her first day, so when Bob had ever so politely raised his hand and asked if the Daggers should prepare for any interviews this week, Nora had an answer for him.

“Not this week. I’ll be playing the role of location scout for the first few days, getting to know your routines and scoping out the best locations on the base to do the interviews.” She’ll want one for each solo pilot and each tandem team. “And I’ll be developing a shot list.

Not a single ounce of comprehension in those stares.

“It’s like… a guide that’ll make out what I want to film, where I want to film it, and all that good stuff. Like…” She didn’t know enough about the Navy to make a good comparison. “It’s a guide.”

Wandering around the base, Nora gets a solid start on it, snapping pictures of the more cinematic spaces, looking for the exact right spot to pushpin for the interviews.

Just after 11:30 AM, Nora ducks back into the Ready Room to switch out her camera battery and write down her notes, and sitting side by side at the counter, Natasha and Bob greet her with warm smiles and hellos, then duck their heads back together in front of the radio. She catches phrases like fin flash and Cobra maneuver.

She feels a little out of her depth – and playing the part of both filmmaker and location scout this week, a little behind in both roles, but Nora moves her backpack to the makeshift desk and pours herself a coffee from the half-full pot on the counter, settling down and popping her earbuds in.

Time to get to work, Rogers.

She is busy typing away at her laptop, and so focused that when Natasha tries to grab her attention a little while later, the Naval aviator has to wave a hand in front of Nora's face.

Nora removes her earbuds with a sheepish expression, and Natasha says, “They’re headed back down, so Bob and I were going to grab coffee and pick up some lunch off-base to bring back. Want us to get you anything?”

As if on cue, Nora’s stomach grumbles.

Natasha passes over her phone, saying, “You’ll need my number anyway for our movie night, because yes, I will be holding you to that promise,” and after Nora enters her number with a smile, Natasha and Bob clear out, mentioning something about grabbing Rooster from the gym on their way out.

She makes sure to pull up the menu from the cafe Natasha mentioned and text her coffee and lunch order – along with a few back-up options just in case – to the newly saved contact. And then, Nora slides her laptop to the side, still offloading the photos from the morning, and opens her notebook on the table, flattening it between a vending machine granola bar and the barely touched coffee.

Let’s just say… Nora is looking forward to the off-base coffee.

Biting down on the edge of her thumb, Nora looks down at the page, reviewing her transcribed notes. Twirls a Pilot G2 pen with the fingers of her opposite hand, thinking hard.

Someone approaches the other side of the table, and Nora catches a glimpse of an olive green flight suit, sleeves knotted around the waist. She, perhaps childishly, decides to pretend not to see him. He, irritatingly, decides to make that impossible.

“We can’t keep meeting like this, sweetheart.”

Calloused fingers curl around the back of the chair, and on the third finger, gleams a large sapphire, set in an ornate ring with the words United States Naval Academy skirting the edges.

If Nora hadn’t recognized him by the sound of his voice, that smooth as melted butter and brown sugar accent, or the flirtatious sweetheart, the Naval Academy ring would be a dead giveaway.

She looks up, and Lieutenant Jake Seresin flashes her a smile that’s all teeth, gleaming white. She almost expects a cartoon ding to pierce through the steady rattling of the fans. Someone get this man a box of Crest 3D White and a brand deal stat.

Sweat glints from his brow, down his neck, where Nora can just make out the silver chain of his dog tags disappearing into the collar of the black t-shirt. She wonders if Jake skipped the locker room and came straight here after landing his F-18.

She doesn’t have much time to wonder what that might mean because Jake pulls the chair out in one smooth flourish and plops down. It rocks under the sudden weight. He curls his arms behind his head and laces his fingers at his nape.

Is that to counterbalance, Nora wonders, or to show off his obscenely ripped biceps in that short sleeve shirt? Better call in Benoit Blanc to solve this one.

“Hi Lieutenant. We’ve only met once,” Nora says, returning to her scribbles, finishing up the tail end of an earlier thought with an aggressive period. “Hardly enough times to create a pattern, don’t you think?”

“Maybe not,” Jake concedes, still smiling that plastic smile. His eyes look even greener in the early afternoon light, a stark contrast to the artificial glow of the Hard Deck. “Consider this: If you’ve got your head buried in that notebook of yours every time I come around to say hello, I might start to feel a little ignored.” God forbid. “You’re fixing to bruise a man’s ego, honey.”

What is with this man and the pet names?

She adds an unnecessary flourish to an existing exclamation point on the page, turning the dot into a little heart. It’s a good enough excuse to avoid eye contact with him. “You don’t strike me as a man who’s ever had his ego bruised.”

“You ditching me over at the bar to have your happy little reunion with Rooster gave me a twinge. We were just getting to talking.” He taps a flat palm over his heart to illustrate his point. “It hurt. Right here.”

She replies coolly. “You seem to have recovered just fine.”

“Don’t know about that,” Jake drawls, accent thick as molasses. He fishes a toothpick from one of the many, many pockets in his flight suit and sets it between his teeth. Smirks around it. “Might need some sexy as hell documentary filmmaker to come around and kiss me all better.”

She is pressing down so hard with the pen that Nora wouldn’t surprised if the cartridge broke and spilled ink across the lined paper. It’d be some sort of cosmic reckoning for allowing him to talk to her like this when Nora’d vowed to shut it down at the first hint of dimples and a crooked smile.

Nora bends her head, brushing her hair over her ear. “She’s working.”

“Who said I was talking about you?”

Surprise makes her mouth gape open, a stuttered sound escaping from between her lips without her consent, and Nora promptly snaps it shut, biting down on her cheek before Jake can realize that yeah, maybe Nora does reluctantly find him amusing.

It doesn’t seem to work, and Jake traps the toothpick in a grin.

“Asshole,” Nora laughs, shaking her head. “Did you actually need something or are you just here to cause trouble?”

A muscle jumps in his jaw and Jake rocks forward to plant his elbows on the table, chair legs cracking against the linoleum. He leans in, and Nora is grateful to have the table between them. It’s a barrier of sorts.

“When can I see you again?”

Oh, Nora thinks, grin sliding from her face. We’re doing this right now.

