#[ thinking Solely about sunnys bloody face ]

[thejilyship]

Taking the Lead

For @jilychallenge August 2021 Theme: Summer Prompt: "I saw you staring and so decided to try to put on my suncream ~sensually~ but omg the lid just popped off and the whole bottle came out stOP grinning oMG" @thejilyship v @sirenicc I did not think I was going to get this done! Also it's fem!jily. No one should be surprised at this point.

WC: 3.5k AO3

A leadership camp was the absolute last place that Jamie wanted to spend any part of her summer. She and Sirius had made plans to go white water rafting, concert hoping, castle hiking, dive bar hunting and he’d even promised to attend a total of four sperate ballets with her. She did not have time to spend a week in the middle of the Scottish hills singing camp songs with a bunch of people that she didn’t know.

She didn’t need a leadership camp. She was, as almost every single one of her teachers and professors had said, a natural born leader. Some of her teachers had said this with admiration coloring their tone, and others had said it in a ‘your daughter really needs to stop getting the entire class to break into song in the middle of third period’ kind of way, but either way, they had all been in agreement.

She took the bus to camp so she would be less inclined to run off in the middle of it, and she went to the main building to sign in, which she was informed would be hence forth called ‘command center.’ She refrained from rolling her eyes.

She accepted her key and went off to find her dorm with her yellow duffle bag resting on her hip. Since they were all adults, they weren’t making them sleep in groups of twenty or so, and were instead grouped into fours. Jamie’s cabin was number five, which was her lucky number, and so far the only good omen she had gotten from this place.

She knocked before she pushed the cabin door open. Two of her three bunkmates were already there, setting up their beds. A redhead with striking green eyes and a petite brunette with springy hair and a gorgeous smattering of freckles. Jamie smiled at the two of them and they smiled back.

“Hey! My name is Lily,” The redhead held out her hand, bold and assertive. Jamie didn’t think she was in much need of a leadership camp either. “This here is my best friend, Mary.”

“Lily and Mary, it’s nice to meet you both. I’m Jamie.” She pulled her duffle off her shoulder and claimed the open bottom bunk. “Are you best mates in the camp sense, or have you met before today?”

Mary laughed, “Best friends since we were eleven. I dragged Lily along to this camp because I’m incapable of leaving home without her.”

“And it sounded like fun!” Lily added, looking back at her curly haired friend. “Did you know that this camp has a ropes course?” She asked, turning back to Jamie.

“A rope course? And that sounds like fun to you?”

“Of course, it does!”

“Wait until we’re actually on the ropes course,” Mary chuckled, “Lily is afraid of heights.” She tilted her head toward Jamie and raised her brows.

“I’m not afraid of heights,” Lily argued. “I simply… do not… like them.”

“Right.” Mary laughed.

Rooming with best friends might not be the best case scenario, as they already had someone to pair off with for all the group activities they were bound to do over the next week. They had a fourth roommate yet, so Jamie would reserve her pessimistic judgment until then. In the meantime, Lily and Mary seemed like nice people who she could eat meals with if nothing else.

“There’s also a lake,” Lily apparently still found the need to explain why she thought this camp would be fun. “And the weather is supposed to be brilliant this week. Sunny and warm!”

“I’m here for the seminars and workshops, not for the lake.” Mary said.

“You can be here for both.” Lily shrugged. “And, as much as I love you, I’m here for the arts and crafts, camp food and fun activities.”

“Arts and crafts is an activity. And this is a camp for adults, do you really think-“

Lily cut Mary off with a scoff. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. “If you think I didn’t check before I agreed to come, then you have another thing coming, MacDonald.” She turned her phone out so it was facing Mary, and Jamie a bit. Jamie was able to see colorful pictures of string bracelets, painted pottery, and she couldn’t tell what else.

“Well then,” Mary shook her head. “I hope you get to live out your summer camp dreams.”

“Thank you.” Lily nodded, looking rather smug. It was a look that worked for Lily. Her cheeks took on a dusting of pink, her green eyes grew brighter, and she sat up taller. Jamie turned to her duffle to avoid being caught ogling.

There was a knock on the door and the three girls turned in unison.

“Hello, I’m Emma Vanity. I guess I’m your fourth.” She gave a sharp wave and then looked at the three taken beds before her eyes fell onto the unclaimed top bunk above Jamie.

“I’m Mary and this is Lily,” Mary pointed at Lily, who offered a bright smile.

“And I’m Jamie Potter.”

“Potter?” Emma’s brow shot up. “As in Potions by Potter? Are your parents Fleamont and Euphemia Potter?”

“It’s a fairly common last name,” Jamie shrugged. She wouldn’t have added her last name if she had thought someone would recognize it.

“Right,” Emma laughed and dropped her bag to the ground. “Well, either way, I’m sure that you are a greatperson to share a bunk with.” She knew who Jamie was, that was clear.

“Mary’s mother was a circus performer if that interests anyone.” Lily had pulled out a bag of jelly candies and tore one in half with her front teeth. Jamie smiled at her appreciatively.

“Does she still perform?”

“No, she retired when I started school.” Mary said. “But she does teach trapeze classes down at the local leisure center.”

“They’re great fun.” Lily nodded. “Should we go and find ourselves some lunch?”

“I hope you know that they aren’t going to serve bad camp food.” Mary pushed herself off Lily’s bed. “Are you two coming with us?”

Emma looked at Jamie, and since Jamie had no desire to be alone with Emma just then, she smiled at Lily and nodded. “Sure. I’m always ready to eat.”

“I’ll come too,” Emma nodded. “I’ve already memorized the layout of the camp, so you can all follow me.” And then she was walking back toward the door.

Lily, who had just proven herself to be very familiar with the camp, was looking at Emma’s retreating figure with raised brows, but she didn’t say anything and just hopped off her bed.

“Off we go then,” Mary bit her bottom lip and followed Lily. Jamie closed the door behind them.

The sun was out, and it was warm, which Jamie hadn’t fully appreciated before Lily had told her that they could expect this weather to last all week. And she hadn’t known there was a lake. That hadn’t been on her list of fun summer activities she wanted to do with Sirius, but she hadn’t been a beach in a while, and while she was sure the beach on this random camp lake wasn’t brilliant, it would be nice.

Especially if Lily was also there to talk it up.

oOo

Jamie gravitated toward Lily over the next couple of days. At first she thought it was because the other girl’s positive attitude was contagious, and while it was, that wasn’t the sole reason.

Jamie had developed a little bit of a crush.

Except not really, because Jamie had never once developed a ‘little’ crush in her life. It took exactly one day for her to realize that she was already deciding how the two of them would find time for each other after they left camp. Two days in and she had decided that their first pet would be a short haired cat named Mr. Tums, preferable all black.

Three days in and she was almost certain that she was in love.

Not in love in love, she understood that was ridiculous.

No, on day three, she was simply falling in love.

It would be a few more days until she was actually in love.

Lily had her shoulder length hair in twin braids today. Whisps of baby hairs framing her face and she kept reaching up to brush them away from her eyes, which only drew more attention to her eyes and her hair and all the other parts of her face that Jamie couldn’t stop staring at.

And at the moment, she was wearing a bloody bikini as she sat on the towel next to Jamie’s on the small beach the camp had to offer. A bikini.

Jamie was doing everything she could to ignore the bikini, but it was there, and showing off every soft curve and gentle swoop of Lily Evans’ body. Jamie was in a t-shirt and boardshorts, because she couldn’t possibly exist in the space next to Lily Evans wearing anything less than this and keep the ability to speak.

Not that her ability to speak was getting her far. Lily was doing most of the talking.

“What do you think?” Lily reached out and nudged Jamie on the shoulder, her bubblegum pink nails scraping lightly on the sleeve of Jamie’s t-shirt.

The quirk in Lily’s brow let Jamie know that she had missed something. Keeping her clothes on may have left her with the ability to speak, but Lily wearing that bikini had hindered her ability to listen. She’d been so focused on not staring at Lily that she hadn’t remembered to pay attention to what she was saying.

“What do I think about what again?” Jamie asked, not bothering to pretend that she had heard Lily. The knowing smile on Lily’s face should have made Jamie a bit self-conscious, but she liked how smug Lily looked knowing the effect she had on Jamie. She also wanted Lily to know that she liked her, especially since Lily had not acted as though knowing made her even the slightest bit uncomfortable.

“I was asking for your opinion one what we should do this evening. I want to watch the sunset over the lake, but I don’t think I can stay down here until then. I’ll fry. So should we go to the craft cabin and make some more bracelets,” She held up her rope bracelet covered wrist and shook it, “Or should we have an early dinner?”

“Don’t we have a class to go to before dinner?” Jamie asked, looking out at the water after briefly glancing in Lily’s direction.

“I didn’t sign up for anything. Did you?”

“Probably not.” Jamie shrugged. “Mary isn’t upset with you for ditching her?”

Lily snorted. “I’m hardly ditching her. Besides, she knew I wasn’t going to be signing up for anything that wasn’t required. I came for the crafts and the beach. And to share a bunk with her.” She was smiling at Jamie, she could feel it aimed at the side of her head.

“Alright, well then, I think we should stay down here for a while longer and then go and get some dinner. I didn’t really enjoy the bracelet making.”

“You’re just upset that I’m better at it than you.”

“No.” Jamie shook her head. “I can honestly say that I’m not upset because you’re better than me. I’m upset because I can not figure out how to do it at all. All five attempts turned into a tangled knot of colorful string and heartbreak.”

“You picked out great colors,” Lily had her lips pressed together when Jamie mustered up the fortitude needed to face her. She used all the strength she had to keep her gaze on Lily’s face and then let out a huff and laid back on her towel.

“Thanks a million.”

“Of course.” She reached out and patted the back of Jamie’s hand, her bubblegum pink nails drawing Jamie’s eye. “If we’re going to stay for a while more, I should put on more sunscreen.”

Jamie reached for the bag on her right and handed it to Lily and then shut her eyes. She couldn’t watch Lily put on sunscreen. She knew that she wouldn’t handle that well. Especially not when Lily seemed to be in a mind to tease the shit out of Jamie. Which Jamie knew she deserved after the entirely unsubtle way she had told Lily and Mary about her ex-girlfriend. She had blushed immediately after saying it and then muttered about needing a restroom.

Lily hadn’t brought up any exes at all, but she had followed Jamie on Instagram the first night, and it didn’t take a whole lot of work to figure out that Lily also represented a letter or two from the alphabet.

Jamie bit down on the tip of her tongue and wondered how long she would need to keep her eyes closed before it would be safe to open them.

She heard the cap of the sunscreen pop open and started counting, figuring three minutes to be ample time. She took the time to take a few deep breaths, have a few imaginary conversations with Sirius where he called her a dumbass, whacked her over the head and told her to make her move, and then tried to clear her head of any and all nonsense.

“Where do you head back to after this week?” Lily asked, and Jamie almost opened her eyes.

“Winchester. My brother and I are staying with our parents for the summer, and we have a lot of plans. This camp actually threw a bit of a wrench in our plans, but da wanted me to come here.”

“He didn’t want your brother to come?”

Jamie snorted. “Can you imagine? I mean, da did ask him if he wanted to, but Sirius is very… anti-group activities.”

“What plans were ruined?” Jamie turned her head and opened her eyes, figuring the sun screening was done with now.

It was not.

Lily was rubbing it into her shoulders, her hands moving slowly and her nails contrasting sharply with the pale tone of her skin.

Jamie’s mouth went dry and she tried to swallow.

Lily’s brow went up and Jamie cleared her throat. “Ballet.”

“What?”

“The ballet. I got Sirius to agree to go to a few different shows with me, which he never does, and I’m missing one of them to be here.”

The tip of Lily’s pink tongue peeked out from between her lips and Jamie bit down on her own tongue. What was it about this girl that had Jamie acting like a randy, seventeen-year-old, boy?

“The ballet? I didn’t picture you-“

“I’m actually a ballerina.”

Lily blinked her big green eyes and brought her shoulder up to her chin.

“I mean, I saw the pictures of you with your dance bag, but I guess I just…” Jamie hadn’t posted any recent pics of her in anything dance related, and so she smirked at the knowledge that Lily had been snooping.

“You didn’t picture me as a ballerina? What kind of dancer did you think I was?”

“Honestly? I thought you were a theater dancer.”

Jamie chuckled. “I mean, I have dabbled in the theater.”

“Dabbled? I think it’s you use of words like ‘dabbled’ that made me think theater actually.”

“Dabbled is a normal word.”

“Sure, and it made me think ‘theater kid.’” Lily turned back to the bottle of sunscreen and picked it up, squeezing some onto her hand before she angled one of her legs and started rubbing her hands together. The point of her toe, the angle of her head, it was all deliberate. Jamie knew that it was all deliberate, but she didn’t care. She watched on bated breath as Lily started working the sunscreen into her leg. She started at her upper thigh and worked her way down to the ankle, slowly, making sure to cover every inch of skin.

“How long have you been a ballerina?”

Jamie had to unclench her jaw to answer. “Since I was about five.”

“And when did you dabble in the theater?” Lily’s voice was even and normal, like she wasn’t currently putting on a show for Jamie. She should have kept her eyes shut. She should close her eyes right now, but she knew that she wasn’t going to.

“Um… I think the first musical I was in, I was eight? Mum was helping out with…” She trailed off as Lily angled her other leg and started on that thigh. “Mum was helping with costumes. It was just a small local production.”

“Of what?”

“Fiddler on the Roof.” Jamie hoped that she was answering Lily’s questions, but she really wasn’t paying attention to what either of them were saying. For the first time since she’d seen Lily in this stupid bikini, she was allowing herself to look at her. She was drinking it in.

Jamie was pretty sure that Lily said something else, and half of her brain heard it, though it took a while to get it all pieced together. “I’ve seen Fiddler on the Roof. Mary was a theater kid, so I’ve actually seen a lot of musicals.”

“Good.” Jamie nodded, even though she knew that wasn’t really a top notch response.

Lily picked up the bottle of sunscreen and popped the cap open again, and Jamie could feel the pop in the back of her teeth. She watched Lily tighten her hand around the bottle, squeezing more onto her open palm.

“I might need your help with my back-“

About two seconds before Jamie would have had a heart attack and passed away right there on the small camp beach in the middle of nowhere, the top of the bottle came off and, with Lily still squeezing the bottle, the sunscreen went everywhere. It splattered all over Lily’s lap, chest and towel. It got on Jamie too, a large glob landing on the lens of her glasses.

They both froze for a minute before Jamie looked up at Lily from her one clear lens. Lily’s cheeks were bright red and she was looking at the still dripping bottle as though it had purposefully ruined her plans to send Jamie to an early grave.

The building tension crumbled like a saltine cracker.

“That’s what you get,” Jamie said, reaching over and wiping a large glob off of Lily’s nose. Then she started laughing as Lily turned to look at her. Her cheeks stayed red, but she cracked a grin. “That was totally deserved!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Lily shook her head and dropped the offending bottle. She started smearing and wiping at all the excess sunscreen, wiping her hands on her towel to get it off. “I wasn’t doing anything.”

Jamie started laughing harder. “You’re a liar.”

Lily bit down on her bottom lip, still shaking her head. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You most certainly do know what I mean, and now you’ve made a mess of yourself.”

“The cap broke! I don’t know why you’re telling me I deserve it.”

Jamie reached over and swiped at another glob at Lily’s shoulder. “Sure, Evans.” She whipped her hand so it landed somewhere in the grass and then got another glob from Lily’s hair. “So that’s just how you normally put on sunscreen?”

“Of course it is.”

“I can’t wait to see how your normally put on your pajamas tonight.”

Lily’s face went a shade or two darker and Jamie laughed again.

“You know what, if I was putting it on… a certain sort of way, it was only because you were looking at me-“

“I hadn’t been looking at you!” Jamie took her glasses off and carefully went about cleaning them. “I had very deliberately not been looking at you. You waited until I was looking at you.”

Lily was quiet until Jamie looked over at her, having to squint in order to see the look on her face. She put her glasses back on to confirm that she was looking smug. She was. “Okay, but then you couldn’t take your eyes off me.”

“Have you ever heard the phrase, in for a penny, in for a pound?”

Lily narrowed her brow in confusion. “I have.”

“I’ve only ever had fancied three people in my life, including yourself,” Lily sat up straighter and Jamie felt her cheeks heat but shook her head. Lily had already known that Jamie fancied her. “Yes, go and head a preen over it.”

“I am flattered,” Lily, still covered in globs of sunscreen, waved her hair back over her shoulder with one of her hands. Then she looked at Jamie expectantly.

Jamie sucked in a sharp breath through her nose and released it all at once. “Where do you live, Evans? And how far is it from Winchester?”

“And why do you ask?”

“Because I’ve a feeling that we’ll have some unfinished business come Friday.”

And then Lily laughed, and Jamie felt it all the way to the tips of her toes.

#jily #jily challenge #fem!jily #jilychallenge #my fic #fel writes jily

[whats-rambled-rambled]

Long Nights - part 1

Neil x Reader

Chapter 1: Don’t kill my vibe

summary: all days blend into one, and as your friend brings back an unusual challenge, you are more than happy to accept it

warnings: 18+, explicit language, some violence, blood mention

author’s note: Woot woot, new series hype!  

This setting has been brewing inside me for months now, and what started as an idea for a one-shot, turned out to be a fully fleshed out series (f!Reader again, for more gender neutral one check out StuckInReverse series!). And a good chance to introduce this brand new dynamic. Aaaand to play with some rogue tropes - because guess who's gonna teach Neil all he knows about locks and how to pick them? (canon what canon or at least let’s forget the implications for a moment and let's enjoy all the HAND CONTENT instead)

I’m really excited to share this story with you all!

The song for this chapter is Sigrid - Don’t Kill My Vibe

Anyway, enjoy! All feedback is greatly appreciated, let me know what you think?

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Tag list: @vaneilla @ergunbilge @invertedneil @wanderedaway

----

You absent-mindedly swirled your coffee and ice cubes clinked against the tall glass as you watched a gutsy pigeon searching for crumbs under a table right next to yours. The green and purple feathers on its collar were shining in the morning sun, not as merciless as it was about to get in just a few hours, but still heating the crowded plaza to barely acceptable levels.

“I don’t know, man, all days blend into one, maybe it’s time to skip town again.”

Mahir leaned back on his chair, his glance sliding through the swarm of tourists pouring from the alley nearby.

“No new gigs?”

You mirrored his pose and shrugged.

“Some, but they just lack… pizzaz.”

“Pizzaz?”

“Yes,” - you sighed and gestured vaguely - “that certain oomph, that sparkle, excitement, when your heart starts beating faster at the sole thought--”

“You sure you’re not looking for...would say love but I know you too well, so... a good shag?” your companion chimed in with a sardonic smile plastered on his face.

You scoffed, amused by that insinuation.

“First of all - thank you,” you started, your eyes lighting up and your grin getting wider with every word. “Second - that thrill is better than a good shag, and after a job well done, you can ride that high much longer than even the best orgasm.”

“Forget I said anything--”

“And finally,” - you continued, ignoring his distressed groan - “you skip all the awkwardness of the morning after.”

Mahir raised his hands in defeat, and even though he looked as if he took a mental note to never tease you like that again, you were sure he knew exactly what you meant. After all, he was your favorite partner in crime, and even though he’d come clean (...or at least slightly cleaner) a few years ago, you still could count on him whenever you needed to pull off a spectacular and/or a straight-up batshit crazy stunt.

“How’s Paddsy?”

“Grand, as far as I know, but haven’t heard from him in years, why?” you asked, tilting your head.

Your friend looked at you with impish sparks in his eyes.

“I remember how you kept yourself amused during your teenage years.”

“The challenges?” You raised your brow and laughed at the memory. “Ha, petty theft is one way to fight a dullness of existence, all right.”

“I bet you’ve gotten sloppier with age.”

That taunt in his overly casual tone was clear as day. Were you really that bored, though?

“Please, I could do it right here and now without any prep.”

...yes.

He sent you a smug smile and started browsing the crowd for a possible target. “Okay, what about... that guy over there?”

You followed his gaze and your eyes laid on a pair of men, lost in a conversation, keeping to the peripheries of tourist groups as they walked through the square. One of them was gesturing with enthusiasm, a wide smile brightening his tanned face, the blond hair in complete disarray combined with a slightly unbuttoned white linen shirt with rolled-up sleeves and beige trousers completed a disheveled look. Couldn’t be older than thirty. He was accompanied by a more composed middle-aged Black man, a maroon polo shirt and grey suit pants complimented his fit and refined posture.

“The yellow mane or the polo shirt?” you asked and Mahir snorted in response.

“The polo one.”

You looked the stranger up and down as you assessed the case. Even from afar, you could see an outline of a wallet in the pocket of his trousers, and the short sleeves meant easy access to the watch.

You smacked your lips and pouted. “Too easy.”

“Okay, so both of them,” he said, watching with satisfaction as you perked up at the suggestion.

“Now we’re talking!” you laughed, clapping your hands. You pointed at Mahir’s camera sitting on the table, internally blessing his choice of hobbies. “Mind if I borrow this for a moment?”

“Sure, whatever.”

You bounced at your feet and grabbed the camera and its case, securing both straps on your shoulder. A sudden rush mixed with a familiar coldness as you got your head in the game.

“Be right back.”

Circling the crowd, you positioned yourself on the path of your targets, blending in with the crowd. Right then, nobody would tell you from other slaphappy sightseers, mesmerized by the architecture of the Old Town district. Stopping abruptly every few steps to take yet another photo. Too preoccupied to pay attention to your surroundings. Making it way too easy to bump into someone, you know? Or, if you were clumsy enough, two people one after another, in a little live-action pinball moment.

You raised the camera and stepped back right into the polo guy, yelping at the impact.

“Sorry!” you squealed, jumping out of his way. Straight into the blonde man. “Oh gee, I’m terribly sorry!”

“You all right?” he asked as he caught you, placing hands on your arms for a split-second hold, enough to prevent you from bouncing back and bumping into someone else.

You turned around and met the bright blue eyes studying you curiously.

“Yep,” you mumbled through sheepish laughter. “And you?”

He beamed, raking his unruly hair with his fingers.

“Yeah.”

Your gaze flitted back to his companion, who was looking at you two with polite interest, visibly eager to continue his stroll.

“Sorry again! Have a lovely day, gents!” you chirped, sending one more apologetic smile and squeezing between them to walk away in the opposite direction.

Ten steps later you twirled around. Aiming the camera at a statue nearby, you checked on the men with the corner of your eye. The blonde guy glanced over his shoulder for a moment, but he didn’t seem suspicious. Good.

You made your way back to the cafe and fell back on your chair.

“No sweat,” you said and smirked, handing the camera back to Mahir and placing the case on the table. You turned it around so he could see what was inside - two watches, some mileage card you pulled out of the polo guy’s wallet, and something you grabbed from the other one… an Oyster card for public transport in London? What a combo. And of course, you could have picked the entire wallets instead, but what would be the fun in that? You didn’t have to make their life that much harder, after all, you just wanted to prove a point.

Mahir peeked inside and smacked his tongue.

“Okay, you still got it.”

“Damn straight!” You reached for your abandoned coffee and emptied it in one swig. “But I’d better get going.”

“Wait, what about the loot?”

“Keep it,” - you shrugged, leaning in to place a small kiss on the bearded cheek - “and tip that nice waitress well, will ya?”

“Sure,” sighed Mahir and patted your hand on his shoulder. “Be careful out there, mate.”

“Always.”

You stepped out on the sunny square again. There was nothing particularly interesting on the agenda for the day, so you decided to take a longer and more scenic route to your apartment. You put on the headphones and with your usual playlist on shuffle, you maneuvered between groups of people on your way to one of the alleys. And just as you were about to cross the road, someone blocked your path. You glanced up and it took all your self-control to maintain a neutral expression, despite all the warning sirens blaring at the full volume inside your head. How even--

“Darling! Long time no see!” said the blonde man you’d just robbed gleefully and grinned, his arms spread wide as if you’d known each other for years. Without dropping a jovial face, he leaned in and gave you a chaste hug, using the opportunity to utter straight into your ear. “Don’t make a fuss and come with me.”

Bloody fantastic.

The stranger linked your arms together and started walking down the street, pulling you with him in a little too rushed version of a friendly stroll. It wasn’t your first rodeo, though.

“Where are you taking me?” you squealed, faking badly covered distress and scouting the area in search of his partner, but the polo guy was nowhere to be seen.

“Oh, we need to have a little chat,” he said nonchalantly, securing a grip on you with another hand on your arm. “And the streets today are awfully loud, don’t you think?”

He dragged you into a back alley, losing the chummy demeanor with every step further away from the crowds. Lucky for you, the new setting worked in your favor. You’d been indulging him long enough, anyway.

Shifting your balance, you stomped hard on his foot, using the element of surprise to break free. Grabbing the blonde strands, you pulled his head down to meet your flying knee. A muffled groan escaped the stranger’s mouth and his curses followed you when you dashed to a small back street to your right. These few seconds of a head start were more than enough though, especially since you knew the area like the back of your hand. And that’s why you didn’t hesitate when you reached a chain-link fence. You jumped and bounced off the wall, pulling up on the edge and vaulting through the obstacle with ease, then gracefully landed on the other side and turned around just to see the man hitting the fence with frustration. He glared at you, wiping the blood from his face, and you almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

“See ya!” you giggled and blew him a kiss, disappearing into another alley.

You emerged on the main street at a reasonable distance from the place you’d left the stranger, weaving between people on the busy pavement, making sure nobody followed you. After a few blocks, you grew quite certain that you’d lost the unwanted tail. You smiled to yourself. The day turned out to be way more exciting than you could have expected. And it wasn’t even noon yet. 

You noticed a dark grey SUV pulling over next to you, but by the time you realized what was going on, it was already too late. The next thing you knew, you got dragged into the backseat and trapped between the blonde man and the polo guy. Shit.

You glanced at the driver, searching for clues about what you’d gotten yourself into. The woman behind a wheel gave off a paramilitary vibe, but you couldn’t be sure. Anyway, there was no point in trying to escape - you needed to wait for a more suitable moment. You didn’t have too much room to squirm around, so you just fixed your gaze on the road ahead.

“Well, this is awkward,” you said, breaking the silence as the car started moving again.

“As my colleague said - we need to talk.”

You looked to your right at the polo man. “Abduction is such an underrated conversation starter.”

“So is theft,” he noted, a shade of smile tainting the corner of his mouth. “I really liked that watch.”

“I have no idea--”

“We’ve checked the square’s surveillance system,” he interrupted you, but his statement was so ridiculous you just had to laugh it off.

“Now you’re insulting me.”

He raised a brow as he studied you with satisfaction. “You’d rather admit that you’re guilty?”