She’d thought Jake at least wait until after business hours to make any reference to Friday night, but no, apparently not. She wants… Never mind that. She needs to shut this down before Jake gets the wrong idea. She’s here to work, not flirt with him.

Charming as the good Lieutenant might be.

Handsome too.

Goddammit.

“Tomorrow,” Nora answers without missing a beat, and the victorious light that shines in his eyes is short-lived. “Weren’t you listening this morning? I’ll be on the base every day. Same as you.”

Rejection rolls off his back like water off a duck. “How about 6:30 tonight?”

“How about…” Nora leans over and taps the touchpad on her laptop, checking on the download progress of the 100+ photos. It is less than 60% complete and offers her no help. “…never because I am here to work, and I don’t have time to go to dinner with you. I’m already behind.”

Confusion wrinkles his brow. “How could you be behind? You just started.”

She shrugs. It seems too hard to explain, but Nora always feels behind.

“Coffee then?”

“Jake,” Nora tries for stern and lands somewhere closer to begrudging amusement, and judging from the smirk that spreads across his face, activating his dimples, Jake can hear it in her voice. Damn. “I’m serious.”

“So am I.” He grabs one of her pens from the open pouch, half-clicking and releasing the end a few times, and Nora resists the urge to snatch it from his hands. “I want to get to know you better. What’s wrong with that?”

“You’ll see me every day on the base. Isn’t that enough?”

“Not by a long shot.”

God. He really, really is persistent.

She had a chance to comb through the redacted files over the weekend, learn a little bit about the different members of the Dagger Squadron in preparation for Monday. Lieutenant Jake Seresin, a skilled pilot with a reputation for leaving his teammates in lurch during drills and despite his penchant for not playing well with the team, an occasional doer of good deeds. Something had earned him that medal back in October.

And between Friday at the Hard Deck and what Bradley had said on Saturday, Nora had even more information to add to this mental profile of him. He was an incorrigible flirt with a competitive streak, one that seemed to be particularly activated by Bradley Bradshaw for one reason or another, and given that Friday had inadvertently revealed a certain familiarity between her and the man in question, Nora didn’t have to be a PhD applicant to connect a few dots.

“Listen, Lieutenant,” Nora starts, defaulting to his rank to create some much needed distance between them. His first name is starting to feel… overly familiar. She can only blame herself for that one.

He shoots her down in an instant. “Jake.”

“Right. Listen, Jake.” Nora lets out a slightly exasperated breath that only serves to make him look that much more amused. “I am here to work.”

“So I keep hearing.”

Her lips quirk, and again, Nora bites the inside of her cheek.

“And,” Nora continues, tasting a little copper in her mouth, “I really don’t have any plans to be caught in the middle of some pissing contest between you and your teammate. It’s not my idea of a good time, believe it or not.”

It looks to be a great show of willpower that Jake manages not to ask her to explain her definition of a good time, with pictures and supplementary examples, if available. He twirls the toothpick around his teeth.

“Who, Rooster? He’s the one who was show-boating at the Hard Deck and trying to keep you all to himself after I…” She raises her eyebrows, and Jake lets the end of that sentence die, shifting into a cocky yet determined expression. “He’s got nothing to do with it. This is between you and me.”

She stares him down. “You’re right. It is between you and me, and between you and me…” Sometimes, Nora runs out of options, and the only one left is an outright lie. “I’m not interested. At all.”

Jake raises his brows, shooting them sky-high.

Disbelief colors his tone. “Is that right?”

“Yeah, I’m not,” Nora says, picking up her coffee and making herself drain a few gulps as a distraction. It is lukewarm and tastes god-awful. She drinks it like a fine champagne. “Cocky aviators who worship Quentin Tarantino just aren’t my type. You can take your toothpick and your…” She gestures to him as a whole, in all his general him-ness. “…elsewhere. Sorry, Tex.”

Something flits across his face, quick as lightning, and Nora instantly realizes her mistake. She drains the rest of the coffee in a few swallows and clamps her mouth shut to keep from coughing all over the table – or saying something else that’s equally as embarrassing as that.

A wide, insufferable smirk fills his face. “Someone’s been reading my file.”

She backpedals, with the speed of an Olympic cyclist who missed a turn. “Warlock gave me all of your files. I read all of them. It’s…. um, part of my job to know who I’m working with as a filmmaker.”

“Yeah, I bet.” Jake is still smirking. “Happen to remember where Payback’s from then? How about Fanboy?”

He’s got her there. She’s not too proud to admit that.

“Well, I…”

He waits a few seconds, brows raised, and Nora can’t manage to piece together even a half-baked guess. A wrong guess is probably more undignified than not bothering at all. She goes silent, and Jake nods, unbearably smug.

“That’s what I thought.”

She opens her mouth, looking for a last-ditch attempt to get her out of this, but Jake stands abruptly. He casts a feline smile down at Nora and drawls, “See you around, Hollywood.”

She frowns. “Hollywood?”

“Hollywood,” Jake confirms with a dip of his chin that gives no further explanation. He raps his knuckles on the tabletop once, twice, then strides over to the door, still spinning that damn toothpick around with his tongue.

And less than two minutes later, Natasha and Bob return to find Nora sitting in the exact same spot, a crumpled coffee cup balled up in her fist.

end note: likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. and if you have any thoughts and feelings, feel free to shout in my asks or my messages. i'd love to hear from you!

and for anyone who enjoys a slutty (affectionate, always) rooster, this chapter is more or less the end of the bradley x nora pairing (we're here for the jake fic, after all), but i am planning to write a smutty flashback one-shot for them.

read the next chapter!

#i'm fully aware hollywood is a character in the first movie #but i'm using the nickname anyway #because i like it 🤠#fic: baby i'm high octane #hangman x oc #jake seresin x oc #jake seresin x nora rogers #jake seresin fic #hangman fic #jake hangman seresin #top gun: maverick fic #laracrofted writes

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fareasterncurlew · 3 months

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My predictions for Komi's final 18 friends before 100. I feel we probably have already met all of them so far, so here who I think they'll be.

I don't think I have any wild predictions, but I'm posting this so I can see how wrong I was when the series eventually reaches it's conclusion.

Also, I started writing this before ch. 441 dropped, but the newest chapter has only made me more certain about my first guesses, which brings us to...

83: Maruko Tadano

Considering the current arc, this one seems pretty likely. We still don't know if she's related to Tadano (though I assume she is), maybe we'll learn next chapter when they inevitably become friends. That is, if the next chapter is about them at the family restaurant along with the next four...

84: Setsuko Hatohori (Egypt); 85: Sakura Sankoichi; 86: Tsubaki Sankoichi; 87: Ajisai Sankoichi

My theory is that Komi will befriend all the applicants from ch. 437 and we will continue to see them throughout the application process. I'm now even more sure of this after the recent ch. 441 and hopefully we see them again next chapter.

88: Nokoko Inaka

It's bound to happen at some point, I feel it will happen soon after the current arc but that's just a guess. I believe she's one of the most likely on this list to become Komi's friend, though maybe she'll sign her name a little later on.

Inaka has been around since being in Komi's first-year class, similar to my next entry...

89: Toshio Seikimatsu; 90: Hana Soboku

Seikimatsu has been around since the start of the manga and was the catalyst for Tadano starting conversation with Komi, that alone should be enough for him to be Komi's eventual friend. I hope he gets to take his girlfriend on a double date with Komi and Tadano like he wants, solidifying both as Komi's friends. They also both were with Komi, Tadano, and Kawai's group in ch. 403 & 402, and Soboku and Komi greeted each other in ch. 430.

91: Lily Sukida

Another character who has been around for a while. Sukida has popped up a lot so I assume Oda is planning on doing something with her character. Given that she currently doesn't approve of Komi's relationship with Tadano, I assume that will have to be resolved before they become friends.

I wonder if Sukida would have reacted differently in ch. 423 if Komi had questioned her with Rumiko instead of Tadano (she was okay with Tadano pretend dating Rumiko in ch. 433, why not herself?) but I digress, seeing Miss Tadano / Tadano in the girls' uniform again was nice too and perhaps will be part of how they'll later become friends.

92: Goro Suteno; 93: Hajime Gokudo; 94: Yae Hamaki; 95: Makina Kusari

These four have been in the story since the start of second year and have had an ongoing plotline focused on Katai.

My prediction is that upon realising Katai isn't Komi they'll assume Komi is some sort of delinquent mastermind controlling Katai from the shadows, or something silly like that, and choose to "work for her" (sign her book).

They're not the most talked about when considering possible friends, but I think they have a reasonable chance considering their current thing is, while being a misunderstanding, focused around "Komi." Speaking of characters I don't see often being brought up in these discussions...

96: Miwa Omojiri

A little outside Komi's normal friendship age range, but she recently befriended Michita so we know Komi doesn't exclude older friends. She's been around awhile, I think she could make a good friend if she had another chapter or two.

She's also the only character (besides Shiina) yet to become a friend who has their name in ch. 416.

Also in ch. 416, in the background, you can see Inaka as well as the next entry...

97: Komorebi Hiki; 98: Susumi Shujo; 99: Aoi Netsuno

Hiki and Susumi will undoubtably be a friend after ch. 436's last page. I presume Aoi will join them later and also become Komi's friend.

Considering how Oda likes to number the friends I think the order of these three will go "Hiki, Susumi, Aoi;" this is part of the reason why I don't think Hiki will be friend 100. Which leads us to...

100: Muzuka Shiina

Who didn't see this one coming? I know other people also suspect Shiina will be friend 100, and I agree. I wonder what's holding Shiina back from considering Komi a friend, hopefully we'll see when she inevitably becomes one.

This is all the friends up to 100. If this is where the manga chooses to finish this is how I think the list will go. However, I have another theory...

101: Yo Fuki; 102: Teruyoshi Jimochi; 103: Maheto Haheto; 104: Luna Neguse; 105: Fukuyoka Muchi; 106: Kanchi Gai; 107: Yakugaku Komata; 108: Hamaru Tsubo; 109: Shota Kori; 110: Takaomo Fuechi; 111: Kaoru Fukitsu; 112: Marin Saotome

Yep, I think all the other class 3-1 students will be Komi's friend as well. My theory is that upon almost reaching her goal, Komi will become closer with her classmates and want to become friends with all of them, but can't because of her arbitrary goal. Perhaps Shiina will make her realise that making 100 be the limit is silly and prompt her to become friends with the rest similar to ch. 323.

There are some other characters that could be candidates if Komi made more than 100 friends, but this post is getting long already.

Anyway, that's my silly little theory on who the last Komi friends will be. Hope you enjoyed reading :).

Most of these are pretty safe bets. I wonder what differences other peoples lists have to mine.

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gaygryffindorgal · 4 months

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A Christmas Prince; The Royal Wedding

Chapter 6: Two Sides of the Same Coin

Summary: Dawn is missing and Quincey and Evander both face challenges of their own.

A/N: It's the customary Quincey chapter! This time with a little Evander twist... It's way past Christmas at this point but this is the second to last chapter and I'm hoping to post the last one as soon as I'm able. This story had a lot of moving parts and I've had to leave many things out simply because I haven't had the time to write. If you're sick of Christmas stuff already, I acknowledge your suffering but I do not apologize😂

Words: 2.8k

Characters:

Dawn Harvelle, Rosa Yaxley, and Evander Alderly by @potionboy3

Quincey, Olympia, and Isabella Alderly, Tess Brandon

Rocky Weasley by @magicallymalted

Pandora Lovelace by@gcldensnitch

Beginning | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Want to read the first fic in the series, A Christmas Prince? Click here!

Chapter 6: Two Sides of the Same Coin

Quincey

Quincey could safely say that he was not having a good day. Of course, he understood that Dawn wasn’t used to the kind of rigorous protocol that life at court demanded but what he couldn’t understand was why he had insisted on going out on some crazy adventure the previous night. Anything could have happened. After the unpleasant meeting at Pince’s office, Quincey went through the notes his mother had made to his speech and resolved to deal with it later. He really had to talk to Dawn. Nothing had gone according to plan ever since Dawn had arrived. He came to the smaller sitting room, holding out hope that Dawn would be there when he heard Olympia’s voice.