“No,” - you bridled, slowly getting tired of the whole charade - “but there’s no way you got to the feed so fast, and with how crowded it was out there, there is no way you’d find anything incriminating in there.” You hesitated for a moment, then narrowed your eyes. “Speaking of-- how did you even find me?”

A sudden movement to your left made you switch focus to the quiet blonde man. Still pressing a bunch of bloodied tissues to his face, he showed you his phone - a red dot was blinking steadily in the middle of a screen.

...tracking? You opened your mouth to ask a follow-up question, but then it hit you and your eyes flared up. That hug.

“Sneaky. I like it.” You grinned and nodded at him. “How’s your nose?”

He lowered his hand with the tissues. It was bruised and swollen, but you couldn’t tell if you’d managed to break it or not. Still - ouch.

“Never better,” he said and grimaced slightly.

“You should put some ice on it.”

He scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“You don’t say.”

Biting your lip to stifle a giggle, you glanced back to your right. “So? What do you wanna talk about?”

The other man shook his head.

“Not in the car. We’re almost there.”

You looked out of the window to find out you were driving into an industrial zone, and not the nice part of it. You didn’t mind, though - abandoned and creepy factory buildings were your jam, and they made excellent locations if you ever needed a chance to escape.

After a few minutes, you reached your destination. You got out of the car parked near the entrance to an empty hall. The sunbeams were pouring inside through the broken windows near the ceiling, lighting up a small metal table and a pair of chairs.

“Kudos for prepping such a dramatic setting, gents,” you laughed, taking a seat at the table. The polo man sighed and sat in front of you, sliding a folder with documents your way. You peeked inside, only to confirm your suspicions. They got some serious dirt on you, all right.

“Let’s start again, properly this time. This is Neil,” - he said, pointing at his companion, who was standing nearby, leaning against a pillar - “and I’m The Protagonist.”

You gaped at him and slumped your shoulders. “The Protag--...you’re shitting me,” you huffed, but the man was staring at you indifferently. “Dude, your parents must hate you,” you snorted, not even trying to keep a straight face. “What’s wrong with-- ...I don’t know, David? Or some of the classics, like John?”

“That’s how everyone here addresses me, and I’d like you to do the same.”

“Do I have to?” you groaned as you looked at Neil. He simply nodded, so you had no other option but to roll with it. For now. “Ugh, fine,” you said, shrugging. “You guys are spies or something?”

“Or something,” said The Protagonist. “We use certain espionage techniques to our advantage.”

“Sure,” - you scoffed - “next thing you’re gonna tell me is that you need my help to save the world.”

Neil’s amused snort made you glance at him again. “Well, maybe indirectly.” Playful sparks lit up his eyes as he gave you a half-smile. 

Are they for real? If that was an elaborate prank, this would be a good gotcha moment, but the men seemed serious enough.

You shifted on your seat, laughing nervously.

“Sorry to disappoint, but you’ve got the wrong gal.”

The Protagonist pointed at the folder in front of you.

“We need someone with your skills.”

...right. “Such as?”

“Lockpicking.”

You arched a brow. “Why? You need me to crack something for you?”

“No.” The Protagonist shook his head and took a deep breath. “We need you to teach our agents how to do it.”

“Hard pass,” you said, crossing your arms. “I’m not a tutor material.”

All of a sudden, a familiar voice rang behind you.

“Show her the lock.”

And then you connected all the dots.

“Mahir, you asshole!” you fumed, glaring at your friend as he joined you by the table. “Sloppier with age, I swear, you’re the main reason I have trust issues!”

“Main?” - he sent you a skeptical look - “What about--”

“Okay, you’re in top three, but mind you, today’s stunt alone got you five places up the table.”

“Oh no, I’m gonna cry myself to sleep tonight,” he mocked in his usual deadpan manner.

You huffed - “You better,” - mentally kicking yourself for falling for his ruse so easily. Maybe he was right. Maybe you’d lost your edge. That’s what you got for staying in one place for too long. You blinked rapidly, getting out of your head to focus on an item The Protagonist placed on the table. A small metal lock, pretty basic. No security pins, but you knew this model was made with sloppy tolerances that could give any beginner a headache.

“What’s so special about it?”

“Give it a try,” said The Protagonist and waved his hand in encouragement.

You reached to the pocket of your pants for a compact set of lockpicking tools you always had on you. Nothing fancy, rather a handy emergency set than anything serious - those were safely stored in your apartment, ready for the real work. Unlike the one you were about to do. Or so you thought.

You placed a tiny wrench at the bottom of a keyway and applied a minimal amount of tension, trying to set the first pin inside using a short hook. Trying and failing. The feedback from the tools was bizarre, like the regular laws of physics no longer applied to the lock’s mechanism.

“What in the fresh hell--” you uttered through gritted teeth, pulling out the tools to examine the peculiar lock.

Mahir smirked. “Enough pizzaz?”

“Shut up, I’m still mad at you,” you waved at him dismissively and focused back on The Protagonist, who was watching your attempts with polite interest. And a hint of a satisfied smile. “Where did you get that?”

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you,” he replied, leaning back on the chair. “At least for now, that is if you’d like to reconsider our proposal.”

You nibbled on your bottom lip, drumming the fingers on the table. Mahir, you bastard. Of course he knew you wouldn’t be able to resist an offer like this. Even if that meant a certain commitment, and that wasn’t something you were particularly fond of.

“Fine,” you sighed. “But I’m gonna teach only one person.”

“Deal.”

As you shook on it, Neil left his spot by the pillar.

“That will be me.”

You nodded in agreement and asked, “What about the lock?”

“Keep it,” said The Protagonist, standing up. As if he’d share the secrets straight away. “I want to hear your thoughts on it the next time we see each other.”

“And when is that gonna be?”

He just smiled enigmatically. “Soon. Mahir - a word?”

“Is he always like that?” you asked Neil as you got up, watching the others making their way towards the exit, but he just shrugged in return.

“He’s a busy man.”

You eyed your soon-to-be student curiously, and he responded in such, although suddenly losing some of the confidence he’d had before. Even with the bruised face, he radiated with this natural charm, a soft smile and the blonde strands falling into the bright blue eyes only adding to the overall appeal.

“Sorry about the nose.”

“Thanks,” - he smirked - “can’t blame you for that though, right?”

Grinning, you extended your hand in an informal truce offering.

“No hard feelings then?”

“Not at all,” he said as your palms clapped together and you smacked each other’s arms playfully.

With any leftover tension gone, all you had to do was to discuss the schedule and a few other crucial details. Neil took some notes and promised to get everything ready over the next few days. He even offered to drive you home, but you politely turned him down. A long walk, even slightly longer than previously anticipated, seemed more tempting.

Your fingers brushed against the weird lock in your pocket and you smiled to yourself.

For the first time in months, your heart started beating a little bit faster.

(next chapter->)

#neil tenet #neil tenet x reader #neil x reader #neil tenet fanfiction #robert pattinson #tenet #tenet fanfiction #the protagonist tenet #mahir tenet #neil tenet imagine #long nights

[angst-fairygodmother]

Girl Talk (The Song of Sway Lake Fic)

A/N: The moment has finally arrived! The first official collab/crossover between myself and @miss-kittys-magical-library​! I’m really excited for how this came out, and how much fun we had writing it together. 😊 Word Count: 3127 Rating: T - mild language, brief mention of blood, discussion of violence

~The Papermill bookstore, Sway Lake~

Selina burst through the door of the bookstore.  She almost doesn't wait for Jess to say hello or ask questions.  Selina is overcome with adrenaline, the exhilaration of what she did. A giant smile spread across her lips.  There's almost a dreamy look in her eyes.  

She's covered in blood: her hands, her jeans, the bottom of her shirt.  Selina held her hands like a surgeon so she didn't touch anything.  

Jess’s mouth hung open while she pointed nervously towards the upstairs.  Her friend knew where to find what she needed.

Selina comes out of the hot shower knowing Jess will be in the room waiting.  She found clean clothes but stopped to study herself in the mirror.  Somehow she felt like her body had changed somehow.  

Selina caught a picture of her and Jess and held it up.  How far they've come from the girls in the photo on her best friend’s dresser.

She glimpsed Jess in the mirror, a strange smirk on her face.  Selina knew something was up.  She handed the picture to her friend and spoke,

“Can you believe this was us?”

------

There had been a time in life where Selina and Jess had told each other everything, no matter what. And yet somehow this summer, one of the most eventful in recent history, Jess hadn’t told her best friend anything. Anyone who had spent any time on the lake knew about tensions between the Sways and...basically everyone, but especially Selina’s mother and her relatives. And more than that, it had been kind of nice to have a good secret all to herself for a little while. But she missed her friend, and would have loved her advice on what to do about the boy who was quickly becoming someone important, and a problem for her heart. 

She was just thinking about the other girl, wondering if she should call her after work, maybe suggest a bonfire or late night rowboat race like they used to have, when Selina burst through the door. Jess’s eyes fell to the blood first, and then rose quickly to Selina’s face and the expression that didn’t match the apparent situation at all. 

A thousand questions raced through her mind as she pointed her best friend toward her bathroom (not that Selina didn’t know where it was by now) and made quick work of closing the shop. She didn’t seem hurt, so everything else could wait. While Selina washed herself clean, Jess dug for any clothes left behind the last time she had come for a visit, and failing that, any old shorts and t-shirt. She left them on top of the dresser and poked her head into the bathroom to gather the discarded bloody garments and throw them into the wash. 

Selina was standing in the bedroom, studying herself in the mirror when Jess returned, and for a moment she wondered, again, if her friend was injured. 

“Can you believe this was us, what?”

Selina laughed, “These girls.  We’re just girls here trying to be grown women.  I sort of treated you like I did Sunny.” 

She waited for Jess to maybe bristle or tense up at his name. “I marched on to the beach, saw the first girl my age who had SOMETHING in common with me, and declared you mine.  We aren't little girls anymore.”  

There was a bittersweetness in her voice.  Selina didn't even care that she was naked. 

Jess laughed. She remembered that day, meeting Selina after escaping her siblings in search of a moment of peace and quiet, far from what actually found her instead. But they had got on so quickly she'd forgotten to be angry about it.  

"No, we really aren't," she agreed with a tinge of nostalgic sadness in her own voice.

She leaned back on her hands on the bed, watching her friend study the picture. "I never minded, you know. It was kind of nice to be claimed by somebody. You'll always be my first for that," she bit her lip, hoping the joke didn't come off as uncomfortable given the situation. 

Selina finally dressed and sat beside her friend on the bed.  Her knuckles caressed the other woman’s cheek before she swept the hair from her face. Without a thought, she leaned in and gently pressed her lips to Jess’s, tongue lingered a bit before she broke away.  

“That's from Sunny too.”  Selina laid on her side tucked under Jess’s arm.  “How is it that I was here for a few weeks, and youuuu have been tramping around Sway Lake with some chick?!  Have you gone FULL lesbian?” she dropped her voice low. 

Jess turned onto her side, propping a head on her arm to face Selina. 

"You two are so weird," she rolled her eyes. "I don't think I'll ever get used to that." 

Her stomach flipped at the thought of Sunny, eyes cast to the ceiling as her thoughts wandered. She loved Ollie, but there was something raw about the idea of losing the other boy, even though he wasn't really hers anymore and hadn't been in quite some time. 

She quirked a teasing eyebrow as she returned to the present moment and the woman beside her.

"If I was going to do that, do you think it would be with anyone else than you? Whoever gave you your gossip needs glasses."

Selina’s mouth dropped open, “There's a guy around here with hair that long?!”  

She linked her arm through Jess’s and pulled her in for a hug.  The other woman now wrapped up in her embrace.  Selina let her chin rest on her friend’s head as she stroked her hair.  “You feel happier.  Content.  Like you're just drifting along.  I know you loved Sunny in your own way, but this is different.  It's the,” she ran a hand up and down Jess’s body without touching it, “this.  Papa would call it your aura.” 

Jess grinned. "I am. I'm really, really happy," she answered dreamily. "Ollie's a really sweet guy. But only here for the summer…"

She swallowed down the lingering bitter taste her argument with Ollie the previous morning had left in her mouth, not wanting to burden the conversation with her fears. Especially not when she still had so many questions of her own. 

"But don't think asking about my love life is going to get you out of explaining yourself, missy." She teased.

Selina sat up, “Oliver Sway?!  Jessica!  Come on.  Any other Tom, Dick or asshole at this stupid lake.  Sunny.  Sunny’s RIGHT THERE.  Just grab him by the ankle and bring him back to Earth.  He needs you.”

She took a breath, “That.. harpie will tear you apart because you aren't good breeding.  It's Sway Lake because that's what those upper crust cunts hold over this entire town.  Sway.  Lakes dont belong to one family, they should belong to EVERY person.  Are Sunny and I the only ones NOT under this family’s curse?  First Tom, then Nikolai and now you.”  

Selina’s voice was full of disappointment more than anger.  She looked at her hands.  Her palms, white and clean, were just caked brownish red not even an hour ago.  “It can't be the both of us.”

"Nikolai?!" Jess asked, staring for a moment before doubling over in laughter. "Oh god it all makes sense now."

She struggled to contain her laughter, gasping for air and wiping away the tears in her eyes from it. 

"Fuck Charlotte Sway, I couldn't care less what she thinks," she said, sobering and then sighing. "It's not like I planned on falling in love with Ollie. But I did, and it kinda scares me. I really really don't want to lose him. And he hates her and the whole legacy bullshit as much as anyone. Let it all rot or burn or whatever."

Jess was silent for a moment. It was hard to say Selina was her only or even oldest friend. But they were best friends, for certain, and they knew everything about each other. There were even times when they were younger that Selina and Sunny had talked about soulmates and Jess had wondered if she were hers. Which is why her stomach twisted with guilt as she realized just how unsettled Selina was, and pretending not to be. 

"But enough about me, it doesn't matter. Are you okay?"

Selina took Jess’s hand in hers.  She laced their fingers together and laid down again.  This time she and her friend were side by side.  She was certain no one in any spoken language had invented a word for what the two of them were.  

Selina knew it was why Leon and Johnny always ended phone calls and visits with long hugs and I love yous.  Why Honey and Klaus showered each other with intimacy and affection Honey showed Leon.  Friendships that made people question your sexual intentions.  It was probably something in the Kostas skin, like a pheromone. 

The 23 year old pushed the thought out of her mind that everyone around them was their friend because they didn't have a choice.  Instead she squeezed Jess’s hand.  

“You know Honey, she holds grudges with a tight grip.  There's only two people she hates: Charlotte Sway and Reginald Hargreeves, and he's the one she really wants dead.  Charlie is lonely and miserable. That's punishment enough for Mama.  Papa always says she would make a great Mafia don. She DID like Tim Sway; 

cried when he killed himself.  He wasn't even Charlot-”  Selina cut herself off.  “Either way Ollie must take after him then.  I hope he does.  I think we played together when we were little?”   

She realized she was avoiding the question and wanted to deflect solely on Jess.  Sunny wasn't the only one who slept around up here, or had a weird effect.  Selina again panicked if maybe, somehow, what was in him was in her.  That the Russian on a canoe in the middle of the night would show up in the Village, screaming at her in the dead of night.  Some of the guys she fucked flopped around on top of Selina for a few minutes, got off while she stared at the ceiling.  Then they laid claim to her like any White guy who thought he owned someone else’s land.

“And don't laugh like that either!  I was doing my duty as a future nurse and helping someone who got hurt.”   

She watched Jess cross her arms, even on her back.  She was giving Selina THAT stare.  Selina threw her hands up. “Ohhh,” she whined, ”I was swimming, floating really.  Probably out further than I should be in the middle of the night, but that fucking moon.  And there he was on his way to get rid of those horrendous jet skis of Jimmy’s.  And he was flirtatious and made me groan, but also laugh?” 

Selina had pulled her knees up to her chest so she could hug them.  A far off look on her face.  “And he's very.. I didn't really pay attention to what he looked like.  WHO, right?  It was just this fire that went through me.  Like I knew him?  

“Mama always talks about the day I was born and speaking into existence this notion. That every version of her will be loved by and love Papa.  She thought it was blood loss creating insanity, but Sunny and I had designs on a love like theirs.”

“And the way Nikolai made me feel, and the way he knew my body?  We didn't even fuck; not like that.  I haven't cum that hard or much ever.  Even by myself.”

“Then he got hurt, and I made Sunny take me to him.  Ollie had saved him, right?  As we're stitching him back together, I see his face.  That face I grew up with three times over.  He's fashioned for me, Jess.  Maybe like Ollie is for you.  But Nikolai is Leon and Nicklaus and Klaus and he's made to be mine.” 

"No, no  I'm not laughing at that, or you," Jess promised. "Just...the first decent conversation Nikolai and I had, he mentioned meeting someone. Matching his description to you is what's funny. And the fact that you two are such opposites." Jess paused, smiling in fondness for both parties in question. "But it's safe to say he likes you, a lot." 

She felt silly now, not putting it together sooner. After all, there was no one else in the world she could think more aptly described as a siren made of the moon. And as funny as it was on paper, something about Selina and Nikolai made sense. 

 And, it made her heart beat giddily. Her faith in fate was complicated, but when it came to the Kostases, the concept was shockingly simple. And it seemed impossible that this was just coincidence, the four of them tied together like this. 

'Or maybe,' she silently scolded, 'it's wishful thinking so you can tell yourself you're not being completely crazy.' 

The rest of what Selina said registered belatedly and she blanched. "Wait. That was a lot of blood. Are you saying that it was all Nikolai's?"

“It was,” Selina replied softly.

"Jesus. What did he do, get in a knife fight?" Her voice was a mixture of concern and annoyance. 

She could see Nikolai doing something like that, to defend his own pride which he deflected onto Ollie, or for some other stubborn, idiotic thing. And now that there were two people she loved who would get hurt if something happened to him, she made a note to have a little chat with him about being so reckless. And to find Ollie later to check on both boys. 

"I know if he had you helping take care of him, I don't have to ask if he'll be alright." She nudged Selina teasingly with a shoulder, hoping to break up some of the heavy, contemplative air settling over them both.

“Knives don't cause QUITE as much damage as you think.  Unless you hit a vein.  Diego showed me how to do it effectively once.  Plus if he's like the others, Nikolai probably prefers fists to weapons.  Or the spider monkey sleeper-hold thing Klaus and Sunny do.  Although Papa stabbed Uncle Jonny once, it was just an artificial wound.” 

Selina suddenly scooped Jess up in her arms so they could go back to a cuddle.  She tangled her legs and arms around Jess to sort of dominate her personal space.  Her forehead pressed into her friend’s neck.

“He and Jimmy got into it, and they were on the boat dock.  Nik slipped and hit his head.  Ollie swam for like, the first time ever to get him up into a boat.  Had pressure on it.  I just stitched him with fishing wire.  They'll do better at the ER.”

Selina sighed, “If he's like them he wouldn't die anyways.  Klaus died like twice in a few days, also head injuries?  Either way, Nikolai would’ve been fine without me.”  

Then almost like an afterthought, “Did you say he talked to you about me?  Probably something about conquests and the Russian army.  But you!  YOU FELL IN LOVE this summer!  I got my pussy licked and think he's this mythical soulmate.  You're in actual, real love.”

Selina propped up on her elbow, “Have you slept together?  No I'm sorry,  YOU get to call it MAKING LOVE!!”  she burst into a fit of giggles around cheeks fired by jealousy.  “I am happy for you.  I promise.  I'm glad Sunny..  I'm just happy.”

"No, actually," Jess said, shifting around Selina so they tucked together more cleanly, like two matched puzzle pieces. This kind of closeness wasn't Jess's favorite thing, but Selina knew that, and Jess trusted that if she didn't need it, she wouldn't be initiating it. "It was surprisingly non-militant. And only one nautical reference."

Jess hesitated, remembering some of the incidents Selina had to deal with and one or two more from the summers that  Sunny, or Jess herself, had headed off before they got far enough to be a concern (or for Selina to even know). She wanted her friend to know just what Nikolai had said, and that he very much did not just see her as just some conquest. But the line between sweet and creepy was a hazy one at best. She brought one hand away from the tangle to fret the corner of her thumb between her teeth while she thought it over. 

"I'm not saying I'm jealous...but I thought it was romantic. And dramatic of course, look who we're talking about. But dramatic isn't always bad. I wish you'd stop dismissing yourself like that. Soulmate or no, you have some sort of feelings for him which seem serious; one might call it a crush at least. And he made you feel good. He made you happy. You're allowed that. You deserve it. And now, for the moment if not more, you have it, savor it." 

"As for Ollie and me..." 

She froze, frowning as she struggled to figure out just what to say. There was a part of her that feared a reputation of some kind (even though it was just Ollie that she'd been a first time for, and Sunny, but he didn't count). And another part that wanted to keep it to herself, even though most of her wanted to share. She bit again at her thumb, searching for words. 

"It's not that big of a deal?" 

Selina bit her lip before a yawn escaped her.  “One: a crush is a crush because you can get hurt.  Otherwise, it would be called a cushion.  I think that's what Papa said once.  Or was it Klaus?”  

Selina closed her eyes now. “Either way, it's a very big deal!  I can feel the difference in you.  I want you to be in love.  To maybe leave Sway Lake.  Come back to the city with me?  Close up this place for a few months.  You can live with me.  Or Oliver for a little while. Oh lovely little Oliver making my sweet Jessica come ‘round again.  All your sadness and little pieces everywhere.  I couldn't stitch you back together with fishing wire, could I?  I shouldn't have let Sunny break your heart.  I just didn't want being around me to remind you of him.  I'm sorry.  But Ollie.. he’ll..  Sorry, I think I'm a bit delirious from adrenaline?  Mind if I nap a bit?” 

But Selina was fast asleep before Jess could give permission.

Jess shook her head with a smile, carefully extricating herself and tucking her friend into the bed. Selina had given her a lot to think about.

#hopefully this formatting worked #it was not at first #author collaboration #Jess O'Neill and Selina Kostas #Moonbrella Lake Crossover #The Song of Sway Lake fic

[sopxhiea]

Hazard

Alfie Solomons X Reader

Summary: Business is being done in a new buyer’s office and that’s when Alfie stumbles upon a person that does not seem to fit the rough lifestyle.

“I saw that. You just checked me out.”

The sky was painted a darker colour of blue that day, not quite the sunny outing weather like it had been for the past month. Autumn was upon the city, the leaves slowly morphing into shades of orange dancing around with the wind. The city was blooming with business, it was time to go back to the way it was before.

And there he was, in his office.

He had been particularly grumpy in the last week, it was the stress of the upcoming season. There were deeds and deals that needed to be done, things had to be taken care of which meant that he needed new buyers and employees. His territory was safe, at least that was a win.

His glasses rested on the bridge of his nose, hands moving every now and then to get his hands on the papers. His eyes scanned the pages, signing them one by one or crossing words out. He needed someone else, someone who was better with words than he was. He already had Ollie and a few lads who checked the books but it was beginning to be too much.

His eyes met Ollie’s the second the young lad started speaking, saying something about how they had to leave soon to meet this new buyer. He was not new in town but he was certainly new to this business and Alfie found that to be the small door to his treasury. 

Ten minutes later, he was off.

------

There were one too many footsteps to trail back to.

He walked at the front, Ollie resided right next to him as a couple bulky man followed. The building was large, it was done in the modern style so it stood out in the posh streets of London. It was clear that the man had money and liked to spend it from the way he had decorated the space.

No leaks, no rough looking offices and no shouting was around.

The walls were made of oak, the caramel colour complimented the white office desks while Alfie walked behind the assistant who was supposed to show him where the big man was. There were small office doors, ones he could easily peek through that had ladies and men working inside but all they did was to the deal with papers and some bloke who was complaining.

Past the countless small rooms filled with different working people, Alfie saw a bigger one right in front of the large doors. He had no doubt that the large doors opened up to some extravagant office that the boss was currently in but the one in front of the doors had music seeping through the half open entrance.

He didn’t meant to, but he ended up seeing you.

Your hair was in a low bun, waves and bits framing your face while your head softly bobbed to the record playing. It was loud enough to be heard if you were standing right in front of the doors and since they were, they could hear the seeping melody. Your shirt was tucked in a black skirt, one that came down to just above your ankles while Alfie’s eyes got caught in your young face.

You were far too young.

Rosy cheeks greeted him when you realised someone was standing right in front of the boss’ doors. You would have to see them first to give the green light so they could go in. You looked at the book before you and ignored the way this peculiar man was staring, only to find out that there was in fact an appointment  with another mafia boss.

The truth was, you had known the niece of this mob boss since you were little and you needed something to do in summer. The bloody handed gangster had offered that you’d keep the books around the place and seeing as you were good with letters and numbers, he’d made you his assistant for the summer.

You didn’t expect it when Alfie almost fell while walking around, he hadn’t seen the step leading to the office and so he stumbled.

A small chuckle left your lips, loud enough for the guests to hear.

His eyebrows lifted with amusement, you’d found it funny and even laughed. None of his employees would even dare look at him in the eye but a small girl working for a big boss had no problem laughing at a scary gangster.

“What’s that, luv?” he asked, parting the door furthermore while you tried to keep your chuckles to yourself. You were terrible at not laughing in serious situations and this was one.

“Nothing.” you shrugged but there was a smile on your lips still. He could see you were amused by the small incident and were not scared to hide it.

He saw the books and the papers around, concluding that you were the assistant. He knew that you already knew his last name since the appointment book in front of you had it, so he didn’t bother to introduce himself just yet.

“Who are ya’, lass?” he asked, Ollie was right next to him like he would be ready to pull his boss away any time. Alfie’s anger was not manageable for the lad.

“I’m not of importance.” you spoke, eyes darting away from the scary gangster just for a split second to see the confusion swimming in the other guy’s orbs. 

“No?” Alfie spoke, clearly intrigued as you looked right at his eyes.

He was much larger than what you’d assume he’d look like. The name Alfie made you think of a much elderly man, someone who’d need another person to walk down a flight of stairs but the man standing in front of you was far from that. He was broad, tall and very good looking.

“No.” you spoke, the game of push and pull felt like second nature as you shook your head.

He watched as you put a little sign next to his name on the appointment book, the agenda seemed pretty full considering it was still summer time but before his eyes had a chance to roam around the thin white sheets of paper, you closed the book and shot him a daring look.

“Ya’ look way too fuckin’ young, yeah, to be here let alone work for the man you’re workin’ for.” he spoke, Ollie was roaming around the entrance while Alfie was practically walking around your office. And it wasn’t the first time someone was making such comments on your age.

“Why, do you think?” you asked, your wit second nature as he found it amusing just how brave you were when faced with a man who could easily snap you in two.

“Look at ya’.” he said, very clearly checking you out afterwards. He might’ve thought you were too young for such a place but he certainly didn’t think you were too young for him.

“Well, for your information, Mr. Solomons-” you started speaking but he cut you off, almost speaking as a footnote to the words you were about to say.

“’s Alfie, lass.” he spoke, letting you know that he was more than comfortable with being on a first name basis but you just threw him an annoyed look and went on with your words.

“..There are a lot of men, big scary gangsters such as yourself, who come here and go through me so I assure you.” you looked directly into his eyes this time, as if it was your way of letting the man know you had the same fire inside you that could burn forests. “..my age is not a problem.”

You couldn’t help but smile a little at how dumfounded he looked for a second, but the shocked expression turned into a smirk not too long after. This man knew what he was doing and that only made you feel curious.

But you’d remain professional.

The jewish gangster and his group of trusted employees then went into the large office to talk to your boss. For an hour or two, you hung around the office you had while muffled screams and loaded threats seeped through the closed doors. This wasn’t how things went, usually and it was your boss who was yelling. Not Alfie or his men.

You busied yourself with a stack of papers that had arrived from the post office this morning when the doors opened, your boss looked disheveled in the worst possible way but Alfie had a low smile on.

He was going to screw your boss’ deal.

The standard smile found your lips when the men walked by you, each of them proud and a little shaken from the way your boss had lost it. You didn’t look at Alfie’s eyes when he walked past you, but you were forced to when he grabbed your chin in a gentle manner and made you look up so you were eye to eye, even though the man was significantly taller than you.

“If ya’ ever decide you’re bored here, lass..” he spoke in a low voice only you could hear while eyeing the papers on your desk. “..my door is always wide fuckin’ open.” he said, words leaving a sweet aftertaste as they echoed through your mind and he walked away.

The office was empty in a matter of seconds.

--------

The corridors of the distillery were sticky with rum and sweat. The place reeked of what you thought to be the vapour obtained during the fermentation process. Ollie’s head was all you could see while the men looked surprised to see a woman around, let alone a young one your age.

You didn’t look like you belonged there.

And the truth was, you didn’t. Alfie knew you looked different. You looked like you were made to be in the mansions around the outskirts of town where all they drank was loose champagne and red wine while they talked about how they would decorate the garden for the upcoming season.

But there you were, in his bakery.

Life hadn’t been what you thought but you liked working, let alone working for mob bosses and gangsters. The work was not very different from a regular accounting job and you trusted your current employer but you were keen on seeing what Alfie had in store for you.

Ollie let you in not too long after, he had told Alfie that a woman was waiting for him up front and he’d figured it was one of the old ladies who came to discuss something about the donations he was making to his community.

He wasn’t expecting you.

Your navy blue dress stood out in the office that was solely decorated with stacks of paper and guns. You thanked Ollie quietly before stepping into the office and the look of utter surprise on Alfie’s face almost made you giggle like you did the other day but you settled on greeting him first.

“Hello, Mr. Solomons.” your words were breathier than you meant them to be and it made his eyes flutter for a second before he stood up.

“‘ello, lass.” he spoke, a low smile appearing on his lips when he remembered exactly what he’d told you. It wasn’t like he had forgotten but his mind was not as clear as he’d want it to be today.

“I take it you weren’t expecting me.” you said, looking around the office while you took small steps.

“‘s a lovely surprise though, innit?” he spoke but it was more of a statement.

“If you say so.” you spoke, eyes looking at the stacks of papers that were the closest to you. It was obvious he could use a hand around here and he’d heard about your quick hand at handling numbers.

“It ‘s, yeah.” he spoke, nodding as he walked away from his table “Ya’ came here for the job then, hm?” he spoke, hand tugging at his beard like it usually was while you inspected him.

“I came to see what you had in stock for me, I’ll decide once I see your offer.” you said, voice monotone as your formal approach caught him off guard.

He was glad to see you and had no shame to hide it but a part of him was also taken aback. You were this little dainty girl he’d stumbled upon in a rich man’s office building and there you were, telling the bog scary gangster who was currently in war with your boss that you might consider his offer, if you liked it.

He scoffed at first but he saw your dead serious expression which made him start talking about the job. You’d be a personal assistant, much like what you were currently doing. You had to be good with numbers and write letters in behalf of Alfie. He insisted on the fact that you wouldn’t join most meetings since they tend to get violent behind closed doors.

When he stopped talking and his small grunts ceased, you were standing in front of the office of his door. He looked at you then, from head to toe and realised that he was probably a little more attracted to you than he should’ve been for an assistant. 

You bit your lip before speaking, seeing no reason to stop what you were about to say. “I saw that. You just checked me out.”

Your words earned an honest chuckle from Ollie and a death stare thrown his way from Alfie. He seemed to not have anything to say after glaring down at Ollie. Yes, he had checked you out but you were attractive and you knew it so why should he contradict the given situation?

“I hope that doesn’t come with the list of things I have to endure if I do end up taking the job.” you spoke, voice breathy but he knew you were merely being sarcastic. So he decided to poke at the fun you had found for yourself.

“What if ‘t was?” he said, eyes glistening with amusement. If you wanted to work with him, you’d have to be witty enough anyway so he was testing you.

“I don’t mind it, actually.” you spoke, shrugging your shoulders while Alfie’s eyes had a shock of surprise in them. You were just telling him that you didn’t want him to ogle you but now, there you were telling him that it was quite alright.

But you would mind.

If it was anyone else, a stranger or even your friend checking you out the way Alfie had done, it would’ve bothered you but the man before you was far too much fun to toy with and he also happened to be quite attractive. You hadn’t decided whether you’d take the job anyway so a little teasing wouldn’t hurt anyone.

“Are you going to keep checking me out or show me what the position entails?” your voice met his ears while his eyes glistened with amusement and lust. He was in for some trouble.

He then took you into his quarters of the place, it looked just like what you’d expect it to look like. He sat you down, offered you rum and called you smart when you declined, then he started talking about business.

Alfie’s business was familiar territory for you but working for the jewish gangster meant that you’d have to keep your eyes and mouth shut when it came to certain things. It meant hiding a gun under your skirt and illegal bookies coming in and out.

It meant excitement, rush and the thrill you so badly craved.

You nodded at his words as he finished his talk about what you’d actually do. He saw the interest in your eyes but was also aware of your young age and the affect it would have on his trusted workers. You’d be a distraction for sure but he could handle it. He’d keep you to himself.

“Let’s say I accept your offer...” your voice was soft behind closed doors with just you and him, it carried lest weight. “..when do I start?”

He chuckled at first, you weren’t telling him anything by saying quite a lot. He listened to your words, most of them enticed with a feminine touch as they filled the ears of many each time he saw you but you actually got to the point most of the time, something he could use around the office.

“This monday, yeah, that’d be fuckin’ perfect, luv.” he spoke, watching you get up slowly. 

You’d already made up your mind.

This would be fun, you thought. Alfie would be paying you more than your previous boss due to some additional things you’d have to do and also for keeping your mouth shut about what the wandering jew was really up to. He was blunt and a little too forward but nothing you couldn’t handle.

He watched you get ready to leave, a smile on your lips that reminded him of the first time he’d seen you. You were just as pretty today.

Your soft voice filled his ears as he watched you like a hawk. You’d walk away soon, leaving the poor man alone with his thoughts but he was the one who had the brilliant idea of hiring you. You spoke with a seductive voice, knowing your words would ring in his ear long after you were gone.

“I’ll see you on Monday.”

-----

Tagging: @clairecrive  @parkbearum @sourirez  @vetseras​ @mollybegger-blog

a/n: Let me know what you thought of the chapter/if you want to be tagged!! <3

#alfie solomons #alfie solomons imagine #Peaky Blinders #peaky blinder imagine #alfie solomons fanfiction #alfie solomons peaky blinders #alfie solomons fluff #alfie solomons scenario #alfie solomons smut #alfie solomons series #alfie solomons fanfic #alfie solomons fic #alfie solomons x reader #alfie solomons x oc #alfie solomons x shelby!reader #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders scenario #peaky blinders smut #peaky blinders x sister!reader #peaky blinders fiction #peaky blinders fluff #tom hardy #tom hardy smut #tom hardy fanfiction #tom hardy imagine #tom hardy scenario #tom hardy series #tom hardy x reader #tom hardy fic

[prose-for-hire]

Sunshine, lollipops and rainbows everywhere

Pairing: Spike x reader

Request: Bodyswap anon here! I appreciate you offering but you dont owe me one. Although I did have an idea that was an AU where reader runs a bakery and Spike runs an auto repair shop. I love the "grump is soft for the sunshine one" trope and just wanna see a slow burn of badboi Spike fawning over the shortie wearing bright colors that comes in with a flat tire during a downpour who isnt afraid of him in the slightest. If you like it, go for it! I just love cliches and tropes lol

Requested by: Anon - hope this is okay love 💖

You walked slowly into the seemingly deserted auto-repair shop. It smelled of oil and damp and you wondered if it was even still open for business. There were thick cobwebs in almost every corner and the lighting was only on where it was absolutely necessary. You looked around, blissfully uncaring of how badly things could go if the wrong sort of person worked there. You smiled around the place, your presence a ray of sunshine in the otherwise dull surroundings.

You had your brightest outfit on, dulled only by the flour you always managed to get everywhere on you throughout the day. You owned and almost solely ran a bakery not far from this shop. You stopped in the middle of the garage, looking around and not announcing yourself in case it startled the man bending over and tightening… or was that untightening something on an old looking car.

He paused his job, looking over at you. He took one look at you and rolled his eyes, turning away from you and pretending to be very busy. He had a pretty bad reputation around town, but everyone still went to his shop because he was good at his job.

You cleared your throat softly, maybe he just hadn’t seen you. You had a flat tire and it was late. The dark started to consume you slowly before he turned fully and stalked towards you.

 “You look lost” he said, closing the distance and looking you up and down menacingly as if you were unwelcome. Which, you were. He didn’t like being interrupted. He didn’t like people coming into his shop uninvited. He scowled, something that usually kept people away. But apparently, not you.

“No, I know where I am! I just need some help – I’ve got a flat” You said, a pleasant smile on your face as if you were oblivious to his threatening stance. He sighed, rubbing his hands on an old rag before gesturing at you to show him to your car. You basically skipped away and he followed behind.

 He just grunted when you got there, stepping around you and taking a look at the tire, which was undoubtedly flat. Like, pancake flat. You weren’t even sure how it had happened.

“Yeah, that’s a flat” he stated, looking up at you as if to ask what you expected him to do about it.

“Would you be able to fix it?” You smiled and he peered at you confused as to why you weren’t at least avoiding his eye contact out of fear or respect. 

“Yeah” he scoffed, rolling his eyes at such a stupid question.

“Oh great, that would be really nice!” You gushed, “You’re so kind, thank you!”

 He leaned over and you couldn’t help watch as he expertly changed the tire for you. You sat, trying to make conversation but he didn’t reply to anything that you said. Eventually, he finished up and you thanked him profusely.

“You’re really good at your job” You smiled, complimenting him softly. He looked taken aback, not entirely sure if you were actually making fun of him or not. He just grunted slightly in response so you decided to ask, “How much?”

“350. Flat rate” he shrugged after thinking a moment. You really were too sweet for your own good – in a way he decided to take advantage of. You were a fully grown adult, you knew the usual rate. You weren’t naïve, you were just incredibly kind.

“For one tire?!”

“Take it or leave it” He said, although he had already changed the tire for you so realistically you would have to pay it.

“Pastries!” “If you cut the act and charge me the proper rate you can have as many pastries as you like from my bakery when you come in as a thank you”

 “You own a bakery? Who are we kidding - of course you bloody do” He muttered, raising an eyebrow, “Ok, usual rate... and free pastry for the rest of my life”

“Rest of the month” you entertained his bargain.

“Year”

“You drive a hard bargain, sir!” You exclaimed, before grinning in a way that his expression definitely wasn’t matching, “I’ll see you soon!” you called, jumping into your car and speeding away with him staring after you.

Later that week, he took you up on your deal. You were behind the counter as he sauntered in, “Welcome to Angel Cake’s! It’s nice to see you again – this is my knight in shining armour from the other night!” you dropped your voice and explained to your employee. The young girl who came in on a Saturday to help out looked Spike up and down and raised an eyebrow. She hadn’t liked the sound of him – you were too friendly. Saw the good in people when from what you had explained, there didn’t seem to be any there. Spike had tried to take advantage of you.

“Right, yeah. Spike. Name’s Spike”

“I’m y/n!” You smiled, “Hey, your name doesn’t suit you much – you’re kinder than your name suggests!”

“I think the name’s about right” your co-worker Nina cut in, the younger girl not known for her tact. Spike scowled at her and turned back to you.

“I’m here for my pastry” he stated. No further niceties and no eye contact. He would insist he was trying to avoid being blinded by your colourful choice in outfit for today. You nodded and started busying yourself, choosing him one that you hoped he would enjoy. You put one in a bag and passed it over.

Your hands brushed against each other as you passed him the to-go bag. You shivered and he pulled away too quickly. He snatched the bag up and turned on his heel, stalking out of the door without so much as another word. He came back every two days or so to claim his pastry, sometimes lingering slightly but never saying anything more than which baked goods he would like.

The next two weeks went quickly and it had been really busy in your store. You noticed you hadn’t seen Spike so often – so you decided to do something about it.

“Bugger off – we’re closed” he growled, his back turned away from the door but he could hear footsteps entering. Your footsteps.

“Hey!” You called and he paused when he heard your voice. As if this would have been the only exception to his statement. That is, if he cared. Obviously.

“What do you want? I got business to be doing here, haven’t you got a rainbow you could be skipping over”

“Oh, I was just bringing you something – freshly prepared today! Uh, and you always seem so lonely working here so I thought maybe I could keep you company”

“I don’t get lonely. I like it this way” He insisted. This was a lie. He did feel lonely, some nights desperately so. He looked up at you and you gave him a small smile, a nod of understanding as you were ready to turn away. He thought about your nature slowly as you turned away. You didn’t put on an act, you genuinely felt for him. Cared to ask or swing by. So he made a decision. He opened his mouth before you left and said, “Uh, you can leave those” pointing at the box of donuts you had brought that you had lovingly prepared only moments before you drove over to his shop. He didn’t want you to stay, at least he wouldn’t admit it anyway. You nodded, placing them down and waving an enthusiastic goodbye. Pleased that he had at least taken your treats.

It was now a month later. He was working in his shop and he couldn’t stop thinking about you. His mind always turning back to you. Every waking thought, and the occasional dream too. He tried to shake himself out of it and continue working on a car.

But he couldn’t focus. He decided to have a break. He had been in several times for pastries since your first meeting, some he even paid for himself. He sat down, wiping his hands down his overalls. He grabbed at the pastry and started to bite into it.

He closed his eyes - it was just so good. It was sweet. Like you. Like heaven in his mouth. Your baking. He found himself filling his thoughts with you, often subconsciously but more recently it has been on purpose.

What were you doing? Did you ever think of him the way he thought of you? What would the bread of the day be today?

His eyes snapped open. It finally dawned on him. How he felt for you. He had been soft on you for a while now, he had just been fighting it – and for what? Oh, right. Because he couldn’t face the crippling rejection. Especially not from you. He had isolated himself on purpose after all, too used to the denial of his affections. To people in his past treating him as if he wasn’t worthy of love.

Still, he understood it now. He got it. He liked you – really liked you. And there was nothing he could do to fight it. He wanted to spend time with you. Your soft and kind nature became sweeter to him than the baked goods he loved so much. He didn’t want to be stuck, hiding in the dark anymore. He wanted to be surrounded by light. By your softness. Your bright, cheery smile. The array of dazzling colours that he had started to enjoy gazing upon the sunny tones. He decided he would have to do something about the way he felt.

So, he did. He tried at least. He stood outside having what must have been his second pack of cigarettes in the last hour. He was stood awkwardly outside your bakery chain smoking to gain enough courage to enter. Until, that is, the door opened and you popped your head out.

“Hey! Spike! Nina said you’ve been hovering by the door, trying to decide whether to come in or not for the last hour… are you okay?”

“That bitch-” he muttered under his breath, “Been worse, love. Um, h-how are you?”

“Oh I’m good thank you! I have some freshly baked bread I’d really love you to try! Come in!” You called, tugging at his sleeve slightly. His questioning you was new. He never usually asked. It excited you, but you knew better than to make a fuss over it. You wanted him comfortable after all.

He sat, eating the bread and telling you how good it was. He was almost gushing over your granary loaf and you couldn’t help but beam at him. He explained that it was by far the best bread he had ever eaten.

“Would you- did you want to-” big overexaggerated sigh with his entire body before carrying on, “Are you doing anything in your break?”

“I am now – would you like to go on a walk with me?” You asked.

You walked around the block, happily talking and encouraging him to chip in when he wanted to. You loved hearing from him. However, the heavens had opened and the rain had started to pour. You hadn’t expected this and weren’t dressed for the weather. You managed to hold a conversation and he proved himself correct with every step he took with you. He was falling for you.

“You’re, uh, shivering, love” he noted as he walked in-step beside you.

“I’m a little cold – rain can do that to you I suppose!” You grinned and he frowned ever so lightly. You said words but your mood never appeared to dip. It was as if you were his own personal sunshine, no matter what the outside world threw at you both.

He shrugged his jacket off and offered it to you, nodding his confirmation that he meant it. You smiled wide, not thinking and instead swooping in to hug him. An action that almost knocked him from his feet.

He just stood there. Still, not sure what to do. He found himself really enjoying your embrace, but he didn’t move his hands from his side. He wanted to, but he was embarrassed. What if you felt him hug back and laughed?

“Oops – sorry!” You realised you had been a little too enthusiastic with your hug. Some people don’t like hugs, you reprimanded yourself for a second, before looking back at Spike and beaming, “You want to help me bake this afternoon? Nina’s handling the front” as you shrugged his jacket around your shoulders.

“I, uh, should get back…” He offered, but his expression appeared to be in deep thought. He was conflicted. He really enjoyed your company, it appeared. But he would never agree to an afternoon of baking. He had insulted people for suggesting way less.

“Come on! You might enjoy it!” You couldn’t help but press. You really did want him there.

“Fine. But don’t be expecting it to become a regular thing… I’m just helpin’ you out seeing as you keep bangin’ on about it” he muttered, but secretly he was absolutely thrilled. He couldn’t help glancing at you every moment he felt he could get away with it as you both rounded the corner.

At the bakery, Nina rolled her eyes and scowled at Spike who stuck his two fingers up at her when your back was turned.

You started off reading the recipe, weighing up large quantities as you had a lot to bake. Spike took it surprisingly seriously. He hadn’t realised how much work went into making some of the items you sold. He would never take your pastries for granted again. He actually said this to you out loud, promising you. It made you giggle.

“I always struggle with this part” you say softly, trying to mix the large bowl of cake batter.

“Should I-?” He offered starting to roll up his sleeves and offering to take the duty over for you.

“Maybe we could try it together?” You smiled and he just nodded – in the name of helping you mix it better. Of course he would share the responsibility with you. You trusted him with it and standing that close to you would be a gift.

Usually, you might use an electric mixer. But you wanted to take it all back to basics. And perhaps, allow yourself to become a little closer with Spike. You both had a grip on the long wooden spoon and started to stir it together. He was stood behind you, but close enough for you to feel his presence. You both shared a small smile, without realising it as you watched the mixture become silky smooth.

You stumbled, not used to sharing a workspace and tipped the flour down what happened to be Spike’s front. You managed to pour flour down the front of the apron he had been wearing.

“I’m so sorry!” You said, trying to bite back a giggle.

“You’re going to be” He raised an eyebrow and took a handful of flour and threw it at you – making you squeal. This quickly descended into a flour fight that you decided had to be a draw as you were both covered. You were both laughing and you paused, savouring his smile. It was a real, genuine smile and it made you swoon.

You shared prolonged eye contact, holding your gaze through the flour that was still in the atmosphere around you. You shared another small smile before getting back to your respective tasks.

Eventually, you finished up and started to clear away as the cakes were now baking in the oven, “No way!” Nina exclaimed from the doorway. She was trying to hide her snort of laughter as she came to ask how long the next batch would take and she saw Spike crouching in front of the oven willing the cupcakes to rise through listing off a string of threats. Apparently, threatening them into it whilst he was wearing a baby pink cooking apron. You were crouched beside him, the oven gloves on in anticipation.

“Bugger off, short stack!”

“Nina, there’s a customer waiting” You said softly, giving her a look that said please let us have this. You had taken a shine to Spike. You were nice, but never this understanding with someone. You saw that he wanted to trust and share a connection. You hoped, with you. He just needed a little encouragement. Someone that cared without conditions.

When the cupcakes were finished, as you both sat eating the warm treats straight from the oven Spike had gone quiet. You were starting to worry, but your mood lightened once more when he spoke through a mouthful of cake, “Do you like spending time with me, pet?” he asked, not looking towards you.

“Of course I do!”

“Well then. I think it’s time we teach you how to change your own tire”

“You mean it!?” You cheered, smiling back at him. This was as close to a profession of fondness you would get from him. He had thawed, his temperament softening. But expressing his feelings was still hard. He nodded, offering his hand for you to take. You took it without hesitation and he moved your hand to his lips, kissing once softly. A gesture you would never have expected from him, but it made you melt. You walked towards his shop hand-in-hand, swinging his arm the entire way.

#spike btvs #spike x reader #spike x you #spike imagine #gender neutral #gender neutral reader #gender not mentioned #bakery au #btvs #btvs x reader #btvs imagine #btvs x you #Buffy The Vampire Slayer #buffy the vampire slayer imagines #buffyverse au #btvs au #x reader #fluffy

[darklordriddle]

Hermione takes Tom on a rollercoaster for the first time 😈

TOM GETS SCARED TOO, OK?

“You’re fucking kidding me.”

Hermione let out a strangled laugh, poorly attempting to hide her glee at his blatant disgust. She placed a hand on his warm, bare arm.

It was a sunny day in mid-June, and the sun was beating down on them in the afternoon heat. She had struggled to get him here—the amusement park, of all places—and she knew his patience to be limited with the hot weather, the muggle inventions surrounding them and most of all, her.

Hermione had bloody well begged him to come with her and her friends to the park, even resulting in her getting on her knees—she blushed at the memory, remembering the feeling of Tom’s fists in her curls as his hips thrust towards her open mouth—for him to begrudgingly acquiesce in a rare moment of weakness. She had to take advantage, after all, as it was incredibly difficult to get him to agree to anything—and fuck, if he wasn’t the most stubborn person she knew.

“I’m afraid not, mate,” Ron grinned from Tom’s other side, ramming an elbow into his ribs and causing Tom to exhale in a hiss. “This is a prime muggle experience.”

“You’d do well to keep your friends from touching me as well, Hermione,” Tom seethed, adjusting the sunglasses on the bridge of his nose as he glared down at her. He completely ignored the ginger—as he had the entire way there—and pretended he didn’t exist outside the sole purpose to annoy Tom.

Ron simply rolled his eyes at the irrationally angry man, used to his constant stream of insults.

“Tom, it’ll be fine,” Hermione sighed, heading towards the queue up ahead and reaching blindly behind herself for his hand, smiling when he grabbed on, his large hand encompassing hers. “These go through rigorous testing each day. It’s safe.”

“You mean to tell me a wooden roller coaster is safe?” Tom growled, pulling back on her hand and bringing the group to a halt.

“You get this.. Sorted, Hermione,” Harry laughed, dragging a hand through his wild black hair. “Gin, Ron, Lav and I will go ahead and jump in line.”

“You do that,” Tom leveled a glare at him despite the effect being dulled by the sunglasses impairing the view to his narrowed eyes. His rigid jaw and frown managed to express his distaste, regardless. “Out of all the ideas you’ve had, Hermione, this has to be the worst.”

“It’s fun, Tom,” She sighed, reaching up to stroke his cheek and his jaw loosened, albeit very slightly. “Don’t be so stubborn. I’m not willing to risk my life for a bit of fun.”

He snorted. “Debatable.”

“Dating you isn’t risking my life anymore, you know. You wouldn’t harm a hair on my head. You’ve gone soft.”

“Don’t test me, Hermione.”

“I’m simply quivering,” She laughed, the scowl on his face becoming more pronounced with each word that left her mouth.

“You’re lucky we’re in public,” He said softly, pulling her flush to his body and leaning his head down to whisper into her ear. “I’d like to teach you a thing or two about your insolence.” His breath tickled her shoulder and sent a shiver down her spine.

“As much fun as that would be, my lord,” She murmured, using the name he preferred in bed, “I’m afraid we’ve more important things to do—like honour your promise.” She winked as his jaw hung open.

“Minx.” He swatted at her arse as she pulled him forward once more.

“You love it.”

Tom merely shrugged his broad shoulders, and she accepted that as answer enough.

“Let’s skip this and get some cotton candy,” he raised a dark eyebrow suggestively, knowing her weakness for sweets. “My treat.”

“Tom, are you afraid?” She laughed, placing a hand on her chest in mock surprise. “I had no idea you were capable of feeling fear. Certainly, if you’re that worried, there are some kiddie coasters over to the left—”

“I—am—not—afraid.” He emphasised each word, bringing his face down to hers and lifting his sunglasses, placing them on the top of his head to glare properly at her. “If you insist on dying today, by all means, lead the way.”

“Certainly.” She curtsied, grabbing his hand and dragging him forward.

She would pretend as they reached the queue that she didn’t see his hands in tight fists, clenching and unclenching the entire way through.

As it was close to becoming their turn to board, she heard him mumble something unintelligible.

“What was that?” She asked, standing on her toes to hear him better.

He mumbled once more, and she pulled him down to her face, the crowd of people overwhelming her hearing. “You’ll have to speak up.”

“I said I can’t bloody well do it!” He snarled, covering his face with a large hand. She could see colour in his cheeks, and she was sure it wasn’t from the sun. “I can’t do it.” he said again, voice level.

“Let’s go,” She pulled him back through the line, and he kept his head held up, daring anyone who made eye contact with him to say anything, his eyes like daggers.

As they arrived at the entrance once more, she rubbed both her hands up and down his arms. He shook her off, placing the sunglasses back on the bridge of his nose, sneer in place.

“So you can’t ride a roller coaster,” She said, shrugging her shoulders. “No big deal.”

“You’re right. It isn’t a big deal. Whoever designed these death traps is bloody well mad if they think I’m going to willingly ride on an accident waiting to happen.” He sighed, rubbing his forehead as though a headache was forming. “Not a word to your friends, Hermione. If they find out, I’ll be forced to kill them. Especially the ginger.”

She muffled a laugh and nodded.