“Still at it?” she was asking.

“Silence, cousin,” came Evander’s voice as a reply. “I’m getting there.”

“Are all those coffee mugs yours?”

“And mine,” said Dawn’s aunt Tess.

“Anything I can do?” Olympia asked.

“Develop malware for me to drop into their RDP…” said Evander and that was when Quincey decided to stop eavesdropping and enter the room.

“Good morning,” he said, and all three people suddenly jumped, like there’d been an explosion.

“Quincey!” said Olympia. “How lovely to see you.”

Quincey frowned. “What are you doing?”

“Oh,” said Evander. “I was just introducing your dear sister and Miss Brandon to the intricacies of cryptocurrency so maybe we could all come together and save the kingdom.”

Quincey ignored the sarcasm in his voice. “Have any of you seen Dawn?”

“Not since last night,” said Tess.

“Well, damn,” said Quincey.

“Is everything alright?” Olympia asked.

“I don’t know…”

That’s when the double doors were pulled open with haste and Miss Pince came in, Miss Yaxley in tow.

“Has anyone seen Mr. Harvelle?”

“That’s what I was wondering,” mused Quincey.

“You mean to tell me he’s not here?” asked Pince.

“Well, I’m not hiding him in my pocket,” said Evander but Pince did not find this amusing.

“He has to be found,” said Rosa. “The queen is going ballistic over the wedding preparations.”

“I’m half of the equation, maybe I can help,” Quincey offered.

“No, the queen said Mr. Harvelle must be there,” said Pince.

“It’s almost like it would be her wedding…” said Quincey with a sigh.

Quincey found his mother in the room reserved for wedding planning, outfitting, and all those other things that his mother seemed to think she had some sort of control over. The outfit Quincey assumed Dawn was supposed to wear was on a mannequin. It was very traditional, nothing like he’d imagine Dawn would pick for himself. He realized he hadn’t the foggiest idea what his mother, Miss Yaxley, and Dawn had been up to with the wedding preparations. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling.

“Dawn’s missing?” he asked his mother as he entered. There was nobody else in the room but them.

“He did not show up for his fitting.”

“I’ll call him,” said Quincey.

“His phone is offline.”

That was worrying. Quincey tried it anyway, but true enough, he only got a message saying the phone had been turned off.

“Well,” said the queen. “I sincerely hope we won't have to cancel the wedding.”

“Stop,” said Quincey.

“Maybe he has finally realized that the pressures of court are too much for him,” said Isabella, forlornly.

“You’re certainly not helping,” Quincey sighed. “Is that what he’s supposed to wear?”

“Yes. I had a hand in its design.”

“I’ll ask Flitwick to look into Dawn’s whereabouts,” said Quincey. “And mother?”

“Yes?”

“You can forget about that costume. I’ll have a word with Miss Yaxley. I sincerely hope that it’s not too late to make this wedding mine and Dawn’s, and not whatever you’ve been doing behind my back.”

Isabella looked shocked. “Quentin, I’ve only been trying to help you.”

“I know, and I truly appreciate the help,” he said. “Especially when it comes to the financial situation. But I never asked your help in this.”

“Alright,” said Isabella. “I admit, I did get a little carried away.”

“A little?”

“Fine,” said Isabella. “A lot.”

“But you can help me find Dawn now,” said Quincey.

“I would be glad to.”

The palace had its fair share of hiding places and so, a lot of the staff were requested to keep an eye out for the run-away groom, but Quincey had an idea of his own of where to look. He headed to the courtyard.

“Dawn!” he called out between the hedges.

“No such luck,” said Olympia, dressed up against the cold in her light pink winter coat. “I figured I might also look here.”

“Oh, hey,” said Quincey but his spirits were immediately lowered.

“Don’t worry, we’ll find him.”

“I’ve been such a fool,” said Quincey.

Olympia walked up to him and put a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“I screwed up,” he said, miserably.

“What happened?” asked Olympia.

“Dawn’s been having a hard time adjusting to everything here and I’ve been too invested in my duties as king to be supportive.”

“You’ve had a falling out?”

“Just when he needed me most, I caved in to the crown.”

Olympia sighed, seemed to think about something for a while, and then said: “After father died, and you left us to go soul-searching, I was so angry with you…”

“O, I…”

“…At first. But then I realized this life we find ourselves in, the titles and responsibilities we bear, can overwhelm any person, especially a good-hearted one.”

“I've allowed it to happen,” said Quincey.

“You accepted your title with eyes wide open, with the best intent. And that's the brother I love.”

“I've made such a mess of everything.”

“Thanks to Dawn, and I can’t believe I have to say this, Evander, I think we have an actual shot at fixing the country’s problems,” Olympia said.

“What?”

“I’ll explain later,” Olympia said. “Just trust me. All you should focus on right now is finding your fiancé.”

Quincey thought about it. The thing was that he did trust Olympia with his life, but this wasn’t just about him. He had been the one to swear an oath to serve and protect all of his subjects and right now he was doing a piss-poor job of it.

“Please, Q,” said Olympia.

Quincey sighed. “There is one more place he could be in.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m going to need Archimedes.”

His father’s old hunting cabin’s windows were lit when Quincey and Archimedes arrived. He stabled the horse and entered the cabin, finding Dawn sat in front of a small fire, drinking hot chocolate.

“Dawn,” he said when Dawn didn’t make a move at the sound of the door.

“I'm so sorry,” he tried again. “Talk to me.”

Finally, Dawn turned around, demanding: “Now you want to talk? You had nothing to say when I needed you in Pince's office.”

“I know.”

“They want me to give up everything, Quincey. My voice, my career.”

“I thought you didn’t want to be a journalist anymore,” said Quincey.

“That’s not the point!” said Dawn. “The point is that I’m supposed to act like a goddamn ornament in one of your over-the-top Christmas trees and that’s not me!”

“Forget about everyone else,” said Quincey. “This should be about you and me.”

Dawn got up from the armchair. He didn’t look pleased. “I always thought that you would support me, and this week has just been so tough.”