“Of course, Tom,” she said, grabbing his hand and rubbing comforting circles on the back with her thumb.

As they reunited with her friends, Tom kept his complaints to a minimum, forgoing conversation with the group entirely—and if anyone had any questions about it, they kept them to themselves, Hermione shaking her head vehemently anytime anyone tried to address him.

He preferred it that way.

#tomione #my writing #asks #answered #tom is allowed to be afraid of things #espec. death

[if-only-we-could-read-it]

I haven't posted any of my own writing here in a while and i am hoping to ease myself back into regular posting over this month but for now take a random snippet i just wrote. I've written quite a few dream/nightmare/dream-like(?) scenes for this wip but this one was little different.

The blood-slicked Fields of Irústhan flashed in front of her, as they often did when she tried to retreat into her own mind, the corpses themselves blurring into unfocused shapes against the grass. She couldn’t hear them, but somewhere, somewhere close, she knew people were sobbing. The sky above her was finally starting to darken, the sun dipping below the horizon…

Nylla opened her eyes. In front of her was darkness- deep and impenetrable, as if she’d simply wandered out of the world all together. Still, she walked directly forward, as if she knew where she was going and the blackness didn’t phase her at all. It wasn’t entirely untrue. Underneath the disorientation and the strange sense of weightlessness, she felt… calm. As if some part of her subconscious had decided she was safe, even if she hadn’t really realised it yet.

After a distance she couldn’t even attempt to quantify, a light seemed to form in front of her, slowly being brought more and more into focus as she stepped towards it. Within a few steps, she’d reached it- a ray of white light, illuminating nothing but a violin propped against the black ground. She blinked-

People screamed, the sound not reaching her, their faces distorting into shapes that seemed almost inhuman, and they rushed forward like waves in the ocean, scrambling over each other and sometimes crashing back into the dirt-

-and took it in. It was beautiful, really, even to her. A deep orange-brown that shifted in shades across the body, making it look sun dappled even in the solid light, with ornate detailing of flowers and vines carved around the edges and an ebony fingerboard. The matching bow was propped against it. She reached out and gently wrapped her hands around the tops of each, as if afraid she might break them by gripping too hard, and-

Behind the masses she could almost see what they were afraid of- shapes shifting out of and into the ground in a constant motion, swarming up and towards people before yanking the struggling bodies down, but it was like she couldn’t look directly beyond the people to see properly-

-positioned the instrument carefully against her chin. It seemed to be the exact same temperature as she was, not even slightly warmer or colder, and the only thing that told her it was there was the pressure of the chin rest against her skin. It was perfectly sized for her, her hand fitting comfortably into position against the neck. She adjusted her bare feet carefully, and realised- even though the ground was still black and depthless when she looked down, she could feel the grooves of a rocky floor against her soles, damp in a way that should’ve felt cold and slippery but didn’t. She blinked-

Instead her eyes seemed fixed on the front of the crowd, on people desperately grabbing at each other in an attempt to get as far forward as possible, hands tearing at coats and shirts and skin with a reckless abandon that left scratches on some people, their eyes wild-

-and lifted her head back up to stare into the darkness, moving her other hand to rest the bow carefully on the strings. Something about just holding them seemed to resonate with the strange sense of calm she was already feeling, and she found herself somehow relaxing even more, losing tension she hadn’t known she was carrying. She really did miss playing sometimes. She began to play a basic A major scale, but three notes in found herself switching seamlessly into-

But worse were the people who’d been pushed to the ground, bruised and bloodied, grasping at the sharp ground to pull themselves forward with so much force it was tearing open the skin on their palms and the tips of their fingers, leaving open wounds they didn’t seem to notice-

-one of the first full songs she’d been taught. It wasn’t a difficult piece, of course, nor was it particularly powerful, but it was soft and light and made her think of sunny days and warm rooms and dýn lýlla with her aunt. It was a song she’d spent many afternoons practicing while moving around her room or the grounds outside, finally relaxed and loose in a way she never got to be with anything else she learned. As she-

The frontline of people were getting closer to her now, close enough that she could almost pick out the tearstains she knew would be mingled with the dirt on their faces, close enough that at least a few of them should’ve noticed her standing there, but they looked straight through her with their pleas for help-

-finished the song on a high, drawn out note, she found abruptly that she tired. Properly tired, the kind that pulled on all your muscles and made you want to tumble over because it was easier than keeping your eyes open to see where you were going. She lowered the violin, and with a tinge of regret, lowered it to the floor. It was only then that she realised the light was gone, and she could only guess roughly how far down the floor was, so she felt a stab of guilt as the violin hit the ground a little too hard.

It really was a beautiful violin.

She blinked again, but this time instead of violent images, she saw a deep red colour, and opened her eyes to the ceiling of her bedroom.

#writing #writeblr #I haven't spoken about this wip on here... pretty much at all #so ill talk more about it at some point #i dont work on it too regularly but i get inspiration sometimes #i have a whole language made up for it that i need to refine a little #and i need to make up a few more #or at least the basics for a few more #but imma refine the one i have for a little bit at some point this week because i have Ideas for changes #my writing

[imnotwolverine]

The Englishman JACK - CHAP 3

< Chap 2 | Chap 3 Cocks And Guns | Chap 4 >

Summary: Jack finds himself in a crossfire between friends, foes and silent admirers. 

Author’s note: To the handful of people reading this: I hope you’ll enjoy this one! Have a good weekend my lovelies. ❤️

Word count: 5.105 (18 min. read)

Disclaimers: NSFW - Strong language, misogyny, lots of cigarettes, alcohol abuse, extortion, WWII PTSD, (gun) violence, mobsters

–

Cocks and Guns

--

The woolen uniform itched and Jack was eager for the night shift to be over. With sweat running down his back, he peered into the darkness that surrounded the makeshift war camp. Everything seemed so calm and quiet; it was near strange to think that a few miles from here the Germans lurked. The enemy.

A few months ago he had seen their faces for the first time, the mood grim in the dead land between bloody trenches. It had rained for weeks on end and Jack could have sworn it had been God himself crying for the travesty that was this war. In that moment he had also wondered if these Germans before him truly wanted to fight. He, for one, surely didn’t. He felt the same dread he saw in them. Cheekbones fallen in, eyes wide.

That day the battlefield had remained calm. And not many days later Jack was reassigned, one general impressed with his good eye for detail and sharp mind. It was why he now was here, belly flat on the earth as he peered out into the distance, eyes sharp and back soaking wet with sweat. Behind him he could hear the occasional male voice or thump of sturdy boots. But before him the land was unreadable. All scraggly bushes, haunting tree shapes and the song of hidden cicadas. Jack felt the sound irked him, even though he couldn’t quite explain to himself why. The creatures were perfectly harmless and he had learned that the locals were terribly fond of them.

At first this new job hadn’t seemed so bad. They got more rest than in the trenches, and the men seemed a tad more cheerful. On the odd occasion they had even slept in real beds, made music, met women. And these women, French women, were utterly divine. Jack had never been outside of English territory, so he was near shocked to find how very different the French were from his usual English birds. In a hash he thought that maybe, if ever he’d get out of here, he’d marry one of those pretty brown eyed mademoiselles. Start a life here in the rural lands that usually harvested wine. What a life that would be. Besides, it wasn’t like he missed England all that much. Especially not when that same England sent him out to fight like this.

Scratching at some sweat that was drying on his jaw, he lost focus for just half a second. And though the cicadas continued to sing and the stars to shine, Jack knew something was amiss straight away. The male voices were no longer solely behind him. They were before him. Hushed and part of the darkness that stared back. Had he imagined it? Swallowing harshly he focused on the black lines of branches and bushes. With the wind quiet, any movement would indicate unfriendly visitors. But none moved. None sighed. Indeed, perhaps he had just imagined it. With a coded click of the tongue he signalled the other scout whom lay a few meters up ahead.

The man shot up disturbed, helmet crooked on his head, followed by a thump of lead hitting flesh. Jack’s heart was racing in an instant, eyes noting his dead fellow scout, shortly followed by then a blitz of stars in the bushes. Bullets were being fired and even ducking low he could swear he would be hit. That this would be it. That he would...

Gasping, Jack shot up from the bed. A sheen of sweat stuck to his brow and it took a good few moments before he realised he was no longer in France. The room surrounding him was dark, but he recognised it well enough. He was at the Maniari’s, having just awoken from a bad dream. Sighing, he let himself fall back on the comfortable mattress. Even years after the war, he was haunted by his days in the army. And he felt it only got worse when he was alone, the cold sheets a cocoon that trapped him in the most frightening of memories. Staring out at the ceiling he waited for his heartbeat to calm and breath to steady. But that was not going to happen.

Gunshots fired in the night outside. And before he even realised it himself, Jack had thrown himself off the bed and onto the floor, arms tiger crawling up to the window sill, eyes peering over the edge. The window was cracked open slightly, letting in the cool nightly Tuscan air to relieve the heat after a sunny day. That same heat still remained in the stone ledge he pressed his cheek into, bewildered eyes finding the cause of all this ruckus: Augusto and his men.

Down on the patio on the far end of the house there stood a group of swaggering, loud men. Thick cigar smoke curled up in the air and from the way they had to steady their every move, it was obvious they were well into their cups. In total there were four, faces hard to discern in the low moonlight. It didn’t however refrain the men from clearing their identities with loud laughter and booming voices. With a shotgun in hand, Augusto stood at the front, a cigar hanging over his lip as he looked over his shoulder, hinting at the other men to watch.

‘Watch and learn!’ He growled, body starting to jerk as he cleared a few shots in the dark. Jack noticed that he wasn’t just shooting at nothing; from a tree hung a white ribbon that stood out just enough for even the drunk men to see. Not knowing whether Augusto hit anything at all, Jack flinched as the men started to cheer even more loudly.

Next up was one of the more slender looking men. Perhaps one of the bodyguards. Holding a handgun he outstretched an arm, aim more pure than that of Augusto. With a Hollywood-esque exaggeration he blew the heat from the gun’s barrel, laughing as one of the other men clapped his back.

Like this the nightly banter outside continued. It felt like hours upon hours, and though Jack had forced himself to lay back down in bed, he could no longer catch any sleep. Staring out at the ceiling he watched and waited, and dozed and mulled on thoughts that mixed reality and dream until finally he saw the first rays of sun crawl over the wooden beams above him. The sheer lace curtains drew pretty patterns there, reminding him of his first acid trip. How relieving that moment had been after months of struggling to deal with his post traumatic shock disorder.

You’ve got it bad boy, Lucia had whispered, brushing away his hair when he would wake bathing in sweat.

She was gone now.

Sighing, Jack pushed himself off the bed, head feeling dazed. He hoped that this wouldn’t occur every night, but something told him that he shouldn’t keep his hopes up. This family was mad and he knew it. Stretching himself out, hands above his head, he cracked a few joints before returning to the window sill, eyes finding that a butler had moved out to the bullet shell covered terrace on his left. The man was placing a whole collection of glasses, half finished liquor bottles and crowded ash trays onto a larger tray, face stern and focused.

Then Jack realised there was another person up and about. Just beneath his window, seated at the long end of a table, chair covered in a black and white striped cotton, sat the only daughter of the Maniari’s. Bunny. She was all dressed up to the nines, hair neatly coiffed and body clad in a blue knee length dress. 

From his position, Jack could see everything perfectly. The way her cigarette smudged with lipstick, the way her eyes sometimes moved to the butler who was cleaning up the mess on the other terrace. And he also noted that her fashion magazine was a bit peculiar; either they had started to include an accounting segment, or Bunny dear was holding a secret. The pages looked off. Reaching a little further, Jack tried to figure out what it was she was hiding, but that move betrayed him. The window creaked and with a hurried scowl Bunny looked up, hand closing her magazine.

‘Good morning,’ Jack chimed, smiling warmly. Bunny sucked on her cigarette and stared up at Jack. A moment passed.

‘If you say so.’ She sighed, pressing the half-finished cigarette into a glass ashtray before walking back inside.

Jack contemplated how he had wronged her, but as his eyes wandered over the curves of the misty hills, his mind bleaked. In the far distance, behind the neatly kept gardens, he could see the vineyards, stretching for miles. Most of it owned by the Maniaris, small houses dotted over the landscape, all rented by locals or used by family members. Today was the day he would meet some of them. He wondered if they would be just as mad.

--

‘Too expensive.’ The old nan flared an aggravated hand in the direction of the suit clad man who had come to gather the rent. Her eyes spoke poison, but also intrigue when she noted Jack. For a short moment her trembling jaw quieted, wrinkly features studying the unknown man before her.

‘YOU, you do something about it!’ Her finger directed back at Big. ‘The protection is shit! Last week one of my goats was shot and look at what you do. NOTHING. No-thing. You scum! You..-’

One of the men pushed Jack outside of the small cottage and closed the door, leaving Jack alone. The sun was starting to sink down and with a quick check on his peculiar sundial watch he noted the time. 4.30, just about. And violence..? He listened and heard the muffled whines of the woman inside. Yes. Biting his tongue he started his way to the end of the small garden that stretched around the cottage. Vegetables were growing in long rows of green. Cabbages, leaks and the like; nothing spectacular. But he also noted feet. Or feet marks to be exact. Dragging in the mud and too large to fit the small woman that lived here, alone. Had she had a visitor? Clicking his tongue he turned heel, hearing the front door re-open, men pouring out.

‘Fucking nuthouse.’ One of the bodyguards muttered, lips glueing to a cigarette that was lit with a bloodied hand. Jack noted that too, but said nothing. It was not why he was here.

‘Found some footsteps over there.’ Jack nodded, and the men looked up.

‘So?’

‘Male. Large male. Old, most likely, or wounded. Hard to see through the red stain of this darn mud.’ Jack pointed at the garden and two of the men stepped in, one of them taking notes and photographs of the measurements and findings. They nearly looked professional - were it not for them to be stinking like a brown pub in the wind.

‘Unlikely to be Alfi.’ Big stepped forward, still distrusting of Jack. Luigi hadn’t come along, though he had offered; it was Jack who had refused. At first the idea of having Luigi with him seemed pleasing, but seeing Luigi’s slightly particular behaviour yesterday made him rethink. Perhaps it was better to find the brother’s motivations and relations one by one; in the end they both had been in Paris at the time of Lucia’s demise.

So far though, the young Maniari mostly just seemed like a spoiled brat, who, unfortunately, wasn’t all that clever. Big scowled at Jack, who smiled a fair laugh.

‘Alfonso can’t get hurt, you say?’

‘It can’t be him because why the fuck would he be in some old hag’s shitty garden? He’d come home if that’d be the case. Pfft.’ Big shook his head in disbelief and regarded one of the men who had walked to a nearby tree to take a leak, hand brushing down the pee on his pants before he let out a relieved sigh.

‘Fwoa. You just keep on pissing from that stuff.’ He laughed.

Big smirked. ‘That’s what you do. Drink like a god? Piss like a god.’

The rest of the men laughed, but Jack didn’t. He turned around, watching the distrustful woman who peaked at him through the lacy veil of her curtains. Perhaps he’d return to her later.

--

The sun was sinking fast, but apparently there was one more job to be done. After a short stop at the villa, a small garrison of three sleek cars drove up the ruby red roads. At the front was Augusto’s car, a silver Mercedes, it’s lacquer shining in the last drops of honey hued sunlight. In the far back was the brandless black beast that carried Jack and four square shouldered men. These men were new to Jack, and for a moment Jack wondered if he was brought along so Augusto could keep an eye on him. Of course he had hoped that he would have been just allowed to lumber around alone, but reality was different. In reality even family friends had to join in on the dirty work. Whatever the dirty work would be right now.

After a short drive the cars halted before a small winery, long rows of vines weaving in patterns behind the tall cypresses that stood at either side of the muddy road. The sun was close to disappearing now, leaving long and tall shadows at the men’s feet. The Maniari crew had nine men in total, which seemed excessive for a visit. But then again; perhaps it wasn’t enough. Jack noticed how they all kept a hand close to the insides of their jackets, buttons undone. He was no fool. There were weapons held disguised, ready to be used at will.

Turning on his heel, Augusto was surrounded by his trusty bodyguard number One - a surprisingly small and slender man - and the four jarheads.

‘No words English. Just watch. I need your eyes alone. No funny business.’

Jack nodded, not sure what was about to happen. With confident strides the men walked up to the near abandoned looking winery, an old tractor parked near the door. The yard was muddy, leaving hundreds of tracks of cars, feet and what looked to be dog paws.

‘Nando!!’ Augusto called at a man who stepped out of the front door. The leather faced man was obviously not eager to see Augusto, eyes skittish and hand holding onto the door knob.

‘Good eve.’ Nando watched the many men that surrounded Augusto, eyes narrowing. ‘I don’t want no trouble sir.’

‘Then there won’t be any trouble.’ Augusto smiled broadly - too broadly, his cheeks drawing menacing shadows in the light of the sinking sun. ‘Just business talk.’

‘Right now? I was just about to eat sup--’

One of Augusto’s men pushed Nando back inside, pushing through the narrow hallway until all men were indoors. It was there where yet more visitors were found. More tough looking men in suits, hands staying nervously close to their pockets.

Jack barely got a chance at properly looking at these other men before the situation escalated. Augusto voice boomed with some insult about ‘crooked investors’ and then all hell broke loose. Or, so it seemed. Being pushed back against the opposing wall of the narrow hallway, Jack lost track of movements. Men were rushing back and forth, commands being yelled. The house was too small and it didn’t help that Jack had hurt his head, his vision swimming.

It was seconds later when the calm returned. Jack found himself leaning into the wall. On the ground in the small living room red stains leaked into the carpet. And watching Augusto, he saw those same red stains on his blouse. Had the mobster been wounded? Gasping in horror, Jack blinked, memories flooding him.

RUN JACK. RUN! Harry’s bloody teeth gulped the words, eyes wide.

The memory faded.

Hold! Hold! Hold for the king! Rain clattered on poorly made helmets, the dark night icy cold. Are you soldiers? Or are you weak? Right there the enemy awaits us, but we are ready. Squadron 2, line 4. Get ready to climb!

Jack felt sick, feet stumbling. The whole hallway seemed to tilt a few degrees, like he were on a ship filled with cute picture frames and handmade doilies.

‘Let’s get outta here.’ Big pushed Jack back out of the door, the rest of the men following.

‘What a fucking mess.’ Augusto growled. He didn’t sound as wounded as he seemed. Jack inhaled sharply, the evening air biting into his lungs. Panic and trauma washed over him and he had to try his best to stay afoot. Around him the other men walked out, reminding him of the soldiers in the trenches. The same mud that slipped beneath his unsteady feet had been there in France. Day in day out. Everything had been so wet, all the freaking time. At some point he hadn’t even known anymore whether it was the rain, blood or both. With blinking eyes Jack focused on his shoes, red splatters climbing up his leather shoes. He knew he wasn’t in France. He knew he wasn’t hurt - yet. And yet the ache in his heart seemed to seep in every corner of his limbs, turning his usually sharp mind to muddle.

‘Such a waste of wine.’ Augusto clicked his teeth. ‘And to you.’ He reared his head and looked at the man who looked at him through the small doorway. Jack didn’t know the man, but he seemed like a boos of sorts. His smug face raised a challenging chin, but said nothing.

‘Shame on your pitiful blood.’ Augusto spat on the ground. ‘This was once my father’s land. And now what?! Look at this! The moment some poor man comes up and tries to rebuild it, you take it from him.’

Jack frowned. Before him he saw the same Augusto that had beaten his daughter and threatened his family with the worst of repercussions. And yet that same man now wanted to protect this poor winemaker. Really? It almost seemed absurd.

‘There’s much waste, old friend. But this? I see potential. You see flaws. You hold onto the old. I embrace..the new!’ The smug looking man laughed. ‘And you see, Nando here.’ He turned and squeezed the terrified looking farmer into the door frame. ‘Has become a very, very good friend of mine. Haven’t you Nando? Hmm?’

The poor man swallowed and nodded quickly. ‘Y-yes sir.’

‘No no. We’re friends. Call me Gio, please.’

‘Yes..Gio.’ The man nodded, terror clear in his eyes.

Augusto sighed dramatically. ‘Well, dear Gio, you ruined my shirt!’

‘Oh curse you old friend. Buy yourself a new one. And kiss your wife for me, will you!’

‘Watch your words!’ Augusto wanted to step in and all men were back to grabbing for their pockets, but Big was there to hush his father.

‘Father, let us deal with this another--’

‘Another time? Would you look at that smug bastard with his..’ Augusto waved his hand in the air with disgust, his pretentiously friendly tone gone.

Gio laughed and waved, his skin lighting up with the last rays of sunshine. ‘Let us have proper wine soon my friend. We’ll discuss business, like the old days!’

Augusto spat on the ground and shot one last poisonous glance at the boisterous man in the doorway. It was obvious the two had a history. And Augusto was pulling the short end of the string tonight. With dragging feet he let himself be guided back to the cars. Even now Jack wasn’t quite sure why they had come with so many. Was it to show off? Or had they really been ready for a war? Still feeling a little wheezy, he walked to the last car and got in, his body soon squeezed in the middle of the bench between the two large men.

--

‘You’re hurt!’ Luigi exclaimed. With hasted feet he worked his way through the men who had started to scatter in the large hallway. Some went to the lounge for a drink, others to their quarters for sleep. None were rueful enough to deal with their boss Augusto right now.

The man groaned. ‘It’s nothing.’

‘Oh why look at you father.’ Luigi tutted, peeling at the winesoaked blouse of his father. His father swatted his hand away.

Luigi hesitated. ‘Ehh.. I must warn you, father.’ Luigi licked his thin lip. ‘Mom has one of her...moments.’

Augusto turned heel, eyes wild. ‘She..what? Why didn’t you do something?!’

Luigi shrugged in defeat and pointed outside. In a flurry of curse words his father ran out, feet thundering on the loud marble floor.

‘You alright?’ Luigi stepped in next to Jack. The other men had dispersed, leaving the two men standing here alone.

Jack nodded quietly. France still ringed in his ears. Or perhaps it was a mild concussion. Either way he could do with some rest and a meal.

‘Quite a day it was.’

‘Indeed. I heard Mrs. Tuscesi got another beating. What a woman. What. A. Woman.’

Jack nodded, allowing Luigi to guide him up the stairs like he had yesterday. Again that fleshy warm hand found his lower back, but Jack didn’t object. Stepping in turn with Luigi, he told his friend about the little situation with Gio. Luigi sighed.

‘My papa never learns.’

They halted amidst the stairs, where a window gave a lookout over the shadowy gardens. Little torch lights cast a mysterious hue over the greens, where the signora danced, a little 3-legged dog by her side. Meanwhile Augusto was storming through the long lane between sky high cypresses, right at her.

‘Didn’t know you had a dog.’ Jack said. He didn’t want to question what was the matter with Luigi’s mother - it seemed a touchy subject, especially now he was living here with the Maniari’s. For a moment they watched as she waved her expressive arms in the air, before throwing a shoe for the dog toe catch. It hobbled awkwardly on its three tiny stilts.

‘My mother has a dog.’ Luigi corrected, then returned his warm hand to Jack’s back. Jack again, didn’t object and followed as they continued their way up the stairs. This time Luigi got a little further before he halted amidst the hallway, feet quiet on the stone floor.

Jack smiled, knowing exactly what Luigi wished to ask. It seemed near inappropriate, but in a way Jack could use some friendly company at the moment. Besides, he still needed to find out what Luigi’s true motivation was in life. He had changed so much since last they met in person. Not only had he grown in size, also his manners had changed. The Luigi he had met in Paris was not quite the man before him. That Luigi had been an oversized boy who liked to play. This was a man who made the game.

Turning on his heel, Jack looked over his shoulder. With a single nod the affirmation was given; join me. And so Luigi joined.

--

With most of the men gone on their nightly mission, the house was left quiet. Bunny peaked through her cracked bedroom door. On either side of the hallway the lights were dimly lit. But no guards were there to keep watch. No brothers were there to call onto her. All she could hear was her mother on the phone and her brother’s record player downstairs. From the looks of it both were preoccupied and so Bunny took her chance, feet slipping out of the door frame.

The heavy creak of her door made her flinch. Fuck. Holding tight onto the door knob she waited. Perhaps there soon would be footsteps, guns cocking, knuckles cracking. But no, there was nobody here.

Continuing her quiet pitter patter, Bunny made her way to one of the doors on the right. Not far from here her mother was babbling into the phone. Or worse yet; crying into the phone. Bunny again halted her steps.

‘But I need you! I..I need you!’

Her mother sounded positively desperate. But then again, so were all women who lived in this household. Her mother would drink herself to death. Bunny would run herself to death. Pick your poison, they say, right?

Gritting her teeth, Bunny turned her attention to one of the doors on her right. It’s where Alfonso’s study was located. A bunch of mystery rooms that she had rarely been allowed to visit. And the attraction to visit became even stronger when Alfi disappeared. The brother’s had looked inside for a bit, but decided there were no clues worth mentioning to the Englishman. All seemed as it should be, they said.

But Bunny didn’t believe it could be that easy. Alfi always had been a weird brother. Being the oldest of the bunch, he had always felt terribly important with his books and administrational work and numbers. He had always been the precise one, the easily ignited one. One thing out of place would send him into fury, and so it was here where Bunny decided to do some of her own research. Here in his study. Where all her brothers seemed too busy with their gun fights and extortion, Bunny knew that it was unlikely to be just a regular kidnapping. There had to be clues. There just had to be.

With a click of the door knob she opened the study room. And it was exactly what she expected to find. A simple desk set amidst ceiling high bookshelves filled with administration and books. It was kept so orderly it was hard to think this may just be the start of a crime scene. But Bunny had read books herself, too. Agatha Christie had taught her one thing: death is in the details. And patterns are always there. The only difference was that this was no oriental train or desolate island, but home. The home she had lived in with people that could very well star in one of Christie’s books. For they were characters, each and every one of them.

Behind her, Bunny could still hear her mother’s wails, followed by a sharp click of the door. Was her mother going out? Oh no. Oh shit. Quickly closing the door behind her, Bunny pressed her ear against the door, listening to the footsteps in the hallway. It was definitely her mother, and from the way her heels tapped the floor in an uneven rhythm, it was clear that she was drunk. Not that this was such a surprise; each time her mother suffered a setback, she’d fall back into the dirty old habit of binge drinking.

‘Zazoooo. BABYYY where are you sweetieeee.’ Her mother’s shrill voice called as she clambered down the stairs, footsteps fading.

Zazoo hadn’t been able to climb the stairs ever since the incident. A shooting incident. And though all said it had been the Luchesse’s, or perhaps even Gio himself, Bunny knew better. She always knew better. And she was sure that it had been one of the family who had shot the dog’s leg during one of the many drinking fests. One night the dog had four legs, the next just three.

Poor dog.

Turning back around, Bunny let out a sigh. Again her eyes fell on the many small details around her. Having learned from her mystery books, she tried to find clues. The burned candles, the disturbed dust on the shelves, the…Hmm. She walked to one of the shelves that had obviously been disturbed quite recently. With a tug she pulled out some of the folders that were tucked tightly together. She wasn’t sure what exactly she was looking for, the numbers all unfamiliar. But there were names here too. Many names, though unfamiliar in most cases. Only the Luchesse named immediately rung a bell, but then the numbers didn’t clarify much either.

Flitting through the pages, Bunny let her eyes slide over the neatly noted numbers. Prices, codes, phone numbers. They could be anything. Continuing her research, her eyes stopped on one page. A blood stain had poured into the thin paper, dark red, though also still slightly slimy. An unusual type of blood stain when at best you’d suspect a paper cut.

Noises in the hallway made her turn on her heel again. More people. Male. Fuck. Hurrying to get the folder closed and back on the shelf, Bunny nearly let it slip from her hands. Her heart was thundering and fingers slippery. She knew that if she was caught red handed now, this would be last day she ever saw daylight. Her father would not have this. He didn’t like unsubordinate little women. He wanted them meek and mild, not curious and self established.

Rushing towards the door, Bunny already tried to find excuses to tell. Perhaps she had heard a faint noise and since she couldn’t find the guards, went to see for it herself. Perhaps she thought she heard Alfi. Perhaps she..

‘My mother has a dog.’ Luigi’s chuckle reverberated up the stairwell. Bunny sighed and relaxed a little. Luigi didn’t give a crap about these administrational books. He cared more about appearances, self pampering and other slightly dubious male activities. Pressing her ear back against the door she listened, but no further words came. It were two pairs of feet, moving in the same direction. Towards the Englishman’s room, or hers. Oh no. Oh no! You can’t be saying they were looking for her!

Making sure the footsteps were far enough away, Bunny unclicked the door and rushed into the hallway. The men were gone. Though their voices returned, chuckling through Jack’s door.

Bunny knew at that moment that she would be better off if she just went back to her room. She was putting her nose in things she didn’t understand. In things she wasn’t supposed to understand.

‘Oh Jack!’ Luigi exclaimed, followed by a bit of laughter. Bunny quietly moved in closer, ears peaking to pick up the sounds. But no more sounds came.

Then Bunny made another mistake. She watched. Women weren’t supposed to see these things. But here she was, bending over and peeking in through the keyhole. Inside the well-lit room stood the two men. Jackets removed, embracing. But it wasn’t the type of embrace she knew. This was..different. Long lasting. Luigi’s hands were on the Englishman’s buttocks. And it lasted too long. This was..this was. Bunny watched in shock and awe through the tiny keyhole. And then Jack’s blue eyes found hers.

Fuck.

--

Chap 4 >

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General tagsquad: @harrysthiccthighss​ @tumblnewby @magdelen69​ @thereisa8ella​ @darkbooksarwin​ @summersong69​ @madbaddic7ed​ @luclittlepond​ @maroonmolly @just-a-normal-fangirl18​ @hell1129-blog​ @agniavateira​ @tillthelandslide​ @elinesama​ @maddyreads14

#henry cavill fanfiction #henry as jack #the englishman jack #mobster mystery fic #original story #multichap

[eirist]

Points of No Return

SCRIBBLE #7 : ONE-UPPED

Disclaimer: One Piece (and its characters) belongs to Eiichiro Oda-sensei.

Reminder: I have no beta-reader. Any grammatical and spelling errors are solely mine.

Warning: OOC possible. One shot scribble.

Rating: T

Note: This crossed my mind while eating lunch earlier. And I’m surprised I was able to finish writing the outline on my phone while munching.

Summary: "You better kiss the boo-boo away Zoro."

Nami brought down the newspaper she was reading on her lap, lips jutting out in a pinkish, exasperated pout.

A snore thundered from across the other side of deck and she sharply flicked her gaze at the source.

The idiot swordsman was snoozing for the umpteenth time against the Sunny’s railing.

Another snore came from him and Nami felt a nerve twitching on her forehead from irritation.

That’s the third fucking time and she can only take so much.

Standing up from her deck chair she marched towards the slumbering man.

She pondered on whether she would punch him awake or just screech at his ear—she knows how much he hates that.

With one hand fisted, she stood in front of her still dead-to-the-world nakama.

Nami took a deep breath, mustering the strength to hit him with enough force to knock his non-existent brains out.

Or miraculously correct his busted inner compass.

Then she paused.

Because Zoro immediately stopped snoring the moment she was near him.

Nami blinked. Earlier he was sleeping with mouth wide open, snoring like a pig…

And now…

Now he seemed to settle back more comfortably, the features of his face softening as his head dipped on one side. His eye was still closed… his breathing even.

He was still asleep.

Did he… felt her presence or something like that?

Haki? She thought, glancing at her hand. If that’s the case then it’s futile to whack him awake.

Nami studied him for a moment. He looked like he was still deep in his sleep.

She crouched down beside him and cheekily poked his cheek.

When she did not receive any reaction, she repeated it again.

She watched his brows furrowed as he stirred to wakefulness.

Nami grinned. One more poke and she’s absolutely sure he will be shouting bloody murder at her for disturbing him.

Well… as long as she annoys him then she’d call it even. He did irritate her earlier with all his uncouth snoring.

Her finger pressed into his cheek again.

Zoro turned his head towards her direction, one eye still close with a deep frown on his face...

And surprisingly clamped his mouth around her finger, sinking his teeth lightly on the soft flesh of her digit.

Nami shrieked. And Zoro's eye flew wide open. They stared at each other in shock before Nami tugged her finger... 

... or tried to.

Good grief! Zoro just bit her finger with the same teeth that he uses to hold one of his swords! 

Panicking, she tried to wiggle it to see if he hadn't severed it. Her face heat up when the tip of her finger grazed his warm, wet tongue.

Good heavens. What is that burning sensation racing across her arm to her face? 

“Damn it Zoro! Let go!”

Zoro was too flustered to react. He honestly thought it was Usopp or Luffy, out to disturb his sleep again just like they always liked to do.

But Nami?

His eye looked down on the finger in his mouth. His face turning to ten different shades of red.

"Ouch! Zoro let go!" Nami cried out again and that snapped him out of his stupor. 

He immediately released her finger, scooting back as far as the Sunny's railing would let him.

"I-I-I thought you were Luffy! Or Usopp!" He blurted out. 

Nami glared at him. "Why would you think that?!" She snarled and looked at her finger, now slightly coated with his saliva. "Eeeww. Gross Zoro!" She looked pained and about to cry.

"Are you alright?" Zoro reluctantly scooted closer. "Did I... bit you hard?" He didn't know why in the seven seas that supposedly innocent question made his face heat up more.

Nami stared at him, cradling her abused finger in one hand, her face turning as red as Zoro's.

"Of course not you idiot. You nearly bit off my finger!"

"Lemme see!"

"No!" Nami quickly stood up and ran towards the toilet under the stairs, slamming the door shut.

Inside Nami turned the tap on and placed her finger under the running water. Kami knows what Zoro puts in his dumb mouth. She closed the faucet and studied her finger. His teeth marks still remained embedded on her skin. 

A vague image of him leaving them in other more delectable parts of her body suddenly crossed her mind.

Fuck. She cursed and opened the faucet again, letting the water pour down on her finger as she rubbed it hard. What was that?! Damn Zoro! This is his fault!

There was a knock on the door.

"Nami?" 

"WHAT?!"

"Do... do you want me to call Chopper?"

She stilled. Well that would just cause more drama wouldn't it? Chopper would reprimand Zoro, then Sanji will find out. The two will exchange blows. Then Luffy will find out and he’ll probably chastise Zoro for hurting her.

It doesn’t really need to blow out of proportion.

Especially since it was an accident.

Though accident or not… she will make Zoro pay for this. 

"Nami? Hey, sorry alright?" Zoro said through the door. She can imagine him frustratingly scratching the back of his head. 

She opened the door. And he visibly flinched.

"It really hurt Zoro," she mock-pouted and Zoro, as much as he wanted to point out that it was really her fault, bit his tongue. "Weren’t you supposed to know who's lurking beside you or something?"

"You are the only one on the deck with me. I don’t need to be that guarded… unless you are planning to stick a knife on me or something!"

 "Well you still should’ve known it was me! That’s what hakis are for!"

Zoro growled an expletive under his breath.

He flicked a glance at her hand and sighed, muttering another apology. 

Nami puffed her cheeks. Zoro was looking guilty enough to make them even.

But she wouldn’t be Nami if she didn’t try to one up him. Or squeeze favors. Or make him cringe and feel uncomfortable.

That’s when she'd call it quits. 

Then Zoro mistakenly and ignorantly put a nail in his coffin by saying, “Let me make it up to you alright?”

Nami instantly smiled, lifting the finger he had bitten so he can see the mark he left. She saw him grimaced and her smile turn evil.

"You better kiss the boo-boo away Zoro."

"…WHAT?!"

“It really hurts.”

Zoro glowered at her. “No.”

She pursed her lips. "Alright call Chopper. Let’s let Luffy and Sanji-kun and the others find out what you did."

“Temee…”

Nami shrugged. "Or we can forget borrowing money the next time you are broke and wants a barrel of whatever concoction you currently fancy."

"You evil witch!"

She grinned impishly and wiggled her finger, feigning a hurt look. “Ouch!”

Zoro look livid and she smiled in triumph. 

Nothing beats getting his boxers in a twist. 

He grabbed her hand and a laugh escaped her. She didn't mean that of course. She had teased him enough. 

"Zoro I was just kid—"

And her words got stuck in her throat when he brought her finger to his lips... … and kissed it.  "—ding..." The last syllable of her sentence came out in a sharp exhale of breath as she stared at him with eyes wide. 

They held each other’s gazes. Zoro still has his lips pressed on her finger while Nami was gaping at him.

Electricity raced up from the tip of her fingers, up to her arms, leaving goosebumps in their wake. 

DAMN. IT.

"Aaw! Really now?" Franky's voice boomed from somewhere above and Zoro and Nami stiffened. The shipwright was making his way down the stairs from the Sunny’s helm with their newest member in tow. 

"Sorry to intrude." Jinbe bowed down, a faint blush appearing on his cheek as he followed the cyborg. 

Nami and Zoro remained where they are… motionless. 

"Nah. Never mind that," Franky said with a dismissive wave of his hand as they crossed the lawn deck, probably on their way to the galley. "You'll get used to the weirdness in this ship soon enough."  

#zoro x nami #ZoNa #zonami #zonalove #zona scribbles #zoro nami fanfiction #roronoa zoro #nami

[alolanrain]

So we all know that in February, Lance is going to face of Leon for the title of the strongest trainer in the world.

Imagine Ash, and Gou, coming to Galar so Ash can cheer on Lance. Since he’s known the Kanto/Johto Champion for about 9-10 years now, because fuck canon age okay Ash is a big boy, and he just can’t help but pick a side. Soley because it’s Lance. And also the fact Aah wants to see Lance use the shiny Garados he helped the Champion catch all those years ago, that’s like the main reason he’s really here tbh.

And both Lance and Leon are talking to some interviewers and reporters. Suddenly Lance sees a familiar young adult with a Pikachu bouncing from shoulder to shoulder. 

Ash is talking to Gou, who has Scorbunny on his head, and not really watching where he’s going though he’s easily dodging everything that might trip him because he’s so used to walking backward and talking.

A reporter ask’s both Lance and Leon a question, and Leon’s is answering half way, when Lance immediately surged forward. The very large crowd parts as they watch in concern and wonder where Lance is going. Until they see the two boys walking and not watching where their going.

Ash’s back hits Lances chest and the young man looks up, because he’s so fucking short, and see Lance. The man is looking down at Ash with a soft smile, taking off Ash’s cap so that it stops getting crushed between the twos body.

“Oh hey, Lance.” Aah hums happily. Pikachu excitedly greets the Champion as well.

Everyone else is like “who is this boy!?!? And why is he not showing the correct respect to Champion Lance!?!?”

Lance smiles and scratches at Pikachu’s cheeks. The mouse Pokémon had hopped onto his shoulders, and he looks back down to Ash. “You gave your mother a fright.” Was his answer.

Ash smile turned sheepish, “A fright... about what??”

Lance eyes narrowed as his hand came up again to card through Ash’s hair. “The fight with the three... Ultra Beasts.” Lance voiced wavered a little at his uncertainty. “The one before your final match with Professor Kukui.”

Ash let out a soft ‘oh’ before his cheeks burst with color. “You watched the Manalo conference!” He twirled around and pointed an accusing finger at Lance, “and you didn’t even tell me.” Mock hurt filled his voice. But a loud giggle fell from his lips as Lance rolled his eyes heavily.

“Your my Godson, Ash, I wouldn’t miss a single conference. Even if the world was dying.” Ash’s bright sunny smile made Lance’s own grown. Before a very slight blush covered his cheeks. “Plus your mother would have my head if I didn’t.”

“Ever the Ursaring,” Ash commented. 

“Me or your mother?” Lance asked.

Ash just shrugged with a sillysmile as Lance reaches over to cuff the young man’s head lightly.

“Prat.” Lance joked.

“Old man.” Aah responded.

Both Lance and Ash stuck their tongues out at each other. Completely forgetting about everyone else standing before them. A large crowd had surrounded the pair and Gou, who was watching the interaction with bugged out eyes and quickly searching up Ash and the Manalo Conference.

Which quickly led him to Ash’s Champion page, and Gou sees that Ash is Champion of the Orange Islands and all of his other accomplishments. Gou soon flinches at the sight of some pictures that popped up, Ash was bruised and bloody. What looks like Kalos was in the background. Ash was giving the camera a tired peace sign as Pikachu, equally battered, was sleeping in his lap.

“You’re a Champion?!” Gou ask’s suddenly, cutting off the pair’s conversation.

Lance gave Ash a knowing look as the boy’s face burst with color again. “Yeah,” Ash stated, looking everywhere but Gou and the cameras, “it’s not something that comes up a lot, and I don’t really like how people treat me differently after they learn that tidbit.” His face falls, “it also makes traveling harder.”

“You should have signed up.” Lance butted back in, both of his hands falling on Ash’s shoulders. “It would have been amazing watching you battle against what the world calls their strongest trainers.” Lance pulled Ash closer and lifting a hand to the spreader sky.

“Ash and his original team, taking down challenger after challenger. Never wielding.” Lance was laughing as he was pushed off by Ash who wordlessly yelled ag him to back off.

“Their Pesudo-Gods,”Lance kept laughing much to Ashs dismay, “don’t think I haven’t seen you Charizard constantly fighting Articuno over the birds islands.”

“Charizard still isn’t letting go of their first fight.” Aah weakly defended. But that didn’t stop Lance.

“You’d kick my ass to be honest.” Lance tried soothing, though his laughter turned to chuckles. “Pikachu here could probably take down my whole team if it were angry enough.” Said Pokémon butted heads with Lances hand that moved to pet it.

“Whatever!” Aah huffed, face truly scarlet now. “Don’t you have a battle to get to?”

That made Lance pause, and fully recognize the surrounding people that made a semi circle around them. Leon was standing off to the side, more up the stairs, and his eyes held a fascinating glint to them as he watched Ash and Lances talk together.

“Shit.”

That got Ash and half the people to laugh. But before anyone could say anything, Lance unclamped his capes buckle and swung it in a flourished movement over Ashs shoulders. Pikachu once more jumping onto Lances shoulders, turning to look at his human partner with the black and red cape. The piece of clothing barley brushed the ground from Ashs height.

“Wha-“ Aah was about to ask before getting cut off by Lance who ruffled his hair once more.

“Be my good luck charm?” The other asked.

Huffing, it was Ash’s turn to role his eyes in amusement. “Been your good luck charm since I was ten.”

“How so?” Lance challenged.

“Garados.” Aah stated blandly. “That Pokémon is one of the sole reason why I’m here.”

“Cheering on your God Father is one of them as well?” Lance asked

“Don’t push it.” The other responded before grabbing Lances biceps and turning the Champion around and started pushing him past the crowd and up towards the stairs. Lance was laughing all the way as Ash manhandled him towards Leon.

“Cheer me on!” He called after Aah as the young man made his way back to Gou. He cackled as Ash flipped him off without looking back.

Gou soon hounds Ash, because it says here Ash has helped a lot of mythical and Godly Pokémon and also has challenged all the other Regions besides the Galar Region. But it’s more so out of mental concern for Ash because that’s a lot of stress for one person to handle, even so if it started out when he was fucking 10 years old.

Ash waves Gou’s concerns off and drags him to their seat, right between the two and down on the front row, and forcibly sits Gou down and plops both Scorbunny and Pikachu onto Gou’s lap.

“I’ll answer all your questions later.” Aah promised before the crowd roared as both Champions entered the pitch. “But for now,” a sly smile streached over his face as Ash looked back and Lance, eyes flashing blue briefly, “let’s enjoy the fight.”

And if Leon heckled Ash’s phone number out of Lance, than so be it. He just wanted to actually talk to the Chosen One without anyone spying on them.

#wolfy answers #ash ketchum #champion lance #champion leon #leon #lance #pikachu #scorbunny #garadose #i fucking mnow i spelt it wrong but im not going back and chamging it #hint of #hatshipping

[foolishlovebugbaby]

moonlight melodies | part 1

princess!reader x scholar!chan

Summary: dancing, unfortunately, was not apart of the list of things you’re good at. luckily for you, chan’s adamant on changing that.

Word count: 9.8k

a/n: so just imagine chan’s a brunette and that this didn’t take me a century and a half to write. enjoy :))

“And five, six, seven, eight- a one, two, three- no! Step with the left foot! To your left your highness!- Maestro if you would please cut the music.” Your dance teacher stood at the far end of the ballroom, ears a blazing red as he frustratedly rubbed his temples. You could only mimic his level of frustration- God, did you have to have two left feet? You had passed through all your levels of etiquette training and learning how to formally address your subjects, courters, and members of the monarchy with perfect diction and fluency, but gracefully learning how to perform the waltz in a ball gown too poofy for its own good would be your royal demise. 

So you stood in the center of the dance floor, face contorted in a mixture of frustration and humiliation at your dance capabilities (or lack thereof) while your practice partner bit down harshly on his lip to mask the profanities wanting to come out as a result of the blistering pain shooting from his feet that your heeled ones mercilessly stomped on.

“Your highness,” The instructor breathed out through tight lips, closing his eyes momentarily. “The masquerade ball is but a fortnight away, and we have yet to progress onto the promenade chassé! You’ve barely grasped the basics- I have no clue how on earth you’ll be able to dance the Viennese Waltz come the gala.” He rubs his cheeks frustratedly, and you snort at his vexation. 

“Chill out, Minho, will you? I’ll be the one making a royal fool out of myself, so you’re safe.” You chuck off your practice heels to the side and stretch your toes in content. “These galas have always been a royal pain in the ass, so I don’t see why this is any different.” You huff, annoyed at the grandeur of it all. 

Sure, being a princess required you to attend every gala, ball, party, whatever, as a way to make your presence known, but it had a way of turning mundane awfully quick. Like, by the second one, you were already over it. Dressing up and chowing down on all the hors d'oeuvres were the only highlights to any event that you went to.

“Madam, it is not just any other sissy gathering,” Minho said, standing straighter and looking quite offended. “It is a ball thrown in your honor. You’ve come of age to be courted, and all the finest young men in the kingdom and beyond will be attending in hopes to get a chance to dance with the Princess of the South.” He says that last part in a posh tone, and you can’t help but gag. He picks up the heels and dusts them off, walking over to hand them to you.

“Forgive me for being a smidge bit repulsed by the idea of having to find my one true love in a sea of stuck-up, unseasoned boys in order to be deemed worthy enough to rule my kingdom.” You say exasperatedly, head hot at the mere thought of it all. Since you were the sole heir to the crown (and you so happened to house a vagina instead of the preferred penile organ) people expected that you be married before ascending to the throne- which, to be frank, was a load of cow manure.

 “Even you can agree that having a grand ball for men to seduce their way to the crown is getting pretty old.” You said, in a matter-of-fact tone. Minho sighed. 

“What I believe is irrelevant, your highness. But tradition is tradition.” He kneels down, lifting up your leg to put on a heel. 

“Traditions are meant to be broken.” You mutter, pouting incredulously.

“Perhaps. I’m not asking that you not break tradition, my lady.” He slips on the other heel as well. “Just that you try and look graceful while doing so.” 

“Well if you put it that way...” You make a face, feeling bashful at yourself for being so indignant. 

So maybe appearing at these dull parties were apart of the duties of being a royal, and, as luck would have it, meant that you had to learn how to waltz through the evening. But you supposed dancing with kiss-ups was a lot better than engaging in meaningless conversations with them.

When Chan became an Academic Scholar for the palace, he didn’t think becoming best-friends with the Count’s son was apart of his education plan. But alas, fate works in mysterious ways.

“Remind me again as to why we need to be present in the palace of the South two weeks before the gala.” He draws out, exhausted from what seemed to feel like an eternal horse ride to your kingdom. He had learnt two things on his journey; the first being that horse back is possibly the worst mode of transportation, and the second being that Princes’ are possibly the worst company on impossibly long journeys. Well, at least, the one he was riding with is. 

From the Prince’s incessant whining to his numerous periodic ‘potty and tea’ breaks, Chan could’ve sworn he had died and gone to hell, and was living out his eternal suffering as a punishment for god-knows-what. But, then again, the sunny-side up to his grievances was that he could at least voice them out loud without fear of a public execution. 

“We are going for the formalities, laddy. As well as for the diplomacy. Father says I need to be the face of the North in order to maintain active peace between our kingdoms, but if you ask me I call a load of horse dung on it.” The prince scowls. “It’s so blatantly obvious that he just wants me to lock it down with the Princess before the ball in hopes to gain an advantage over her other suitors.”

Chan furrows his eyebrows, “Are my ears deceiving me? Does the Prince Hwang Hyunjin detest the prospect of wooing a lady?” He mocks, and Hyunjin sneers at him.

“Keep running your mouth like that Chan and I’ll make sure the people have the juiciest tomatoes in the kingdom to chuck at you.” He says pointedly, “But if you must know, I’ve already met the Princess- a less than pleasant experience. She was always so... aggressive whenever we played hide and seek-”

“Wait, so you’re telling me you’ve completely discarded the possibility of romancing the only Princess in this bloody kingdom because of her attitude whilst playing hide and go seek when you were toddlers?” He says, astounded at the stupidity of his friend. One of the knights once said it always seemed like the Prince had a stick up his royal behind, but Chan could confirm that it was, in fact, excalibur up in there.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that. You know what I mean. So far, as a result of all the collective impressions she has made, she definitely is not my type.” He puts emphasis on the word ‘not’ and Chan scoffs at him. “But perhaps my opinion will change come the masquerade ball.” Hyunjin raises an eyebrow to himself and momentarily thinks it over. “Hm, perhaps not as she did pin me as a joke during pin the tail on the jester.”

Chan could only roll his eyes. While he could understand astronomy and classical literature and the fundamental workings of the telescope, Aristocracy was a concept he would need 4 lifetimes and a half in order to grasp.

The rest of the last leg of their journey went just the same, with Hyunjin and him exchanging sarcastic banter while the entourage of the Prince tailed not too far back. Moments of silence were a rare occurrence, but Chan figures it was better than nothing at all.

“Gates up ahead!” A knight yells from behind as the metal monstrosities came into view. Sure, war and sieges were a quiet yet possible danger, but really? To have borders built that outlandish with that much security? 

The foundations were made of thick slabs of rock stacked up on top of each other, chiseled to have some sort of semblance to a cuboid, and stretched out on either side to what seemed like the edge of the world. On its sides were two flagpoles bearing the royal family crest up high and mighty. The wooden grid gate was a dark mahogany reinforced with steel, adding to the overall undaunted demeanour the structure exuded. The tops were adorned with metal spikes with more miniature flags of the royal family crest peaking through the breaks, a gentle juxtaposition to the otherwise severe facade. 

It was definitely a lot more intimidating and fortified that what the North had, and the entire entourage could only gulp in anticipation. While many had visited the kingdom before, Chan was a first-timer, and his dazed expression certainly gave it away. He always heard stories about the South and how it was known to be the more liberated state in comparison with the two, and how his nature professors raved about how lush the kingdom was. 

The guards at the top of the watchtowers stared intently down at them, and soon enough even more come bursting through the side gates, ready for inspection. A knight from behind emerged and presented papers with the Northern royal insignia, and the two guards exchanged mutual greetings. 

“Open the gates!” A southern guard shouted up to the men in the watchtowers, and slowly, the inside of the kingdom came into view. 

Brick houses and quaint village shops lined the cobblestone streets, with children running up and down tirelessly playing under the spring sun. The air smelled heavenly- the scent of freshly baked Sunday buns coming from the village bakery. On the side, the morning market bustled with townspeople negotiating prices with sellers to get a better deal on the vibrant fresh produce. The villagers yelled out brightly, a mix of greetings and laughter and heated negotiations, and Chan’s never seen somewhere so alive before.

Chan’s in awe at the picture-perfect scene in front of him, and they haven’t even rode into the main square yet.

 If you were to be nit-picky about the most dreadful stage in preparing for an event, it wouldn’t be the entrance practices, or the dance training. It wasn’t even the horrid memorising of the monstrous guest list, though that certainly was a close second. Oh no, it was the absolutely abominable dress fittings that you swore took a lifetime and a half to finish. It was a mystery as to why it took that long, really, because you’d gladly walk out in anything- even a nightgown.

Which is the exact reason as to why your seamstress was unbelievably burdened by your lack of active input. 

“Would your highness prefer satin or silk?” The seamstress seethes with tight lips, more so out of frustration and anger, and you look at her sheepishly through the reflection on the mirror. 

You stood on a raised platform situated directly in front of an obnoxiously big mirror with a corset cutting off your circulation and a large crinoline fastened onto your waist to see how different silhouettes would look on your figure. Not the prettiest sight, admittedly, as you held semblance to a skeleton rather than a lady. 

“Uhm, silk?” You say diffidently. In your defence, you had never been taught Fabrics 101 and so you supposed that you didn’t exactly qualify to have an opinion on what fabrics or cuts or colours a debutante princess should wear.

She closed her eyes for a moment and let out a breath through her gritted teeth, and you swore you could see smoke steaming from her ears. 

“Silk it is.” She said curtly and you nod along. 