“Dawn, please…”

“Just let me finish, okay?” said Dawn and Quincey shut up. “Everything is changing. I feel like I'm losing control and… I'm not used to living like this. This fishbowl, this distance between us,” he finished, taking a deep breath.

“I know it's hard,” said Quincey. “Trust me, I know.”

“It’s not the same for us, though,” said Dawn.

“Everything is changing. For both of us,” said Quincey, stepping closer to Dawn. When Dawn didn’t pull away, he took his hands. “But there is one thing that will never change: My love for you.”

“Shut up,” said Dawn. “You’re not sweet-talking your way out of this one.”

“I don’t want you to have to sacrifice anything to be with me,” Quincey continued. “Your talent, your creativity, your determination… But some things are out of my control.”

“Like my little mission last night?” Dawn asked.

“You could have been hurt,” said Quincey. “The country isn’t exactly approving of us at the moment.”

“That might have been a miscalculation on my part.”

“But I need you,” said Quincey. “And Alderly needs you, too.”

“Well, it has a funny way of showing it,” Dawn said. “I’ve been nothing but a glorified wedding planner–, no not even that. I’ve been standing in the sidelines while our wedding has been planned for us.”

“Yes,” said Quincey. “About that. I had a chat with mother. The wedding’s going to see some changes.”

“What?” asked Dawn. “You did?”

“Well, it all got a bit much, don’t you think?”

“I very much do think that, yeah,” said Dawn.

“How come you came here?” asked Quincey. They hadn’t been back together since the snowstorm last year, though Quincey had visited on his own.

“I just wanted something to feel Christmassy,” Dawn explained. “So I stole some of the biscuits meant for our wedding and came here.”

Quincey laughed. “Okay, that’s actually fair enough.”

“It hasn’t really felt too festive here, recently.”

“I know.”

Dawn bit his lip. “I’d like to have an active role in the family. I don’t want to be just an ornament.”

“You won’t be. I don’t want that either.”

Dawn sighed and reached to touch Quincey’s face. He hadn’t entirely forgiven him; Quincey wasn't foolish enough to believe that. But at least he hadn’t told him to fuck off, so he considered it a start. “Alright, we need to get back to the palace, now and see if Evander has saved the country.”

Quincey decided not to question it, for now.

Evander

Evander had commandeered a couch after his back began to protest, sitting at the table. Dawn’s little laptop was putting in the works and Evander sincerely hoped it wouldn’t give out now. He decided to give Dawn a proper laptop as a wedding present, until he remembered he was pretty much broke. Maybe he could sell the ugly cabin in the mountains his mother had gotten him one Christmas. Evander looked up when he heard someone enter the room, but it was just Tess, bringing another round of coffee. The table was starting to fill with mugs.

“Here,” she said, handing the other to him.

Evander took it. “Oh, thanks…”

Tess was pretty much the only person who had been nice to him this entire time, which was odd, since she had no reason to. Unless she was secretly adding poison to his coffee, or that weird herbal tea she had made him the other night. He had slept like a baby the first time in months after it but that had only made him doubly suspicious. He sniffed the coffee, cautiously.

“No herbs,” said Tess. “Just coffee.”

“So just like the previous three.”

Tess nodded. “Just like them.”

Evander eyes her and then the coffee. “Okay.”

“How are you doing?” she asked, still standing up.

“I found a promising lead, but I can’t crack it,” said Evander. “At least, not yet.”

“Damn.”

Evander resolved that the coffee probably wasn’t poisoned. He took a sip. “You make surprisingly good coffee.” Considering the tea tasted like shit, but he didn’t say that part out loud.

Tess chuckled, quietly. “Thanks, though I think it’s probably just that you people have quality coffee here. I don’t normally drink it an awful lot.”

“Could be,” said Evander. “You should consider adding coffee to your selection.”

Just as a suggestion. For all the other people who didn’t like suspicious herbs. He didn’t know much about Tess’s business, other than that he found all the herbal teas horrid but for some reason it was relatively successful.

“I’ll consider it,” said Tess. “If we don’t go to jail for this.”

She motioned vaguely at the computer on Evander’s lap.

“Don’t worry, if I get caught, I won’t bust you.”

“I appreciate that,” Tess mused. “But I think we’re sort of in this together, now.”

Evander didn’t say anything while Tess sat next to him, pulling a blanket on her legs. He thought she was pretty but pretty in a way his mother wouldn’t approve of. Kind of like Rosa was but somehow, he had a feeling like his mother would approve of Tess even less. The only person he could conceive of his mother approving was Diana Somerset but that had been doomed from the start, and Evander was happy she’d turned down his proposal.

He hadn’t spoken to his mother in months and in a way, he missed her a little. It had been about time to cut the cord, though. To find out what he actually wanted for himself. One thing he had learned was that it sucked to be poor and lonely. He missed his family. Especially his entitled royal cousins who he’d never even really liked before. And he knew that he couldn’t trust the country to Quincey’s hands alone when the man had gone to a fucking liberal arts school. Deep down he felt bad, too. Bad about what he had done to him and how he’d left things. He had put himself first and not Alderly, as he should have done. The right thing to do would have been to be there for Quincey and help him, instead of listening to his mother, but that was a lesson learned.

Tess leaned in closer so she could see the computer screen better. Evander was pretty sure she didn’t have experience on the hacking front, but he appreciated another pair of eyes, and maybe he also appreciated her presence. She smelled nice. He felt immensely tired. It had been almost ten hours and they still had pretty much nothing. He felt his focus drift and drank more coffee. He wasn’t exactly sure how much time passed, when Tess suddenly grabbed his wrist and pointed at the screen.

“What’s that?” she asked.

Evander examined the piece of code. “If I just follow this strand…” he said quietly.

Tess let go of his hand so he could continue typing.

“Is this…” he started as the computer did exactly as he had wanted it to.

“Oh my god,” said Tess.

“I think I’m in!” said Evander and jumped up from the couch in excitement. He had almost given up hope so he couldn’t quite believe this plan might actually stand a chance in hell at working.

Tess got up as well and said: “Holy crap,” with a delighted laugh. She did a little jump and clapped her hands together. Evander, high off of his achievement, kissed her cheek before thinking better off it. The pair looked at each other for a fraction of a second. Then Evander cleared his throat and sat back down, grabbing the computer.

“It’s not over yet,” he said, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. “This is pretty time sensitive.”

“Right, yeah, of course,” said Tess. She also sat back down, and Evander was careful not to look at her. Maybe he had been wrong. Maybe his mother would like her. Tess was pretty smart, after all.

Half an hour later Olympia, Rocky, and Pandora returned, presumably from searching for a certain run-away groom.

“We're in,” Evander said.

“What?” asked Pandora. “Seriously?”

“I honestly didn’t think you had it in you,” said Rocky with a yawn. It seemed Evander and Tess weren’t the only ones in need of a nap.

“Shut up and come see,” he said, and the newcomers gathered around the couch Evander and Tess had occupied, to see the screen. All the information pertaining to the companies was there for them to see. Silently Evander echoed Rocky’s sentiment though. After almost ten hours he’d begun to think that maybe he had overestimated his abilities.

“What does it say about those three companies?” asked Rocky.

“Each are listed as a division of this... Glockenspiel Consortium,” said Evander.

“Glockenspiel?” wondered Olympia. “What's that?”

“It could be a parent company, or a shell, used to funnel the money to a foreign entity,” Evander said. It would make sense why neither he nor Olympia had ever heard of it, despite being Alderlian.

“You have a disturbing knowledge of underhanded activities,” Olympia said but there was distinctly less venom in her voice than there had been before, so Evander didn’t take it too personally.

“That would explain why so little of the money's staying in Alderly,” said Tess, who had a much more comprehensive grasp of how businesses worked than dear cousin Olympia.

“Perhaps if we dig a little bit deeper into Glockenspiel…” said Evander, clicking further into the files. “Oh, shit…”

Everyone had seen it; Evander could tell from their shocked expressions.

“I can’t believe it,” said Olympia.

“What are we going to do now?” asked Pandora.

“Quincey’s gone to look for Dawn. He might be a while,” said Olympia.

“We’re going to wait for the king to get back,” said Evander. “He needs to hear this before we do anything.”

tag list: @lifeofkaze, @gcldensnitch, @endlessly-cursed, @cursed-herbalist, @magicallymalted

(ask if you want to be included or removed)

#evander is the best thing to come out of this fic and i love him #in the next chapter we get a whooole bunch of cameos so get ready for that lol #fic: the royal wedding #a christmas prince au #dawn harvelle #quincey alderly #dawncey #evander alderly #tess brandon #tessvander #*mine #*my writing

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finn-m-corvex · 7 months

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Lightning in a Cubicle Pt. 2

Guess what? Finn is in a creative mood so I'm posting double (possibly triple) tonight!! On top of the first Chapter of Even the Earth Trembles, have the second part of Lightning in a Cubicle! I know the office Jay has died down by now, but I still wanted to continue it because I'm having fun with it. Hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I loved writing it!

Words: 3.2k

No tws! But I do have a taglist: @/rainofthetwilight, @/giftofjay, @/i-love-jay-walker and @/lightning-chicken (just so you guys don't get tagged when I repost this), this is for all of you! Only the people who explicitly said they wanted to be tagged, so if you want to be on the list for pt3 make sure to specify that!

Jay was ready to throw his boss’s stupid potted plant out the window.

“...and that’s why we’re going to need you to start working longer hours,” Mr. Harding was saying, even though Jay could barely hear him over the blood roaring in his ears. “This new intern needs someone to show her the ropes, and we think you’re the best man for the job.”

Yeah, right, Jay thought to himself, I’m just the only one who isn’t married.

Publicly, anyway.

He forced a smile on his face. “Sounds great, sir. When do I start?”

Mr. Harding barely glanced his way. “You start tomorrow, and you better bring in some good reviews or I will have to demote you.”

“Pardon?” Jay wasn’t sure if he had heard that right.

“If this intern doesn't start showing some promise in the first week, then you will be stripped of your title and moved to the I.T. department.”

What?!

“But sir,” Jay said quickly, “I can’t afford to live on my floor with an I.T. salary!”

“That’s not my problem, uh, John,” Mr. Harding waved him off, going back to whatever he had been doing before Jay had come in. “You’re dismissed.”

Jay quickly bit back the retort he was about to give, instead snatching up his suit jacket from the back of the crummy chair that he had been forced to sit in. He had half a mind to not move his boss’s trashcan a few inches to the left so that anything he tried to throw in there would miss. Lightning crackled under his skin, and Jay knew that all it would take was a snap of his fingers to blow the fuse for the whole floor. That would definitely put a dent in Mr. Harding’s plans, and it would make Jay’s day.

Shutting the door behind him, he sighed heavily. Today would not be that day.

Instead of causing a major power outage, Jay walked back to the elevators, briefcase swinging in his hand. The thing had been useless anyway, because apparently in his rush to get to the meeting he was already an hour late for he had forgotten every single one of his important papers. He had only grabbed the papers covered in the doodles that he drew when he was supposed to be doing his work, go figure.

Mr. Harding had raised an eyebrow at the papers, with just a quick flash of interest that Jay had only barely caught. And then he was immediately chewed out to the bone.

Pressing the button for the elevator with much less force than he had on the way up, Jay let his mind wander about what he had to do for the rest of the day. No more meetings, thankfully, but he did have a presentation for the week after that he had to get done sometime soon. Oh, and if he was going to be doing that presentation, then that meant he needed to type up some kind of summary sheet to pass out to the other meeting participants, especially if he wanted to go for that promotion…

Someone snapped their fingers in front of his face, and Jay was shaken back into reality. “Oh, I’m so sorry! I was thinking about something, I hope I haven’t kept you waiting for very long.”

The guy just kept…looking at him. Jay frowned, tilting his head and moving cautiously into the elevator. He swiped his keycard just like he had before, but took a quick glance at the overlay to see what floor the other man was going to.

Floor 1.

Holy shit, who was he in the elevator with?!

Jay snuck glances at him, trying to size him up. His shaggy black hair was strangely familiar, as was the hulking frame that Jay could tell was squeezing into the black suit by the slimmest of margins. He didn’t look like any person Jay had ever seen since he had been in the Administration, and while he definitely didn’t know the thousands of employees personally, he prided himself on being able to usually tell what department everybody was from. But this guy was a complete mystery.