She hung her measuring tape around her neck and stalked over to the side of the room, where a large wooden trunk sits collecting dust. With much effort and a stream of mumbled profanities, she dragged it over to you and opened it with a click. 

“Does your highness have any preferences on a structure of mask?” You peered down at the box, viewing all the old and used masks stacked haphazardly on top of one another. Some with elaborate feathering attached, others with an assortment of austentatious jewels from rubies to jade lining the frame. Some were vividly emerald with a delicate satin sheen while others were a somber matte black. How could you possibly choose, you thought to yourself, when a myriad of masterpieces sat before you? 

“Surprise me?” You quipped, unsure of yourself, knowing for certain you wouldn’t mind the final product as you knew the craftsmen were masters at their art. “Just make sure it’s not too… wild I suppose.” You added and the seamstress nodded, slightly pleased that you gave a single specification in your 5-hour session. An improvement from the last indeed. 

She began to hold up numerous plain full-face masks up to your head, each a different size from the last, in order to find a suitable size that complimented your features well. 

You were giddy in place at the thought of the process coming near to an end, wanting nothing more than to go back into your library and read another Jules Verne novel, when, “Master Minho had instructed me to send you back to the ballroom for more rehearsals, my lady. And he requests that you remain in your fittings.” 

You wanted to curse, but there wasn’t a word that had been conjured up as of yet to fully encapsulate the amount of apprehension that bubbled inside you. So you groaned excessively, slumping where you stood. 

“But I was so excited to get these contraptions off! Please please please at least take the crinoline off? I feel like a Leonardo Da Vinci project in the making.” You whined and made puppy dog eyes at her, and she looked at you with pity. 

You could practically see the amount of protest and conflict that went on in her head through her expressions, because dealing with a displeased Minho was a terror and a half, but how could one resist the puppy dog eyes of the palace treasure? 

Clearly, not the seamstress. “Okay, but you better do exceptionally well at practice today.” She huffed and began unclasping the abomination around your waist, as well as loosened up the damned corset which you were very much grateful for. 

“You’re the best!” You yelped, and she looks at you with a hint of a smile on her features but masked it with a roll of her eyes. “You still need to wear a practice mask on.” She commented, but you were just happy you didn’t have to wear a cage around your legs. She handed you a black satin mask that only covered half of your face, and sent you off. 

You always loved walking through the palace hallways. It felt like they were endless, going on and on until they reached the other side of the world. If you tried hard enough, you could get lost in them. But that sort of bliss would remain utterly untouchable, however, as Minho came into your line of view with his hands on his hips and an impatient scowl on his features. 

“You’re late.” He said monotonously, and you’d be scared if it weren’t for the fact that he looked like a kitten. A very hostile one, but a kitten nonetheless.

“By, like, a minute.” You brushed his accusatory glare off and saunter into the ballroom. 

“Just for that I’m making you wear your event heels.” His head was held up high, and you wondered if you could indulge in exercising authoritarianism just for this moment. 

“Sometimes I wonder whether I’m even royalty anymore.”

“Not with those dance skills you’re not.” “Minho!”

As a scholar, Chan had the privilege to travel far and wide, experiencing and immersing himself into an array of different cultures, cuisines and religions, only to come back and record his stories of his wondrous adventures and teach all that he had learnt. His favorite part, however, was being able to hear copious amounts of unique dialects and tongues and how the people of the world conversed. 

He’s a language nerd, to keep it frank. 

Which is why, after 6 excruciating hours of dress fittings, Chan could spew every single profanity known to mankind in all the 7 languages he knew without being called out for being a foul mouth. 

Even then, none could encompass the amount of maliceness he held for dress fittings.

Mumbling a string of incoherent obscenities under his breath, he kicked the rocks beneath him and he walked along the palace grounds, hands shoved in his pockets. 

“God, I can’t even count on both hands how many times I’ve been poked by those damned sewing needles... “ He sneers and kicks at the ground beneath him, disorienting a few pebbles. “At least the tailor called me fit.” Silver linings were for hopeless optimists, and so, naturally, they were for Chan.

As he entered the palace’s garden walkway, he could hear faint humming in the distance. If he were any more distracted, he would have missed it- but he didn't. He was certain he could hear an obscure melody floating through the air- pitchy? Yes. But a melody nonetheless, and Chan was not about to judge the person when he could not put a face to the music.

Cautiously, he followed the string of faint notes through the garden’s meticulous and intricate landscape, being careful not to take a mis-step and ruin the delicate conglomerate of ornate flora and fauna. It didn’t help that it was the dead of night- the sky a misty navy blue with the pale crescent moon being the only source of light illuminating the fields. But, Chan being Chan, continued his peculiar late-night quest to find the out-of-tune songstress. 

And find her he did. 

He reached the center of the garden- a large, octagonal marble platform with large, renaissance limestone pillars on each point and an extravagant two-tiered fountain smack dab in the middle of it all. But it wasn’t the luxurious marble or the fountain with vines and flowers of all different kinds lining its base that had caught his attention- it was the barefoot maiden in a white tunic and burgundy midi-skirt dancing as if she had two left feet, to the tune of her own voice that did. Her back was facing him, so she had yet to acknowledge his presence, but he was fine with just watching. 

She stumbled clumsily, every beat horrendously off while her toes betrayed her as she attempted to recall the music. Was that Johann Strauss? He couldn’t be sure, for her humming could be mistaken for the monotonous hum of a metalloid contraption. It amused him, really, how talentless one could be when it came to a simple one-two-step. He couldn’t help but lean on a pillar and watch her from afar, silently chuckling to himself when he heard her slew of profanities each time you messed up. He liked her determination, he concluded, and her efforts to improve despite all her errors.

There was a brief moment in time where she twirled around and Chan got a fleeting glimpse of her face- only, it wasn’t her face. It was partially covered in a mask, the black satin glimmering in the moonlight, and chan’s hand instinctively went to his back pocket where he had shoved his own as he hurried out the fitting room a couple of moments ago. He decided that if she was disguised, he would be too- for the sake of the enticing mystery, of course. 

“You’re terribly off beat.” She gasped, startled, whipping around to look at him and he could only chuckle at her appalled expression, lips agape and eyes wide. “Excuse me?” Her tone was defensive, accusatory, confused and terrified all at once.

Remarkable.

“You move after each count, when you should be moving with the count.” He explained, standing straighter and slowly made his way towards her. She raised a shaky hand up.

“Don’t come any closer,” Her tone was timid, but there was an edge to her voice. “Who are you?” She questioned, looking straight into Chan’s masked eyes. Her gaze was strong and curious behind her mask, and he stared back with the same intensity.

“Who are you?” He questioned back teasingly, and she scoffed. She crossed her arms, “I asked first.” She said pointedly.

He bit back a smile, enjoying the teasing a little too much for his own good.

“Okay,” He looked around in contemplation, “I’ll give you a hint. I’m not from here.” He shoved his hands inside his pockets casually. “Your turn.”

“I am from here.” She replied back, annoyed. “You must have come from the North, correct?” 

“Perhaps.” He shrugged, slightly taken aback by her sudden assumption. 

“Well, I’m not offbeat.” She huffed and a pout made its way onto her lips. Chan couldn’t help but chuckle at her denial. “How long have you been standing there anyway?” She asks, and he suddenly felt bashful at the realisation of how creepy he must come off after observing her like that. He thanked the Gods that his mask covered his crimson cheeks. 

He cleared his throat and swallowed down his embarrassment. “Long enough to know that you are offbeat.” He retorted, and she scoffed again at his reply, rolling her eyes.

“I didn’t know that you were a dance prodigy.” She mumbled under her breath, offended and humiliated at the thought of a random stranger watching her stumble over herself. Her gaze shifted from his eyes to the flower vines, and she couldn’t help but curse at the Gods for making her so talentless.

“I’m not, but I know enough to get by.” He took another step closer to her, until they stood at arms length, and stretched out a hand. “I could teach you.” He didn’t know why he offered, but the urge to help her learn the waltz was compelling. At least, that’s what he told himself as he nervously peered into her masked moonlit orbs. And anyway, what was a scholar supposed to do in the dead of night? Sleep? Unheard of.

Her eyes went wide at the suggestion, “I don’t even know you- h-how do I know you’re not going to kill me?” She stammered and took a step back. He recoiled his hand.

“I’m not going to hurt you, I promise. But I understand your hesitation.” He began to slowly back away, knowing that when he reached his room he would be staring at a tomato in the mirror. “My offer still stands.” With that, he turned and walked off.

She didn’t know why her breath hitched in her throat and why her mouth felt dry and scratchy as her mind debated on whether or not to accept his offer. She always thought she was logical and smart, but as she yelled “Wait!” she couldn’t help but feel reckless and everything but.

“I-I accept.” She stammered, her heart hammering in her chest. 

He turned around shocked, “What?” He heard her loud and clear, but the mere likelihood of her accepting a strange masked man’s offer to teach a dance class was, statistically speaking, zero to none and went against all the maps of logic and reasoning that the universe laid out. But I digress. 

“I said I’ll accept your offer.” Her voice was timid yet confident, an air of intrigue and uncertainty swimming around her. “But just know that if I’m found hurt, the castle would have your head.” Of course there was a catch, and Chan did not know what to make of that statement. Was she an important person? Was she bluffing? So many questions, not enough dancing.

He walked towards her for the second time that night. “You can trust me,” He held out his hand, his eyes trained on her own curious ones that peered up at him. 

She took a breath and gently laid her hand in his. “Okay. This is me trusting you.”

Mornings are always difficult. 

You always found it hard to get out of your thick comforters and ‘seize the day’, as they say. You would rather seize your dreams by the neck and hold onto the fleeting adventures in your brain. You could be a traveler, a dragon and a knight all within the span of your six-hour slumber rather than a princess in a castle too big with walls too high. 

That night you had dreamt you were in the palace gazebo with a masked man so handsomely illuminated by the moon that you thought your mind had conjured it up as a result of your lackluster experience when it came to men.

Only, it wasn’t a dream. He was doubtlessly there, as solid as the ground you stood on- you’d know that because your felt the firmness of his shoulder against your palm and the calluses on his fingertips against your own. And it was everything but lackluster. 

You sat up from your bed, the haze of last night’s endeavours fresh and vivid as though they were playing right before your half-lidded eyes, and you couldn’t help but groan at yourself.

“Reckless and stupid…” You mumbled, rubbing your temples vigorously while trying to suppress the growing grin forming on your lips. Spoiler alert: you failed to do so even as your teeth clamped down on them. You let out a dreamy sigh and crashed back down onto your pillows. 

You closed your eyes, recollecting the moonlight of yesterday as it played back in flashes.

“Okay. This is me trusting you.” The Gods upstairs must be frowning down at you and your carelessness, you thought to yourself as you held onto the strange man’s hand. But screw the Gods- if Jules Verne had taught you anything, it’s that you need to be reckless in order to find an adventure. 

A smile graces his plump lips and you can’t help but admire the cute indentations on the sides of his cheeks, taking note of the faint red tint seeping from under his mask. His hands, you realised, are much more bigger than yours- they engulfed yours in a stomach-turning warmth and felt sturdy against your shaky ones. 

“Well then, shall we begin?” He says, his voice deep and thick with an accent you had never heard before. You nod and gulp, slightly in awe at the whole ordeal and impossibly nervous. You grew increasingly aware of how clammy your hands must have felt and how hard your heart was pounding in your chest- you might just go into cardiac arrest, you thought, but that was a risk you clearly were willing to take. 

He held your hand firmly in his and proceeded to place your other one onto his shoulder. “May I?” He asks cautiously, his free hand ghosting over your side and you nod, feeling another round of heat spreading through your cheeks and neck. His warm palm rests on the small of your back, and you can’t help but have your mind go into a frenzy at the feeling. You felt utterly thrilled and stupendously stupid all at the same time. 

“I’m assuming you know the basic movements and foot placements, correct?” He asks again and you snort. “Of course, I’m not that bad.” You defend and he smiles. “That is for me to decide, m’lady.” You scoff and squeeze at his shoulder, not being able to control the bashful smile making its way onto your lips. 

He hums the song you attempted just moments ago, and the air fills with his melodic voice. He had the voice of an angel, you thought to yourself as he bobbed his head to fall into the proper count. 

“And one, two, three-” He takes a step back, then to the left, and another to the right and you realised how much of a narc your feet were as you continuously missed each beat and stomped on his foot. Your eyes are trained to the floor where your feet are, and you thank the Gods that you are barefoot- had you been in anything else, he would have entered a different world of pain. 

You shoot your gaze back up at his contorted face and you could not help but wince. “So maybe I am that bad.” You quip, and he only chuckles. “Yes- but don’t worry. You just need to relax, loosen up. Don’t be so nervous.” He says calmly, and your mind teeters at the thought of him knowing how fast your heart rate was going. “Just follow my lead.” His gaze never trains off of you, and he begins humming the same tune. Only, you could not just relax and loosen up given the situation you were in, and so your eyes immediately darted to the floor below you in hopes you would not mess up. 

He stops his humming. “Eyes on me,” His voice is soft and gentle as he brings his hand up to your jaw to lift your gaze to his. You gulp and bite down on your bottom lip out of sheer restlessness. “You need to trust yourself- here you are trusting a complete stranger and yet you can’t even count on yourself to go with the music.” He says teasingly, and a displeased pout forms on your lips. “Easier said than done.” You mumble.

“You’ve got this,” He says with an encouraging smile, and you puff out your cheeks. “I hope you’re right for the sake of your feet.” He laughs. 

His humms fill the air again, and it took all your mental capacity to keep your eyes steady on his. You blamed it on your second nature to look down at the floor whenever you danced- it certainly was not due to the fact that his soft brown eyes remained constantly on yours. Definitely not because his features- at least, the ones visible- were incredibly distracting in the moonlight. Oh no, none of those. At all.

He moves steady and slow, allowing you to pace yourself throughout the steps which you were incredibly grateful for- something foreign to you thanks to the trauma of Minho’s fast-paced counts. His body is sturdy and confident, guiding you through each stride with such ease and elegance. And before you knew it, you were both moving in sync- your legs naturally following and mirroring his own movements each time. Albeit shaky and far from elegant, it was definitely a level-up from the previous endeavour. 

He smiles at you and you can’t help but beam back, “See? You’re doing it,” He says mid-hum and resumes right from where he left off, a proud grin on his face. Just like your movements, your lips mirror his elated ones and you continued to move through the platform for a few more paces until he finished the last note. 

You were slightly out of breath- partly because of moving that briskly for the first time and also because the man before you managed to take your breath away simply with his gaze- and, involuntarily, you let out a quiet squeal. “I can’t believe I just did that,” You say in shock at yourself, a sense of pride filling your chest. 

He only laughs at your epiphany as he held onto you, “I told you~” He sings, and you pinch his bicep playfully for his teasing. “I totally could have navigated through it by myself.” You say sarcastically, and he snorts at your comment. “You’re welcome.” He says pointedly. 

“Thank you, I really mean it.” He smiles at your gratefulness, “Don’t mention it.” 

You both stood towards the edge of the pavilion, your hand still in his and on his shoulder whilst his arm encircled your waist. Both of your chests rose and fell in sync, and for a moment you’re both silent- eyes still trained on each other while the crickets sang in the background. Of course, with all things exciting, the Gods decided that awkwardness was a must. 

He steps back and clears his throat, his arm letting go of your waist and his hand falling back to his side, after realising just how close your bodies were to each other. You almost shiver at the loss of contact, feeling cold in the absence of his warmth. You scratch the back of your neck and wobble back and forth on your heels, feeling the air become dense with awkward tension.

“S-so uhm, you’ve definitely improved a lot since, well, since the last time I saw you- which really wasn’t that long ago so I’d say that’s a win.” He rambles, his gaze darting towards all eight corners of the gazebo, trying to look everywhere but at you. Which was fine, since you were doing the exact same thing. 

“Y-yeah- still got a long way to go before the ball.” You say sheepishly, leaning back on a pillar to your left and twiddling with your thumbs. 

“You’re going to be at the ball?” He questions, with a cute tilt to his head and you nod. “Will you?” You’re slightly hopeful- what are the chances of ever meeting this strange, alluring man again? “Maybe.” You can see him wink behind his mask and you roll your eyes. 

“I could teach you again, if you want.” He suggests from beside you, and you hear his breath hitch. Your mind goes wild- what does one even say to that? Yes? No? Absolutely? Absolutely not? “I don’t want to waste your time with this though,” You settle on the courteous thing to say, even though your heart yelled at you to be selfish and seize the opportunity before it went away forever.

“It wouldn’t be a waste of my time- I could teach you at night, the same time as now.” He insists, and there’s a war going on in your head to accept. “And anyway, you’re still terribly ungraceful.” He smirks playfully, and you roll your eyes at his incredulousness. 

“Well, if you insist.” You retort, and he grins. You could feel butterflies flare in your stomach, the buzz of the situation at hand making you feel absolutely wondrous. The masked stranger was charming and enthralling, and if you didn’t know any better you would have thought he was an apparition-a trick of the moonlight. Maybe you didn’t know any better, but that's besides the point. 

“Well, I’ve got to go now.” You say wistfully, wanting to stay longer but knowing that the palace would be turned inside-out if you weren’t back in your chambers before midnight. His expression falls, much like yours, but his eyes are hopeful. “Tomorrow, same time?” He asks, and you bite back a smile. 

“I’ll be here.” You drag your feet along the marble slowly, still facing him as you back away, before sending a final smile and turning around to walk off, your heart doing back flips in your chest. You don’t even make four strides when his warm hand wraps around your wrist. 

“May I please know your name?” He breathes out, and you’re at a loss for words. For the first time in your life, someone was not bowing to you every time you made eye contact. For the first time in your life, someone could tease you and make playfully snide remarks without hesitation and fear. For the first time in your life, someone was unapologetically straightforward with you. And for the first time in your life, you were able to detach from your identity as a princess and remain completely you. 

“Try again next time,” You say playfully after contemplating. 

He sighs with a smile, and you head back to the palace, a skip in your step and the feeling of his hand still wrapped around your wrist. 

You have a stupid smile on your face at the breakfast table, much to your parents confusion and delight. “What’s got you so elated, dear?” Your mother questions with her brows furrowed, chewing on her omelete. 

“Oh nothing, just a book I read.” You lie on the spot and feel your face heat up, turning your gaze back down onto your plate of breakfast pastries. “Must be some book.” Your father says, and you let out a knowing chuckle. 

“Sweetheart, some troops and dignitaries of the North have come for the ball, and so has the Prince, so I’d suggest you make yourself well acquainted with them during their stay at the palace.” Your mom quips and you sit up straighter. “Hyunjin is here?” There’s a displeased tone to your voice, and it’s clear that your mom doesn’t appreciate it. 

“Yes, and I expect you to make nice, just like old times.” She says pointedly and you puff out your cheeks. You see, it’s not that you didn’t like the Prince, but you didn’t exactly like him either- he always seemed rather... displeased by your antics and so you never really moved past royal formalities. 

“How are your dance lessons going, dear?” Your father asks you in his booming voice, and you have to laugh. 

“How do you think they’re going?” You retort and he makes a face at you. “I do hope you’ve at least improved from the last time we saw you dance,” You parents exchange looks, “It’s high time that the Princess is able to dance through the evening without ripping the ends of her gown.” You roll your eyes at that and groan. 

“That happened only twice, father, and if you ask me, those gowns needed some edge to them.” It was your parents’ turn to roll their eyes at you. It was no secret that you, the Princess, resembled a dismembered horse whenever you danced- even if it were a secret, it clearly was not a very well-kept one. Which was fine, since the subject of your blundering dance capabilities only saw the light of day whenever an event as grand as a ball became the talk of the town. But jokes get old, and so do the labels that deemed you nothing more than an ungraceful royal, so your determination to prove anyone and everyone wrong grew more and more each day.

Your masked dance instructor certainly increased your will tenfold. 

After breakfast, your parents wasted no time in shooing you off to the dance hall, saying something along the lines of “a full stomach means bountiful results of labour.” much to your dismay.

Time is money, and that certainly was the mantra that Minho exuded as he wasted no time in directing you through all the warm-ups and floor routines with your dance partner. You took a deep breath and imagined that you were back at the gazebo, in the arms of someone you didn’t fully know. 

Trust yourself.

Do you trust me?

You’re doing well, just remember to count each beat in your head.

I told you you could do it.

Eyes on me.

It felt like you were floating as the maestro played each melody, your eyes dazed as your mind played back each step on repeat. Unbeknownst to you, you had successfully ran through the routine without stepping on your partner and staying on count- for the most part.

“Well, my lady, I am pleasantly surprised at this drastic improvement,” Minho’s eyes are wide and sparkly and full of shock at the fact that you stayed on beat for the majority of the dance, and you can’t help but chuckle at his dramatic bewilderment. “What in heaven’s name has gotten into you?” He questions genuinely, and your mouth goes wide in disbelief. 

“Don’t sound too shocked, it’s not like this is the first time I’ve stayed on count.” He makes a face. “Okay, so maybe it is.” You mumble curtly and proceed to fold your arms over your chest like an offended child- which you were, but that’s besides the point. 

“Does this improvement call for a celebratory, well-earned 2-day break?” You ask, half jokingly and half absolutely serious, and clasp your hands together hopefully. His face goes back to blank and he straightens up.

“Absolutely not- you’re still astonishingly shabby and lumbering, your posture is horrendous and-”

“Okay I get it, a simple ‘no’ would have been sufficient, thank you very much.” You sneer, and he smiles sarcastically back at you.

“You’re welcome.”

Minutes, seconds, hours, days, months, years- you didn’t know just how long practice took until you stepped out of the ballroom, feet covered in blisters and an ache in your back, to a haze of purple and orange in the sky, the sun just about to touch the horizon. You’re exhausted and drained, and, if it were up to you, you’d have ran away right there and then but you couldn’t, because the sores on your feet laughed at your futile attempts to even walk. 

Okay, that was a tad dramatic. You could walk, but you figured playing it up a little would somehow garner the attention of your very powerful parents to do something about Satan’s Incarnate, Minho, and get you a few practice-free days. 

But of course, your parents were not in the throne room, or the dining area, or even in their chambers- the reason being an impromptu visit to the eastern provinces for diplomatic purposes as you later came to find out. You could almost hear the Gods snickering at your turmoil. 

So you dragged your sore feet to the palace library, ready to delve into another chapter of another book that peaked your interest even though your mind would betray you and saunter back to your masked instructor gleaming in the moonlight. 

He was all you thought about, even as you vividly imagined strangling Minho, he remained in the back of your mind. If you tried hard enough, you can almost feel him again- firm arms and everything. Your heart raced at the thought of meeting for the second time tonight. 

A loud thump echoed through the library, and you freeze in place, a hand outstretched towards a bookshelf, your heart startled from the sudden noise. “Who’s there?” You question loudly.

“Sorry!” A muffled and strangled voice yells from the other side, and your head darts in all directions to get a glimpse. 

You clamber down from the step-stool you had been on and investigate, peeking your head through every aisle and row from the piles of encyclopedias to the endless collections of literature. But, in an aisle labelled Astronomy, a pale, curly-haired stranger sits disheveled with a thick volume of books strewn on the floor, pages exposed haphazardly and face-down. You raise your eyebrows, and he smiles sheepishly at you. 

“The collection fell as I was trying to get it out.” He explains, cheeks tinted rouge while he bent down to pick them up. You bend down as well, gathering as many as you can and flattening out the bent pages. 

“Thank you for your help,” He says gratefully, and you smile at him. “No problem.” You’ve come to the conclusion that you absolutely have no recollection of who this is, and what his name is or where he’s from, but there’s a strange sense of familiarity that wrecks your brain. The way he talks sounds so familiar, but you can’t quite put a finger on it. He’s clad in a white dress shirt and a burgundy vest over top, with black slacks to match, and you notice the insignia on the left side of his breast pocket. A Northerner. 

You notice as well that he’s handsome- thick dark hair that curled at the tips with rosy skin and eyes that looked as though they were dipped in honey- but nevermind that.

“May I please know your name?” He asks and you’re snapped out of your analytical trance. You say your name, and he looks as though he’s seen a ghost.

“Y-your highness- forgive me, I did not know it was you,” He’s kneeling on one knee and his head is bowed, and you feel bashful at the sudden formality. Princess. Right.

You curtsy and nod your head, “It’s okay, my apologies for not introducing myself. May I know your name?” 

He’s about to speak when, “Channie boy! Where are you? The palace has got so many great-” You can immediately imagine a face to match the voice, and your suspicions are confirmed the moment his tall figure saunters into the aisle.

“Ah, Princess y/n. Delighted to see you again.” He cuts himself off and stride over to you, bending to bow and taking your hand to place a chaste kiss on the back of it. He does this because he knows how squeamish it makes you feel, and your distress entertains him too much. 

“The pleasure’s all mine, Prince Hyunjin.” You curtsy and fold your hands over each other behind your back, shooting lasers with your eyes at the boy in front of you. “Chan, I see you’ve met Her Royal Highness.” Hyunjin says that last part pointedly and sarcastically, and you feel like shoving him into a pit of snakes. 

“Indeed I have.” The stranger, Chan, says curtly with a tight smile, obviously noticing the blunt tension between the two of you. 

“Well, Princess, unfortunately my scholar and I have some business to attend to,” Hyunjin and Chan are exchanging a conversation with their eyes and you find it amusing how strange it would look out of context. “So we shall bid you farewell for now. Hope you have a good night.” You exchange bows again and soon enough the two men were off, their seemingly hyper conversation being drowned out by the enormity of the library. 

So he’s a scholar, you repeat in your head and smile in amusement. Since when did the prince hang out with scholars?

There’s nothing more nerve-wracking to Chan than having to wait. But in retrospect, he did come a little too early than what was expected, his excitement and nervousness not allowing him to sit still until he found himself in the grandeur of the palace gazebo. 

Could you blame the guy? His mystery woman was all he thought about, even as Hyunjin dragged him around the palace to look at god knows what, and he could not help but hope to see her in the palace by coincidence even if he did not fully know what she looked like. Consequently, he ended up looking like a fool on a wild goose chase, with Hyunjin interrogating him about why he looked like he was after hidden treasure more than he would have liked. 

So he walked around a few times, then another few times, with each time eliciting a sigh from his lips and a puff of his cheeks, until the golden hues were long gone and were replaced by a dark night sky looming above him. He was wearing the same mask again, even though he felt as if he looked absolutely stupid in it, and made sure he practiced the routine a few times so that the information he parted wasn’t complete and utter horse dung. 

Thanks to the fact that the palace clock tower was easily seen from his vantage point, it felt as though the clock hands were mocking him, saying ‘ha! It’s been two hours, get a grip!’. Any rational person would have left after thirty minutes- an hour, at most, but rational was not apart of Chan’s dictionary. 