Well, it was as good of a time as any to make some conversation. “Hey, are you new around here by any chance?”

“Huh?” the man blurted, and the two stared at each other. Finally, it clicked with the guy that Jay had asked him a question. “Oh. Y-Yeah, you could say that.”

Maybe he was just shy; Jay knew the feeling. He tried for a warm smile, one without all of the fake corporate bullshit he had been forced to live and breathe for the past five years. “Welcome to the company. What department are you in?”

“Uh,” the guy scratched at his temple, “security?”

“Are you asking me or telling me?” Jay had been trying for a joke, but the man only looked more spooked. Way to go, Jay. “I didn’t think security normally wore suits like that.”

“I had my interview today,” the guy said calmly, seeming to have finally found his footing. “So here’s to hoping I get the job. It’s crazy out there, so gotta get anything you can get, right?”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Jay chuckled. He had become an expert in navigating topics that he knew absolutely nothing about; how do you think he managed to worm his way into accounting?

Quiet settled over them, only the low hum of the elevator reaching Jay’s ears. The other man cleared his throat, and Jay pretended to not notice the glances being sent his way. “Where do you work?”

“I’m in accounting,” Jay explained sheepishly. He hoped that the guy hadn’t done the research and found out that he was the only guy in the entire accounting department.

“Accounting?!” he asked, and for some reason he sounded distressed at the idea. Jay was quick to reassure him that he hadn’t cost the company (too) much money in mistakes, something everyone else had found hilarious when he told it at work functions, but the guy kept looking at him with bug eyes, as if the notion of Jay working with numbers terrified him.

Maybe he just didn’t like math. Jay couldn’t say that he liked it very much either.

The elevator dinged; they had reached Jay’s floor. Jay paused when he went to step out, turning back and taking a final look at the man. “Hey, what’s your name?”

He startled, before putting on a small smile that tugged at the corners of Jay’s faintest memories. “It’s Cole.”

“Cole?” Why did that sound so familiar to him? Where had he heard that name before? “Well, I hope you get the job, Cole. You seem like a nice guy.”

Jay waited until the elevator door was closing, watching. Cole shifted his view to keep his eyes locked with Jay for as long as he could, and Jay only barely caught what the man whispered before the doors slid shut with a quiet hiss.

“You too, Jay.”

How did Cole know his name?

Baffled, Jay started making his way back to his office, trying to put the stranger out of his mind. He had work he needed to get done, he didn’t have time for this. Greeting their usual security guard named Luke, Jay swiped his keycard and entered the accounting room, quickly sitting down in his designated cubicle before Shitty Sharon could see that he was back and put him to work. Except he never stopped thinking about the familiar man with the shaggy black hair, something niggling in the back of his brain telling him that the image of Cole in a suit was wrong, that the black ninja should’ve been wearing something else-

A sharp pain shot through his head, making Jay grit his teeth and raise a hand to his temple. He saw an image of Cole in some sort of free-flowing black uniform for only a second before it went away. Pain gone, Jay looked down at his hand as he lowered it, glancing over the scars criss-crossing it like he had a thousand times before.

Cole had similar scars on his own hands, Jay realized as he looked back in his memories.

Sighing, Jay resigned himself to yet another day of getting no work done. Grabbing a fresh sheet of paper and his well-worn pencil, he began to draw.

Never before had he been so glad to make it back to his apartment.

Jay was quick to dump his jacket in its usual spot next to the door, uncaring for the small coat rack that the apartment had come furnished with. Right now, he had placed it strategically over a spot where he had scratched up the hardwood trying to move his new coffee table in, and he knew that if he moved the coat rack now he would not remember to put it back before he had inspection. Usually the briefcase would’ve gone with the jacket on the floor, but instead Jay kept it with him, making an immediate beeline for his desk against the opposite wall.

His apartment really wasn’t much. Just one bedroom and bathroom, a small living room and kitchenette, but Jay hadn’t ever needed a whole lot. Growing up in a junkyard trailer had taught him everything about making a lot out of a little. The desk was by far his most used object, often taking home with him even after he left the office. You never really left that corporate mindset once you settled in, even though Jay had never truly fit the mold.

“Shit!” he exclaimed, running a hand through his curly locks. “I was supposed to go to the grocery store.”

Oh well, he had bigger problems to attend to.

Papers spilled out of his briefcase when he overturned it above his desk, and Jay was quick to toss it aside in favor of organizing the drawings so they weren’t overlapping each other. That presentation was going to be the most rushed thing he had ever done in his life, but it wasn’t important right now.

Right now, he had to figure out who the hell Cole was.

“Who are you?” Jay asked out loud, poring over everything he had spent the past few hours drawing. He quickly flipped the switch on his sidelamp, the sun having gone down long ago, leaving his apartment crawling in familiar shadows that made Jay’s skin crawl for a reason that he couldn’t say. Whenever Jay had to describe his home in the dark, the first words that came to mind were a ship’s brig; he always dreaded thinking about ships in the dark.

There was the one drawing of Cole in the black uniform, something that Jay had learned was called a gi in the multitude of research he had done on his work computer. The gi had triggered something else in Jay’s memory, a flash of bright blue and a harness. Something that he was very familiar with.

Leaving the desk and walking into his bedroom, Jay ignored the unmade bed and the clothes left all over the floor in favor of going to his small wardrobe. On the top sat an innocent looking cardboard box; anybody wouldn’t have thought for more than two seconds about it.

But Jay knew how important the box was.

With shaking hands, he grabbed it and carried it back out to the desk, setting it down with the utmost care. Slowly, almost reverently, Jay opened the top and glanced at the contents within.

A bright blue suit covered in burns and homemade stitches in a pattern he couldn’t recognize. A differently styled gi to the one he had seen Cole in, but Jay was positive that was what it was. It was what he was wearing when he had been rescued by the Administration agents.

“Who are you, Cole?” he repeated, feeling the fabric between his fingers. “Who was I?”

He didn’t know. He didn’t think he would ever know until today.

“Did I know you?” Jay muttered, looking at another one of the drawings. It depicted a raging storm of pitch black clouds that had cost him an entire pen to color, swirling and spiraling. Cole was falling straight into it, and Jay felt pure terror shoot dowm his spine when he saw the finished piece. He had almost felt possessed when he had drawn it.

Jay set the two drawings aside, picking up another one that appeared to be a large arena. Cole was there again, looking agitated as he faced Jay, earth responding to his beck and call and bending to his whim. To Jay’s astonishment, there was electricity sparking from his hands, bolts bigger than anything he had tried to summon since he had been hired by the Administration.

Could he really do that? Summon lightning?

Pain stabbed him in the temple, forcing Jay to clutch the crummy chair to keep himself upright against the intensity of it. He was standing on a ship; it was storming, the rain pelting his skin. Someone was talking to him, giving him an order. A lightning bolt shot out of the sky, and Jay felt like he was looking through someone else’s eyes as the bolt deflected off of his hand and zipped right past the ship.

Jay turned around, suddenly exhausted. “You’re welcome!”

Only to watch in horror as some sort of flying monstrosity soared out of the sky, firing off large missiles straight at the ship. Jay did not think that he could deflect those.

The missiles struck the sails, and Jay could feel both of his hearts plummeting. “There!” Cole yelled, and Jay quickly whipped his head around to get a better look at the man. It was definitely the same guy from the elevator, just younger.

“Can’t see a thing in this storm,” Lloyd said angrily, and Jay was suddenly flung from the memory, landing back in his apartment and falling straight to the floor. He was shaking.

Lloyd?

“Need to draw,” Jay said, and he kept saying it as he forced his chair upright. “Need to draw, need to draw, need to draw…”

Grabbing a pencil and the back of the picture with the arena, Jay got to work. He completely forgot about the trip to the nighttime store on floor 166; he didn’t need breakfast in the morning.

Skipping breakfast was a mistake.

And so was staying up all night.

But Jay had a new mission: stop by the office supply store on floor 140 (he had to check the directory that every new employee was given) and get a corkboard and red yarn. And more paper. Probably some more pencils too, Shitty Sharon was always stingy with how many they could take home.

Not that Jay gave a damn about what she thought, but he did give a damn for his mental health and hygiene.

It finally hit him when he stepped out of the elevator, large mug of coffee in hand, that he had an intern to start training today. An intern that his entire livelihood rested on.

“Fucking hell, Jay,” he muttered, wanting to scrub a hand down his face, except both of them were occupied. “Could you have picked any better time to become a conspiracy theorist?”

Or to walk around carrying incriminating cargo. In an effort to help him remember all of the tasks he had to do today, Jay had written them down on a list carefully hidden in his briefcase, consisting of the following three iteams:

1. Figure out who Cole was, whether or not he had been hired, and where he was last seen in the building

2. Research as much as he could about anyone named Lloyd in the Administration database. Surely they had to have something, right?

3. Stop by the office supply store and pick up the items, and GET CEREAL FROM THE GROCERY STORE!

He had underlined number three four times for emphasis. His boss would be proud of his efforts.

Unfortunately, the universe was not on his side this morning, as the first thing to greet him when he opened the door to the accounting department was a screaming match. Shitty Sharon was red in the face (normal) with her two guarddogs Cutthroat Caren with a C and Bitchy Bethany. Normally, Jay would’ve seen the trio and high-tailed it straight to the men’s room for the next half-hour with the excuse of having bowel problems, but he paused. The three women were picking on some girl he had never seen before; was she the new intern?

“I told you, you have to check the printer before you do anything with it!” the new girl was yelling, and oh my God they were arguing about the printer. Jay had to intervene before this girl lost her head.

“And I told you, girl, that’s not my job! That is the office boy’s job!” Sharon shouted, and her two lackeys nodded behind her back. Typical.

“Ladies!” Jay said loudly before the new girl could interrupt, and all four of them whipped their heads in his direction. The younger girl’s pink hair swished in its ponytail, her face furrowing into one of confusion. “Please, is there any need for this? Sharon, you already know I am your number one printer fixer-upper.”

“Who are you?” she asked bluntly, and Jay chuckled nervously. Her gaze was piercing, her face adorned with markings that Jay vaguely recognized as Imperian.

Imperium?!

Jay was fucked. Royally fucked. He was so fucking hooped.

Sharon looked smug as a bug in a rug. “That is our office boy. Now, run along and go back to whatever kiddie department you came from. I heard they had plenty of room in the daycare on floor 128!”

Gritting her teeth, the pink-haired girl looked furious at the loud cackling of Caren and Bethany, and Jay was quick to snag her sleeve and start dragging her towards his cubicle. “It’s not worth it,” he hissed to her, and to his relief she stopped struggling against his grip and allowed him to lead her away.

His cubicle was not big by any means, and Jay was quick to grab one of the spare rolling chairs on his way and push it with his foot. Setting her down in it, Jay plopped himself down in his actual chair, looking at her with a strange look as she seemed to pick him apart like he was a machine with her gaze.

So he was going to have to break the ice. “I know, they’re pretty bitchy, huh?”

Raising her eyebrow, the girl looked surprised. “Aren’t they your coworkers?”

“Sadly, yes,” Jay said with a roll of his eyes, “but that does not mean I have to be nice. I got over that years ago. Besides, you can't always pick the people you’re surrounded by, right?”

“Yeah, I guess so.” she leaned back in the chair, “Say, you wouldn’t happen to know somebody named Jay Walker around here? I was supposed to meet him here in accounting, but it looks like it’s just girls? Not that there’s any problem with that, of course, it’s just-”

“I’m Jay Walker,” he chuckled at the girl’s relieved expression. “No worries, kiddo. I’m the only guy in the department, so it’d be pretty easy to find me. I’m guessing you’re my new intern?” A nod. “Great, nice to meet you! What’s your name?”

“Sora,” she said with a small smile. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Walker.”

Jay had a feeling he was going to like this kid.

#ninjago #ninjago jay #finn's writing #lightning in a cubicle #ninjago dragons rising #dragons rising #ninjago dragons rising spoilers #finn's ninjago aus

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