Maybe she’s not coming tonight, he thinks to himself, and he can feel the heat stain his cheeks for being so hopeful. 

“I’m sorry- have you been waiting long?” She’s panting and there’s a sheen of sweat slick on her forehead, but she’s here. He jumps slightly, startled by her sudden and unexpected appearance, and scratches the nape of his neck.

He smiles sheepishly, “Not at all, just got here a few minutes ago.” Yeah, if one hundred and thirty eight minutes were considered as ‘a few’. She smiles at him with her half-covered features, and he thinks the wait was worth it. 

“Shall we begin?” He nods, finding her straight-forwardness cute, and takes her hand in his. 

-

“Will I ever know your name?” 

They’re sitting side by side on the steps of the gazebo, and Chan’s slightly out of breath from all that dancing. It had been a good couple of hours since they had started the night, the dark starry sky freckled with stars blanketing their horizon, and neither of them had any plans to head back to the palace.

“That depends,” She chuckles from beside him, “Will I ever know yours?” She says playfully and turns to look at him, her masked eyes gleaming with the slightest crescent-moon curve to them. He’s dying to know what she looks like, but he guesses time will only tell. 

“Alright then. What’s your relationship with the royal family? I’m assuming you’d have to either work under them or be apart of them to live in the palace.” He doesn’t notice her gulp out of nervousness. 

“You could say I know them, sure.” She says half-heartedly.

He contemplates her response, “Do you know the princess?” Though brief, his run-in with the Princess was one he had yet to live down, with the embarrassment of questioning who she was a complete blunder on his part. It was so obvious she was goddamn royalty, what with her stately attire and astonishingly regal features- were all royals exceptionally good-looking? Was the good-genes pool reserved for the throne? Chan’s certainly met a fair amount of underwhelming-looking aristocrats during his time, but the Princess of the South was definitely not classified as such. 

He doesn’t know that her heart beats a million miles a second at his question. 

“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t.” She says playfully in attempt to mask the irony. “Why? Do you know the Prince?” She challenges. “What if you are the Prince?” She says exaggeratedly and he can only laugh. 

“Ding-dong your answer is wrong,” She laughs. “I could never last being a royal.” He says and she tilts her head to the side.

“And why is that?” 

“Well, I just don’t think being at the receiving end of a life of servitude is my sorta thing. And, between you and me,” He leans over playfully, “It seems like all royals do is demand this and demand that, since they’re born into a life that requires them to not work for anything.” It’s not that he hates royalty with every fibre of his being- and he isn’t one to complain, since he has basically been interwoven into that lifestyle after joining the Scholar’s court. But seeing life from the perspective of someone who has had to work for everything and of one who has had to work for nothing unsettles him- the unfairness of it all leaving an unpleasant taste in his mouth.

“I think you’re mistaken,” She replies with conviction, and he turns his gaze onto her. “They never really asked for that life, and, sure, being born into something makes you ignorant but to assume that all of them are the same is ignorant as well. Maybe some are waiting for their turn to make an actual difference, and maybe some are doing their best behind closed doors because everything they do and say is recorded by everyone around them.” She rambles, staring at the ground with her fist clenched on the marbe below it and Chan stares in awe. “I mean, that’s just my take. Just a guess.” She follows up quickly, the tips of her ears turning red. 

He’s floored by her response, mostly because he’s been surrounded by people with the same ideology (save for the royals themselves, of course) that it’s refreshing to hear something different. His curiosity towards her only skyrockets.

“I’ve… never thought of it that way.” He says slightly dazed as he stares at his outstretched, boot-clad feet. 

“Well, you learn something new everyday.” She says, bringing her knees up to her chest and resting her cheek on them, facing him and flashing a small smile. It makes his heart skip a beat, but he shrugs it off as the pollen grains triggering his allergies. 

They stay in comfortable silence for a few minutes, his eyes never leaving hers and letting the autumn air breeze by them, until the clocktower rumbles, signalling that midnight has fallen. She breaks their gaze and looks up, “I’ve got to go.” She sounds unwilling to, and Chan almost tells her to stay. Almost.

“Will I see you again tomorrow night?” He stands up along with her, his voice hopeful, and her eyes answer for her before her voice does. “Yes.” 

“Well then,” He takes a step back and grabs her hand in his, “This is goodnight.” He bows like a gentleman and leaves kiss on her knuckles, his heart soaring at the feeling of her soft skin against his lips. He looks up to see her biting her shy smile away and a grin makes its way onto his face. “Goodnight to you too.” She squeaks out and looks him in the eye one last time before scuttering off into the garden, her silhouette shrouded by the trees.

He already misses being close to her.

You’ve come to the conclusion that only a specific stranger in a mask can make the butterflies in your stomach act as though they’re on acid, which is completely fine with you.

“Good evening Princess, fancy seeing you here.” Hyunjin greets dryly, his straight posture making him look as wound tight as ever, and you quirk an eyebrow at him. 

“I sort of live here, Prince Hyunjin.” 

It amazes you how you had managed to run into him out of all people within the enormous palace, but you figured that it was punishment for all the immature pranks you had pulled on him when you were younger. In your defense, scaring him was the only pleasure you took, not the crying and screaming part.

“I know that.” He retorts just as dry. “Why are you lugging such a big record player around? And why the mask?” His head tilts perplexedly at the machine twice your size cradled in your arms, and you gulp- how were you going to explain your way out of this one?

“My dance instructor is making me practice in my chambers?” It comes out more like a question and you thank the gods you have a mask to cover the sheer audacity on your face. His face contorts even more in confusion, as if it were even possible. “But your chambers are that way?” He points directly behind you. God dammit Hyunjin, can’t you just let a girl live?

You clear your throat, “Well, I meant my other chambers.” You don’t have a second room, but you’re relying on his gullibility to save whatever dignity you have left. “Anyways, can’t chit chat, I must get back to practicing my dance moves.” You excuse yourself quickly and start making a beeline around him.

 “But it’s late-”

“Have a good night!” You’re desperate at this point- you were already running late thanks to having to find and carry your father’s record player around your obscenely large palace, you didn’t need a nosy Hyunjin interrogating your motives to add on to your tardiness. 

“Oh, Princess! Before you go, have you happened to see Chan around by any chance?” Hyunjin yells from behind you, but your foot is already halfway through the exit.

“Nope!”

-

“Wow.” He says, his eyes glinting with amusement and shock behind his mask. You stand there panting, slightly sweaty and extremely eager to show him how the contraption works. But the moment you settle it down, he’s already tinkering with it. 

“I’m guessing you’ve brought this to aid in our lack of music?” He smiles up at you humorously and you grin sheepishly. 

“Figured you’d appreciate a break from having to hum all the time.” You mumble and fiddle with your thumbs. It was a gesture that you had been conjuring up ever since you noticed how fatigued he would get trying to hum and dance simultaneously, and you figured you needed an arm workout anyway. 

“I don’t mind the humming,” He stands up and takes your hand in his. “But thank you anyway.” His smile is perfect, and you thank the heavens it’s not covered by the mask. 

“So, shall we begin?” You nod and he places a hand on his shoulder and his hand around your waist and flips a switch on the player with the tip of his boot.

“One, two, three…” The music fills the air softly, a mix of static and melodies while he guides you around the courtyard. You’re still not yet used to holding his gaze- mostly because he makes your heart do things it shouldn’t, but you blame it on your lack of habit. 

Each step is just as smooth as the previous and there’s no denying the massive improvements you’ve made. “You’re doing excellent,” He compliments in-between counts and you grin. “I have a great teacher.” 

He spins you out and you twirl back into him, your back pressed against his chest and you can feel his breath ghost over your neck. It sends shivers down your spine, and you’re praying he doesn’t see the hairs standing up at the back of your neck. 

The moment  is gone as quick as it came, however, and you’re back to facing him. You notice the red tint on the tips of his ears and something inside you becomes giddy at the thought of making him blush. 

But of course, the gods hate you, so they decide to mess with your record player. “What’s happening?” The tunes become slower and slurred, the periods of static becoming prolonged, and what once was a harmonious symphony has now become nothing but noise. 

You both stop in place momentarily, your gaze drifting towards the turn-table across the courtyard as you curse it out for ruining the mood. Out of all the times it could’ve picked to malfunction, it chooses now to act up? Blasphemy. 

A finger is placed on your chin and brings your gaze back to his. “Well the music is, technically, still playing and you know what they say- The show must go on.” There’s a smile on his face and you look at him, puzzled. 

“But the music’s off beat?” 

“The music is never wrong- we’re simply too fast.” He says wittily. You’re still confused, but he takes extra slow steps and your mind puts two-and-two together. 

After being so accustomed to moving as fast and as accurate to the beat as possible, the slow counts are ones you can barely get used to- heck, you can barely count in the midst of the skewed melodies and scrambled music. But you keep your eyes on him and he brings your body closer to his until you’re flush against his chest, and suddenly the music doesn’t even matter any more. You’re moving aimlessly with him with every slow step that passes you by, and the music melts into the background until it becomes lost with the crickets and trees. His gaze is soft and gentle with a comforting firmness, just like his grip, and you’re so entranced with the stranger before you that you don’t even hear the clock strike twelve.

There’s a myriad of synonyms that are along the lines of ‘perfect’, but you’d have to spend a lifetime trying to find the one that perfectly encapsulates this moment.

#stray kids #skz #stray kids bang chan #stray kids chan #stray kids christopher bang #stray kids bang chan imagine #stray kids bang chan fanfic #stray kids bang chan au #stray kids chan imagine #stray kids chan fanfic #stray kids chan au #stray kids bang chan fluff imagine #stray kids bang chan x reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids chan x reader #stray kids bang chan angst imagine #stray kids oneshot #stray kids oneshots #stray kids multihshot #strya kids multishots #foolishlovebugbaby #skz bang chan #stray kids scenario #stray kids bang chan scenario #stray kids chan scenario

[baidar-oroq]

10-Avail

(Setting: post 5.3 MSQ, some time after “Lush”)

New Gridania, in the vicinity of Mih Khetto’s Amphitheatre:

“You know,” Baidar had said to Y’shtola earlier that day, “You should go see Y’mhitra.”

“I should, should I?” she��d replied, sipping her tea with the practiced nonchalance she’d adopted since their return from the First. Around them, the Rising Stones bustled with the energy that it had in the days since their return, as if making up for the lost time that the Scions had been unconscious, but as always, none of them seemed to pay Baidar and Y’shtola any mind. Everyone knew what was between them, and (once Hoary Boulder had been given a stern talking to by Alisaie about staring) gave them the privacy they deserved. Even when their conversations were decidedly more prosaic than romantic. “Why does that not feel like your idea, Baidar?”

“I’m capable of many ideas,” Baidar replied, grinning that reckless, carefree smile of his. 

“Yes. Attempting to climb Kugane Castle. Hunting large and dangerous marks that should not be hunted alone. Buying Allagan melons that follow you around and are possibly invasive species.” She looked at him over the rim of her cup of tea. “But me paying Y’mhitra a visit, if you will beg my pardon, doesn’t sound like it would be solely your idea.”

“You wound me, Y’shtola,” Baidar huffed. 

“Only when my aim is off.” She regarded him for a long moment before taking a sip from her tea. “This suggestion, though, has the air of Naoh’li Nelhah around it. One wonders why he did not make it himself.”

Baidar threw himself into one of the chairs at the table as if it were a Garlean trying to make an escape and he was tackling it. “Actually, he was wondering if you were ever going to go pay Matoya a visit, and mentioned your sister along the way. Said he’d come here and ask, but he’s old and just wants to read books for the next era or two.”

Y’shtola’s eyebrows rose, expressively. “When I pay her a visit again is entirely up to me,” she stated. “Can I assume, though, that you met her when I was on the First?” 

“Yeah. Went with Krile and Alisaie to ask her for help just before the Empire attacked at Ghimlyt Dark.”

“And what did you think of her?” 

Baidar was quiet for a moment. “Before me and Alisaie left, she called me over and looked at me like she was reading a book. Then she said ‘So you’re the one Shtola’s mooning over. You poor bastard.’”

Y’shtola did her best to hide her smile behind her cup of tea, but failed miserably. “I think then you can see why I’d take as long as possible to visit her then, Baidar.” 

“I can. But, c’mon, Y’mhitra’s your sister…”

“I have eleven sisters...half-sisters, to be precise, Baidar.”

Baidar’s eyes went as wide as saucers. “Eleven?”

“I’d suspect you weren’t listening when I explained the tribal culture of the Keepers of the Sun to you, Baidar...but it occurs to me that I neglected to tell you that I have that many sisters in the first place.” She finished her tea and rose to her feet. “Very well. I could use a little time out of here...in a sense, I haven’t left Mor Dhona in months. Shall we?”

Baidar wondered if she had decided to go with him out of a sense of obligation caused by her neglecting to tell him about that part of her life. In fairness, he’d never asked; given the utter minefield that his family life was, he often simply did not think to ask about families. But given that he was walking through New Gridania, with Y’shtola on his arm, on a sunny afternoon, when it had seemed for so long that there was a very good chance that she could never return from the First, he’s willing to accept it. As it had turned out, Y’mhitra had been busy, assisting a summoner that was new to the path of summoning, so the two were killing time until she could properly meet with Y’shtola. So they walked, largely in silence, enjoying each other’s company. 

“Baidar,” Y’shtola said, coming to a stop and looking up at him. Man, I hope I didn’t just jinx us, thinking about enjoying being with her. “Before we go any further, do you have any qualms or worries about me teaching Darya thaumaturgy?”

Oh, he thought. That. He had been a little surprised when Darya had dashed into the house in Shirogane, had given him a hug, and had excitedly explained that Y’shtola was going to teach her magic. He’d been expecting this question, and figured part of why she’d agreed to go to Gridania with him was to be able to ask it. He tries to put a concerned, serious look on his face, and fails as much as she did at trying to hide her smile. “I...that is to say...I...hadn’t actually given it any thought?”

“Baidar Oroq, I swear....”

He held up one hand for silence, and was somewhat amazed when he got it. “I hadn’t given it much thought because, well, one, I trust you with my heart and my life, and you certainly seem to know what you’re doing with magic. You’re one of the strongest and smartest people I know. If Darya has enough potential for you to see it, then I trust you to teach her. And, you know, it’s not like I have any claim to her. She’s my retainer, she’s, what, fifty or so years older than me, she knows what she’s doing. I trust you both” 

Y’shtola nodded, for once one of them managing to hide how they were feeling, because she wasn’t prone to showing how touched he’d made her feel in public. “Good.” She took Baidar’s arm again and led them on. The enjoyable silence continued for a time as they near the Ampitheatre, where a group of actors were seemingly rehearsing on the stage for a performance. “Have you noticed that she is ridiculously beautiful?” Y’shtola added.

“Of course I have. She calls me ‘master’ all the damn time. It’s...distracting.”

“Oh you shouldn’t have told me that. You’re in trouble now, Baidar.” 

Baidar looked up on the stage as he shook his head, lamenting his latest state of affairs. His attention was drawn to the performers. One of them was in armor that approximated the armor worn by Gaius van Baelsar during his time where he was attempting to conquer Eorzea, though the helmet was utterly wrong and the actor was carrying a prop sword rather than anything that a Garlean would use. He was facing off against eight other actors, all of them holding a wide variety of prop weapons, dressed in mismatched armor of all colors, except for one, a tall Elezen actor wearing the armor of a paladin, a sword in one hand, a shield in the other. Baidar turned his head to the side as he considered the stage, and then he laughed. “I’ll be fucking damned.” 

“Probably, once I start taking advantage of Darya calling you master.”

He pointed at the stage, ignoring Y’shtola’s jibe. “I think I know what the play is. Naoh’li showed me all of Operation Archon through the Echo. This is the battle in the Praetorium.”

“Naoh’li showed you that?” Y’shtola smiled. “And to think, you two nearly killed each other more than once on the First. Now you’re so much closer.”

Baidar was watching the play, not really wanting to re-legislate just what the nature of his friendship with his fellow Scion and her old friend Naoh’li was. The actor playing Gaius raised his sword and shouted “So! Warrior of Light! You and your allies seek to defeat the power of Garlemald? To face the ultimate weapon?!”

“Did Gaius...talk like that?” Y’shtola asked.

“Oh, no. It was far worse than that. Felt like it went on forever.”

“Gaius” raised his sword towards the sky, his helmet going slightly crooked on his head. “Your power will avail you not against me and...bugger me.” The actor took off his helmet, revealing that in fact, Gaius was being played by an elezen woman. “Bloody hell, Alain,” she shouted. “Why does that white helmet I wear when I play that woman in the first act fit but this one never bloody fucking does?”

“I’m almost tempted to bring Naoh’li to see this play,” Baidar said, shaking his head as a hapless Hyur-presumably the ‘Alain’ the actress had shouted at-came onto the stage and collected the helmet prop. “He’d get a kick out of it.” 

“Probably.” Y’shtola took him by hand this time and pulled him away. “Shall we go?”

“But what if I wanted to watch the rehearsal?”

“I would say that your power avails you not against me, dear.” 

Even the actors heard him laughing at that as they walked away.

(Naoh’li is one of my partner’s characters, an old friend of Y’shtola’s and a fellow Scion and Warrior of Light. His relationship with Baidar is far, far more complicated than I can do justice in a story I’m writing off the top of my head.)

#FFxivWrite2020 #ffxivwrite #baidar and y'shtola #by now i hope you've noticed that the prompt words have generally only marginally inspired what i'm writing #and YES i did make castrum and praetorium into a bad play

[hookedontaronfics]

First Contact series - Part 5

Title: First Contact - Part 5 Read the previous installments here: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 Rating: M Pairing: Taron x OC Warnings: Some mild cursing, brief sexual mention A/N: Jess and Taron have a perfect summer day together, but will her insecurities get in the way? I hope you love reading the fifth installment of the First Contact series as much I have loved writing it. The series will eventually involve more mature themes as it develops, so be warned! Enjoy! x

The day had dawned hot and steamy, and transitioned full on into boiling by the time my boss cut work short for everyone. Our office didn’t have air conditioning, and everyone was starting to feel ill from the sticky air in our high rise. No amount of fans could seem to relieve it, and most of the men had loosed their ties and collars. I could feel the heat from the baked concrete of the sidewalk burning through the soles of my shoes as I walked quickly toward the tube station, hoping there would be some relief underground.

The cafe tables on the sidewalks that were usually so full for lunch hour were completely empty, and the few people scurrying about were sticking to the shadows cast by shop awnings. I’d felt temperatures like this in my hometown in America almost every summer, but air conditioning was everywhere across the pond. The heat felt much different when you couldn’t get away from it.

I texted my flatmates to see how they were surviving the heat. Jules complained it was brutal and then said she and Mary were just planning on heading to Hampstead Heath; there really was no other way to deal then to wade neck-up into the bathing pool.

<Oh God, that sounds perfect. We closed shop early and I’m heading back. Wait for me!> I quickly texted back. I caught the train and was soon back at the flat. My friends were already clad in bikinis under their summer clothes, waiting impatiently on me to arrive. Even Tim looked uncomfortable in the stuffy flat, and I felt bad for him.

I quickly changed into the floral high-waisted bikini my friends had convinced me to buy. I was a bit self-conscious about my love handles and stomach, but they swore up and down it highlighted my curves in all the right places. Still, next to my willowy friends, I sometimes felt like a bit of a lard. But today was too hot to care about how I looked, so I pulled on a pair of shorts and a tee over the swimsuit and stuffed the essentials like sunscreen and a hat into my beach bag.

“Alright?” I said, as Jules gave me a once-over and tsk’d slightly. She walked over to me and grabbed the hem and material of my baggy shirt, quickly doing a knot in it and tucking it under so it was not only a lot more form fitting, but also showed my midriff slightly.

“Now we’re ready,” she smiled, waving her finger in my face when I tried to protest. “You’ve got a figure all the guys would die to be with.”

“Jules!” I groaned slightly. 

“Oh we know,” Mary said with a smirk. “There’s only one person you want to be with right now, and so far that hasn’t happened yet. You just need to get laid!” she added with a squeal.

“We are not having this conversation right now!” I yelled, yanking open the door as my roommates just cackled and followed along. 

As we walked back toward the tube entrance, my mind shifted to Taron, whom I hadn’t seen for the past week or so since I’d been sick. We’d been texting most days, and even tried to make plans, but he’d had to cancel and apologized profusely for not being available to see me. I understood being a busy adult; I’d had my own share of things to get done. I found that I missed him, though, and I was surprised by the yearning to see him smile at me again.

Almost as if my thoughts had summoned him, my phone pinged with a text. <I think I’m melting. It’s bloody hot. Hope you’re getting on okay.>

<Just heading to Hampstead now with the girls. Our flat was suffocating.>

<Likely the only thing to do today> he responded.

In some strange dash of courage, I decided to suggest he join us. <Bring your mates> I added hopefully. <It’ll be fun.>

“Who are you texting?” Mary asked, making me jump slightly. I hadn’t realized I’d totally zoned out of the conversation with my friends.

“Just Taron,” I replied, my heart stupidly starting to race as I waited for his response.

“So when’s he going to take you out again?” Jules asked, poking me in the side. “Or is he one of those slow-burn types?”

“He’s busy! He’s got plenty more important things to deal with then me,” I defended. “Besides, I’m sure if it got out that he was dating a nobody the internet would shit itself. He’s probably been coached on this a great deal.”

“You’re not a nobody, Jess,” Mary said, sympathetically. “You’re really brilliant and if he doesn’t see that then he’s blind.” 

“Yeah, fuck what the internet thinks,” Jules added, an older lady huffing disprovingly at the language. “You’re an absolute catch.” I truly had the best roommates a girl could ask for.

Just then, my phone screen lit up again with Taron’s response. <I’ve got something later today but I don’t see why I can’t drop by for a bit. See you soon.> The thrill that ran through me was undeniable.

We grabbed another train and no one seemed remotely bothered by our decided lack of clothing, as everyone was too hot to care. We rumbled our way to Hampstead, knowing it would be crazy busy with everyone else having the same idea. There were only a couple of sparse clouds in the sky as we paid our fare, and I suggested we go to the mixed pool this time instead of the ladies only. My friends both gave me looks, and I had to admit that Taron was supposed to be bringing a few friends along to join us.

“Oh my god, when were you going to tell us!” Jules squealed at me.

“I don’t know! I didn’t want you both to give me shit!” I laughed, as Mary joined in on the excited squealing.

“You’re going to see Taron shirtless ... in person,” Jules said wickedly. “Maybe he’ll even ask you to rub sunscreen on his back, eh?” she said, digging her elbow into my side.

“Ow!” I laughed, grabbing my side and being reminded of how not-skinny I was. “Or he’ll take one look at me in my suit and run screaming the other way.”

“Oh please,” Jules said, as Mary sighed. “You’re totally hot.”

“Yeah, I am hot, sweltering really, and it’s about time we got in this bloody pool,” I laughed, trying to ignore my insecurities about my body as we found a place to dump our stuff, tore off our outer clothes, and ran straight into the water, probably amusing everyone around us as we shrieked about how cold it was.

“That’s one way to cool off,” Mary laughed, her teeth chattering a bit.

“You’ll get used to it soon enough,” Jules grinned as we bobbed there in the water like everyone else. Just a bunch of heads floating about, I giggled at the stupidity of that thought. We chatted for a bit and grew accustomed to the water, and I tried not to stare at the shoreline too much in anticipation. I didn’t exactly want to come across as desperate. We eventually clambered out of the water to try and soak up some sun, spraying on sunscreen and laying out on our towels.

I was just about to think Taron would stand us up when I heard his laugh floating across the grounds to us. I sat up and instantly wrapped my towel around myself. “Hey hey hey ladies!” he grinned, holding out his arms wide as he strolled up, a cap pulled low and his sunnies giving him a bit of a chance to not be immediately recognized. He had two friends with him who were both quite fit themselves, but I only had eyes for Taron as the three of them settled in on the ground with us. Jules and Mary were quite beside themselves. “Well look at that, we match up. These are my mates, Jack and Gavin,” he said with a grin.

We introduced ourselves as well, though I was pretty sure somewhere in a hazy memory of the karaoke bar we’d all met Jack before, but Gavin was new, and Jules had instantly started chatting him up.

“I’m glad you made it,” I smiled at Taron, admiring him just a bit in the tanktop and swim shorts he was wearing. Boy if I didn’t just burn up right then and there, I thought.

“I’m glad I did too,” he grinned back. “I’ve been missing you.”

“You have?” I asked, biting my lip a bit shyly.

“Of course. It’s not been my choice to be so busy, but I’ll figure this out.”

“Yeah?” I couldn’t help but smile. “What’s this thing you’ve got going on later?”

“Oh! Yeah that. Just some old mates from school invited me out to Streatham Common for a bonfire night,” he grinned.

“A bit hot for that, isn’t it?” I asked, raising my eyebrows.

“Perhaps, but it’s the best place to see the stars in the middle of London. Would you like to see it for yourself?” he asked cutely. “That is, of course, if you haven’t got plans already.”

“No, no plans. I’d love too,” I grinned back.

“Good, now that that’s settled, shall we get out in that water before we all melt?” he asked, standing up and pulling his tanktop off. I felt my breath catch in my chest, and I was glad my shades were dark because oh, was I staring. He was a bit sweaty and the way it glistened on his chest gave me thoughts I should not have been thinking.

“Come on then,” he said to me, offering his hand as Jules, Mary, Gavin and Jack had already headed for the water. He helped me stand up, but I was still clutching the towel around me with one hand and there was a hint of understanding in Taron’s eyes.

“You needn’t be shy around me. You’re gorgeous,” he said softly, reaching over and gently taking the edges of the towel from me and pushing it off my shoulders, letting it drop to the ground. “That’s better,” he said, looking me over and smiling sweetly. “Alright?” he asked me, and I nodded. He took my hand and we made our way to the water, finally joining up with our friends.

We talked and laughed a bit, and with the rest of my body under the water, where no one had to see it, I could forget about my insecurity there. That is, of course, until Taron suggested we play chicken fight. Jules was instantly for it, Mary seemed confused as to what that meant, and I wanted to sink to the bottom of the pool. There was no way I was getting up on Taron’s shoulders for the world to see.

“Come on, love, it’s fine!” Taron grinned at me, excited about his fantastic idea.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” I said under my breath while Jack explained the basic premise to Mary.

“That’s nonsense. Hurt me?” Taron laughed, taking a deep breath of air and ducking under the surface. I nearly fell over when I felt his hands on my legs, pushing them apart enough to get his head between them and standing up, boosting me up out of the water as I shrieked loudly. I clutched at his head to keep from falling over as he just laughed his ass off. “Not so bad, is it?” he smirked, holding onto my legs as I tried to not hyperventilate.

“Holy fuck, Taron, warn a girl next time,” I said, Jules already up on Gavin’s shoulders too. Mary was struggling a bit to get on Jack’s, making everyone laugh, but finally she was up too.

“Let the games commence!” Taron grinned, as Jules and I were the first two to face off. We were quite evenly matched, and it took a fair bit of wrestling, but eventually I prevailed, knocking a shrieking Jules over into the water.

“Yes! We did it!” I squealed happily to Taron.

“Yeaah!” he said, patting my thigh happily and making me feel something strange in my chest as I realized that his fingers were against my bare skin.

Next it was Mary and I, and she royally kicked my butt, managing to push both me and Taron over backward into the water, both of us coming back up for air, sputtering and laughing.

Taron pulled me in close to him, making sure I could breathe and running his fingers along the exposed skin of my waist under the water. “T...Taron?” I stuttered slightly.

“Hmmm?” he said, grinning at me, the sunlight bouncing off the water and making his hazel eyes sparkle.

“Your eyes look rather blue at the moment,” I smiled, running my hands through his wet curls. “I always thought that color-changing eyes were the prettiest. I’ve just got boring brown ones.”

“Boring? Have you gone mad?” he asked, his gaze holding my own. “You just haven’t seen them the way I have. When the sun shines down on them, they turn straight to amber. And there are these little gold flecks that always make them look like they’re dancing.” No one had ever said anything so lovely to me in my life, and I quite forgot how to speak.

“Rematch!” Jules yelled, interrupting our moment, which was fine because I had no idea how much longer we were going to stand there staring at each other if she hadn’t. We even got a few other people involved in the game until we had all worn ourselves out, returning to our towels and letting the sun bake us dry again. The boys had brought snacks and even a Bluetooth speaker to play some tunes, and we spent an incredibly enjoyable afternoon together.

Eventually we decided to head on home, the sun making us all feel a bit knackered, but before we parted ways Taron grabbed my hand in his and placed a sweet kiss on the back of it. “Be ready at 8, yeah?” he smiled, and I nodded, feeling giddy inside.

We made it back to our flat, where Jules and Mary both decided to take naps. I felt the need to freshen up so I ran the water in the bath, still mulling over the image of Taron in my mind, the sun on his shoulders and happiness in his eyes. I slipped beneath the surface of the bath, sighing as the warmth enveloped me. I closed my eyes and could still see him smiling at me, focusing on the muscles of his bare chest that I had wanted to run my hands over so badly, the way his wet swim shorts had clung to his thighs.

“Shit,” I breathed, feeling turned on and letting my hand drift down between my legs, gasping slightly as I imagined what it might feel like if it were Taron’s fingers. I rubbed myself a bit, my breathing coming in short gasps, trying not to moan in case Mary or Jules overheard me. But it was no use; I’d not been able to get off in quite a while. I had no idea what was wrong with me.

“Damnit,” I said, splashing water onto the floor in my frustration as I knocked the back of my head against the edge of the tub. I sighed and sat there for a moment, tearing up slightly and then quickly wiping them away. “Right, get over it,” I told myself. I quickly finished bathing and focused on getting myself ready, which didn’t consist of much. I figured I didn’t need to be made up for a bonfire.

Once Jules and Mary were up from their naps, we ordered some takeout on delivery and sat eating and chatting in front of the telly. Taron arrived promptly and I waved goodbye to the girls. I wasn’t exactly sure who we’d be hanging out with, so Taron filled me in as he drove us out to the nature preserve. It was still warm out, so I’d just dressed in shorts, a tee and sneaks. Taron parked us and we made the bit of a hike toward the woods, Taron holding my hand the whole way there.

He was warmly greeted by his friends once we arrived, and cutely introduced me to everyone. They were all so sweet and welcoming to me, and we were both handed beers. We took a seat on a log, but it was still too warm to have lit the fire. Everyone was hoping that it would cool off once the sun went down. We laughed and talked and drank, and Taron kept his arm draped around my shoulders. It felt amazing to be included in this way, and I started thinking that maybe we really were “together.” But he’d never actually said it out loud, and one thing still worried my mind.

The temperature cooled off as the sun sank toward the horizon, deepening the shadows. After the fire was lit, and most of Taron’s friends were too, Taron grinned over at me and cutely flicked the tip of my nose with this finger. “I told you I’d show you the stars. Come on,” he said with a wink, grabbing two fresh beers and taking my hand again. 

“Where are we going?” I laughed, following along dutifully. “Won’t they miss us?”

“Trust me, you won’t want to go missing in these woods, it’d likely be til Sunday before anyone knows you’re gone,” he smirked.

We trekked through the trees a bit on a well-worn path, giggling when we stumbled over roots until we’d gotten to a small clearing. In the middle was a pickup truck, older but not rusted out. It looked like someone had been taking care of it, though how it’d ended up in the middle of the trees was beyond me. Taron pulled back the cover and then let down the tailgate, helping me climb up. I was shocked at what I found; the bed of the truck had been completely covered with cushions and blankets and pillows. It was rather soft and I felt like I was sinking into it as Taron clambered in after me.

I grinned as he settled in next to me, and we both leaned back and stared up at the twilight sky. We were quiet for a few minutes as I watched the stars slowly blink into existence, one by one. “This is really gorgeous,” I whispered, feeling Taron’s fingers playing at the hem of my shirt. All the beer I’d drunk was making me feel rather heady, and when his fingers connected with my skin, I could barely breathe. “Not nearly as beautiful as you,” he said, before taking a swig of his beer, almost as if he was trying to gather his courage.

I wanted him to kiss me so badly, but I was also afraid for it. What if, from that single kiss, he could detect my entire history? What if he could taste the brokenness on my tongue?

He turned over onto his side slightly, and I did the same. We were so close in the darkness, sharing the same air, and I could feel the tension vibrating between us. “Taron,” I breathed his name, as we slowly drifted closer, our noses touching and then finally our lips. That first kiss was so gentle, but the power of it blew me away. It wasn’t demanding, or selfish, or greedy, or any of the other things I knew a kiss to be. “Jessica,” he said against my lips, his arm sliding around my back and drawing me in for more.

When we broke apart I was breathless, speechless, unable to form a single thought, and I imagined Taron felt the same. There was nothing of the world but this singular moment, Taron and me, the sounds of the woods surrounding us.

“I...uh…” Taron laughed awkwardly, running a hand through his hair. “That was good, right?” he asked.

“Just shut up,” I laughed, burying my face against his chest. He wrapped his arms around me, and we laid like that for a space. I was warm and fuzzy inside and everything felt perfect - until I opened my big mouth.

“T, can I ask you a question?” I said against his chest, and he hummed slightly.

“Yeah, anything,” he replied, running his fingers through my hair.

“You don’t already have a girlfriend, do you?” I asked, his fingers going still. He didn’t say anything at first, and I wondered if he’d even heard me, but then he sat up, pushing me off him.

“Why would you say something like that to me?” he asked, the darkness masking the pain in his eyes. “Why would you insinuate I was being unfaithful to someone else? I’d never do that, Jess!” he said, anger lacing through the hurt in his voice.

“What? That’s not… what I meant. I just didn’t know!” I tried to explain, but nothing seemed to be coming out right.

“Do you bloody think I’m an animal? I wouldn’t have been pursuing you if I had a girlfriend, for Chrissake,” he said. “All of this wasn’t just to get into your pants. You’re not just a good fuck for me, you know!” he said, grabbing his half-empty beer bottle and lobbing it angrily into the woods. I heard it smash somewhere against a tree. “Fuck,” he said. “You know what, find your own way home,” he said, hopping out of the truck and fleeing the way we’d come.

I sat there in stunned silence, not even sure what the hell had just happened. “Taron?” I asked, and nothing but silence answered back. I jumped down to the ground, pushing the tailgate and cover back into place before using my phone’s flashlight to make it back down the path. I could see the glow of the bonfire through the trees; we hadn’t been that far away, so I wasn’t feeling scared that I was lost. But I was hurt, and confused. It’d been an honest question and I didn’t understand Taron’s flash of anger. In my haste to return, I tripped over something and crashed to the ground, scraping the palms of my hands and my knees, but I barely noticed.

I pushed myself back up to my feet and retrieved my phone before finally making it back to the circle. I frantically tried to find Taron, but was told he had already left. I tried not to cry then, feeling the sense of abandonment sweep through me. I hated that I felt that way; he didn’t owe me anything, after all. I was just a fan, and he the famous actor. He could go back to his life like none of this had ever happened, but I felt irreparably changed somehow.

I managed to bum a ride from one of his friends, thankful they weren’t much for chatting. I’m not sure I could have kept it together well enough to pretend my night hadn’t gone totally to shit. The flat was completely dark when we arrived, and I was thankful Jules and Mary were already in bed. “Cheers,” I said to the driver before jogging up the walk and letting myself in. I headed straight for the bathroom and shut myself inside, my hands shaking as I tried to doctor my bloodied palms and knees. I left my dirty smoke-scented clothes on the bathroom floor and crawled into bed in my unders. I hugged my pillow to myself tightly and finally allowed myself to cry. I checked my phone again; Taron hadn’t texted. I wanted to let him know I’d gotten home safely, but I didn’t think he’d care.

I eventually cried myself out, and felt Tim jump up on my bed. He settled down in the crook of my legs and purred. “At least you still like me. No one else gives a toss,” I sniffed, feeling sorry for myself. I set my phone on the nightstand and sighed deeply. My chest hurt, my palms were stinging, and everything felt out of place. The only thing to do for it was sleep, so I left myself crash, afraid of the hard truths I was going to have to face in the morning.

Can Jess mend her relationship with Taron in time? Find out in Part 6.

#taron imagine #taron egerton #taron x reader #taron egerton imagine #taron egerton fanfiction

[obliobla]

The Bone Garden

The teeth sit in the small paper packet like seeds.

Rough, calloused fingers pinch it open, pick out a canine, once bloody-rooted, now desiccated and dull. The man takes up a trowel, gouging out a groove in the earth. He plants the seed-tooth deep, smoothing the soil over it into a mound. He takes up a knife, cuts into his arm with a hiss and a shudder. The blood wells up, bright with life. He tips his wrist down, pouring it down in drops, watching it sink beneath the surface.

The sun goes down, blood-red, and he watches it sink beneath the surface.

Weeks pass, and summer comes. He lies in his bed with the hospital corners, sits in the chair beside the roaring hearth. And he stands on the little ridge behind the house, pouring blood onto the soil, watching the earth.

When the atlas pushes gently out of the dirt, the bone pale and strangely frail, it is raining, and the rain drops on them like blood. It cannot support the world, but, perhaps, it can hold up his heart. He crouches, reaches out to touch, but pulls back. Not yet. Not yet.

He takes up the knife again and starts on the other arm.

The spine curls softly in the breeze as he watches. It is sunny, today, and the bone glints with the shine. His arms are ravaged and hot, and he knows he hasn’t been keeping the knife clean enough. But it is hard to care when there is such wonder waiting here for him. When he cuts a line to pour, pus comes with the blood. The earth is hungry, the bones are hungry, and he can’t stop. But his well is starting to run dry.

When ribs arch out from the spine, slicing through the air, he kneels on the earth. Touches the air above the bones, imagines he can feel life burgeoning under his fingertips. His arms are constantly bleeding, now, and pus oozes into the wrappings he carefully unwinds, laying them on the soil, a benediction for his works. A sacrifice at his altar. He hardly needs the knife at all when he stands, naked of bindings, the blood rising to the surface as sap from twisted trees. But the pain is sweet when he lifts his head to the sky, to the sun, and feels its warmth on his face.

There are arms, now—small, but strong and always, always grasping. They grab at the soil, dig their embryonic fingers in, searching for nourishment. And he cannot give any more of himself—the wounds too festering to give untainted life any longer—but, still, the earth is hungry, and he must feed it. It doesn’t matter where he finds the blood that drips steadily from the bag he carries, doesn’t matter where the bile came from, stinking even through the plastic. Nothing matters but the way the fingers twitch when he pours the fluids down the sternum, down the clavicle.

And the earth is sated. For now.

The yard is getting full, the whispers are growing louder, but the pelvis has bloomed like a flower in the moonlight, and he prostrates in awe of it. He longs to press his lips to the hollows—has dreamed of far less only to wake, shaking and breathless—but, still, not yet. He worships only at night, now. The day is far too bright, and far too shameful. And it is fitting, somehow. His arms are constantly wrapped, and they’ve stopped itching.

He no longer cares what that means.

The legs come, dipping from the weight back towards the earth like peanuts do, toes rooting deep into the soil. The earth has grown hungrier, reaching out for sustenance, demanding more blood, more bile. And he provides, though the bed no longer has its hospital corners, the hearth is cold and empty, and the yard behind the house is pockmarked with shallow graves. He pours the fluid from the bag and watches them in the moonlight. He has never seen anything so beautiful.

He wonders when that happened.

When the skeleton is complete, the nerves arise, an iridescent spider’s web draped across the bones. He wonders if it can feel when the wind slices through the ribs, when the rain beats onto the sacrum. The air has begun to grow cold. His hands have begun to grow cold. But there is only the half-formed flesh he longs to reach for, the sweet sheen of moonlight on his skin, and the certainty that this will all be worth it.

It has to be.

A strange framework begins growing out—a support structure for the organs, he supposes.  But they grow in sickly and wrong, and he panics. And he is rash, tears himself from in front of this altar grown of blood and bile where he has knelt for hours—or days—and seeks, in the night, an answer. And he finds it, screaming and crying and so much less careful chosen than the other, lesser bones that lie in his garden. Please, it says, but he cannot feel when it scratches at his arms.

He takes up the knife again.

His flower grows, and things are good. Muscle forms, individual fibers at first, but soon solid and strong, if dull in color. But the winter winds come, and the alveoli catch the breeze, oxygenating everything to a vibrant red. It blooms in darkness under his care, under the moon, under the stars. They sing to him, when he has been away from the house for too long. They make him forget his empty bed, his lifeless hearth—make him forget everything that isn’t the earth beneath his feet, the bones beneath his hands, so close, but, still, not touching.

Not yet.

The skin comes in layers like onions grow, pulling taut across flesh, and he wonders how he is to feed it. It had, after all, a thousand hungry mouths, and now, perhaps, has only one. He hasn't seen the skull since it first formed. But he pours the blood onto the glistening snow, and puts his faith in the earth, in the moon, in the stars.

Hair is last, thin in places, thick in others. There's still something off about it. There's something off about all of it, if he lets himself think too much, but it’s getting easier not to care. No scars, he realizes, from his customary place knelt before it, as he watches the belly fill out and the breasts softly sag. As the muscles of the thighs flex in moonlight in strange, fearful motions.

And the spring comes.

One day, when the frost has melted from the ground, when the sun is high in the sky, the skin warmed by its heat, the body shakes, shudders. The fingers scramble, the legs twitch, the body undulates unnaturally. Hope and terror echo in his heart together, but it has been so long and he is so close, so he does not run. In truth, he couldn't even if he wanted to. His legs are as numb as his hands, as his arms, rooted to the earth as thoroughly as this thing he's grown.

The feet come first, kicking free of the soil. They are coated in mud, but the soles are free of calluses in a way he’s never seen before, and he feels like Adam when he first beheld Eve. Like God himself, even, when He first saw the light and that it was good.

The hands and feet brace, the earth seems to vibrate—or maybe it’s inside of him, something shaking loose that has been trapped for so very long—and the head pulls free. The hair has made itself a cocoon, wrapped, as around a caterpillar. A black chrysalis shining in the sunlight. He can only hear his shallow breaths when the hands come up, dirt caked under the fingernails, to reveal the butterfly.

And there is stillness, in this moment, as the hands slowly part the hair.

And it is there before him, the face he sees in dreams, in nightmares, whenever he closes his eyes. And she smiles—the spark in her eyes almost like moonlight, something he would remember if he lived a thousand years and a thousand more.

If all the stars died he’d still know that light.

And then she sees him, and the smile dies on her face. And he understands, now, it never will be time to reach, to touch, to hold. She looks from him back to her hands, to the hole in the earth like a grave. To all the other covered over spots, those places where he has planted all his sins. Where he has planted his sins for her.

Her fingers come to her lips, to her mouth, to the tooth that he had so secreted away. Her hands shake, a tear drips down her cheek, and she turns away. And he is not Adam, but Orpheus, watching her love descend into darkness. But he will not follow after her. She walks, barefoot on hot earth, and he watches her until she slips between the trees and out of sight, a name caught on his deadened tongue.

This, then, is his lot. This is his harvest.

He sighs, reaches into his pocket, and pulls out a small paper packet. He shakes it, and the teeth that remain inside rattle like seeds. He pulls out another—an incisor, this time—and leans down to the earth, taking up his trowel again. Maybe this time it will work.

Maybe this time she will love him.

#My writing #short story #horror

[arbeaone]

ShellsuitZombie Magazine Issue 2 Published on July 26, 2011

[ View larger version here ] Text from the article can be read below. (There may be some errors.)

I, BOLLO

One spectacularly sunny lunchtime, ShellsuitZombie managed to hunt down a rare Gorilla only common to Clerkenwell London. Dave Brown, most famous for his role as Bollo in The Mighty Boosh, spends most of his time as a designer and photographer producing (alongside Boosh work like 2008s spectacularly successful 'The Mighty Book of Boosh') beautiful printed staff for clients like Universal and the BBC, as well as of course the odd performance to tens of thousands on arena tours around the country. It's safe to say we were feeling pretty smug about trapping him in a pub in Clerkenwell (which happens to be just below his studio) for a pint and a chat about Design, the future of Boosh, Noel's new book and photographing Julian Barratt and villagers in Ghana.

SSZ: So Dave/Bollo, what would you consider to be your main job?

Dave: I guess I consider myself to be a creative, the Boosh started as something I did with my mates as a laugh and it blew up into something huge. I've always had to juggle the worlds of and Design, quite often for me they overlap, obviously when you're out on tour it's all consuming but even then I've been known to be sat in my hotel room on a squeezing the odd freelance job in.

So you've always been freelance?

I couldn't be full time, in the early days I needed the freedom to be able to drop everything and get involved in a Boosh project at the drop of a hat, so freelance was perfect, then just before the first live Boosh tour in 2006 I did something I'd always wanted to do and set up my own agency, aptly named Ape, with a mind to be more of a collective of creatives rather then just a sole trader It allows me to get all the amazing creatives I've had the pleasure of meeting and working with over the years involved as and when I can on all kinds of creative projects.

It's been pretty full on since to be honest, so full on in fact that I haven't even had time to launch the website! It always gets pushed to the bottom of the to do list when I'm busy and then when I find the time to get back to it I've gone off everything I've done and start again. There's a holding page up at the moment that says 'Gorillas can use up to 52 different tools.They're currently using those tools to build this site'. Well they're obviously rubbish at using them because it's taking them bloody ages to finish!

Would you say Boosh has helped the rest of your career?

I guess so, although you could also say it's got in the way. I am doing a lot of books now as a result of the Boosh book but many of my clients haven't a clue who I am. I've done work for Feame Cotton, Ben Brooks, James Rhodes, Nick Cave and recently comedian Tim Key as a result of the book and Boosh work in general. BBC books actually just rang and asked me if I'd be interested in designing this years Top Gear guide to Christmas book! They've approached me because they said they loved the Boosh book and would like my take on things. Will be great if that's true but I'm not counting my chickens just yet. I recently did an interview with Radio 4 where I went on a massive rant about Jeremy Clarkson's stonewashed pumpkin arse not fitting into my Morris Minor so if they get wind of that it could be off ! (Ed.- Since doing this interview Dave has stepped away from the Top Gear job due to, shall we say, creative differences)

It sounds like books are your bread and butter. How do you go about designing a successful book like ‘TMBOB’?

I don't have a process, I approach everything from an idea, every brief is obviously different and I design to that, so it's a bit worrying when people say 'I love the Boosh book, can you do that for me?' - I interpret that as can you adopt a similar way of approaching the brief rather than making it look exactly like the Book of Boosh. The Boosh book was designed around the characters really, the style and feel of each page born from an idea in the writing and from the vibrancy and diversity of the show, a 4 column grid with a consistent type style was obviously never going to work!

The Boosh book sold incredibly well, largely due to the popularity of the show, but we were also very keen to not just make it a standard off the shelf spin off shitty annual like most TV show books. Like all Boosh product, we're very hands on, mostly doing it ourselves and we dedicate time and effort to make sure the final product is worthy of the show. That's pretty unique to be honest I think this attention to detail and quality control is what makes our fans so insanely loyal. We haven't done anything new in ages but the books and DVD's are still selling, purely down to the quality of the design of course!

Surely not everyone just wants you for your Boosh?

No, like I said, I have a fair few clients that don't know I'm in the Boosh, in fact, awhile ago when I was still freelancing, one client left me in charge of their studio before getting on a flight to New York, on the flight they watched a Boosh ep and saw me playing Joey Moose in the first series. They were like 'Is that the guy we just... what the fuck?'

Bollo has played to some huge crowds...

Yeah the last tour we did was insane, Wembley Arena, multiple nights at Brixton, selling out the 02 two nights on the trot, it's been a crazy time and I'm so lucky to have had those experiences, it is hard after a touring sitting back at a computer designing but I get my kicks out of the creative and I still keep a toe in show business with a bit of directing, writing and the odd gig here and there. To be honest it's hard trying to keep it all up and sometimes I wish I just had one job to do. Design isn't exactly a part time job is it! and I've also just had a baby girl, so lets just say I'm pretty tired and exhausted at the moment, I'm smiling though, honest.

What are you up to at the moment?

At the moment I'm working on a book with Noel called The Scribblings of a Madcap Shambleton, not Boosh related, it's basically a book about Noel’s art and writing and I'm design and compiling it. There's also a lot of my photography in it. It's a visual bombardment of Noel's mind really, paintings, sketchbooks, scribbling, it's looking amazing. He's pretty prolific, such a huge body of work. He's been painting for years, unlike some famous freaks who get a set of colouring pencils for Christmas and decide through boredom that they're now an artist. Noel can actually paint his tits off and does so every moment he gets and has done for years so at the moment I'm trying to get 530 pages down to 320! What's really interesting about the work when you see it all together is that you can see how he writes to inspire his painting and he paints to inspire his writing, I know I'm biased but I love his stuff if you haven't seen it think Basquiat, Haring, DeBuffet, Magritte, Hockney, Aubrey Beardsley...

So are there any plans in the pipeline for the Boosh?

Well everyone's working on separate things at the moment Noel is busy doing his own show 'Noel Fielding's Luxury Comedy' and Julian is doing a Russian play at the Young Vic 'Government Inspector'. Those two have pretty much become Howard and Vince.

The last thing we were working on was the album. I was told when I last heard it about 3 months ago that it was 90% done and it sounded immense then so no idea what's going on! It has all the tracks from the show reworked, longer and better as well as new ones written for characters, I reckon they all stand up in their own right, even if you'd never seen the Boosh I still reckon you could get into it, the new Crack Fox track is incredible! It's a great album, people should have it in their ear holes right now.

People always ask if The Boosh have split up, I guess it’s inevitable when nothing new has happened in a while but we haven't and stuff will again, Noel and Julian do things when they're ready, they've produced so much material over the years, they're just having a break at the mo. There's still loads of stuff on the table that's never seen the light of day, but they'll do it when they're ready and when they do it will be great. They just need to find out where that table is...

Is the passion still there?

Yeah of course, always will be, for them and for me. You always come back stronger after a holiday, just maybe a little sunburnt, haha.

So I hear you're involved in some charity work. Fancy talking about that for a bit?

Yes, I love talking about it! I have just become an ambassador for afrikids.org, A freaking ambassador! Afrikids is a charity focusing on child rights in Northern Africa - They've been an absolute joy to work with, I've done some fundraising for them as Bollo, I've rebranded them, not as Bollo, and I even got the opportunity to spend some time in Ghana last year seeing their projects firsthand. I was filming and taking stills for their library, it was an incredible experience - it sounds clichéd and worthy saying it was life changing but it was. The Upper East region of Ghana is an amazing place, the people are beautiful, many of them have next to nothing and yet they're so welcoming, so happy, so positive and an absolute joy to photograph. From a portraiture point of view it was incredible. You expect a certain amount of shyness or self awareness from someone when you stick a big camera in their face but everyone there was so natural and un-effected. They would just look right down the lens without a hint of embarrassment or effect. I couldn't stop taking pictures. I need to go back, there's a chance I will be involved in an ambulance convoy driving donated medical vehicles and equipment from Southampton to Bolgatanga in Northern Ghana next year, imagine the photographic opportunity there! There's a book in that... If I could do anything I'd be travelling the world taking pictures

How does that compare to shooting backstage on tour?

Worlds apart in terms of there being more more booze, hairspray and ... erm ... humous but actually not that different from a photographic point of view, it’s still about getting yourself in the right place, sensing when to be anonymous and when to get in amongst it. I'm lucky with the Boosh obviously because I'm an insider, it means everyone acts as if there wasn't a camera around, except Rich of course who turns into a complete psycho, nutjob, showoff whenever any recording equipment appears. He's a shy introvert mouse normally!

The trouble with me taking all the backstage Boosh shots is that I'm never in any of them, but then when we get photographers out on tour to shoot us I always feel for them because they usually get nothing! Especially when they're big personalities and act all crazy and hyper like that's what we react to! I always smile to myself and think 'you're not going to get anything here mate, especially from Julian' He rarely gives me anything photographically let alone a strange cool cat called Moses in his silly hat and mad trainers wondering why in every shot he has of Julian he's talking or eating!

I can imagine him being a pain in the arse

Not at all, well, maybe just a little every now and then but aren't we all? He's also the most truthful loyal down the line no shit guy you'll ever meet, he's also fucking hilarious and one of the best comic actors out there.

How did you meet?

Me, Noel and Nige (Boosh animator and co creator of Noels new show) went to see Julian do standup at uni - he was fucking amazing. Noel had wanted to go in for an award which Julian had won the year before, the daily telegraph open mic award, so thats why we saw him ... I think ... but then they met in Edinburgh and both got signed to the same management company and started writing together. Then they did three years in Edinburgh before the radio and TV shows. Being there from the off means I have photography all the way back to the source, I plan to do an exhibition and book some day of the lot, maybe next year, I think it’s 10 years since the first series? I may be wrong, my mind is mash, too much humous on tour.

OK We have some questions from ShensuitZombie readers. Graeme asks: Where are you keeping the severed head of the honey monster*?

* After a Sugar Puffs advert used a similar crimping style to the Boosh, Bollo exacted his revenge on the brand’s iconic beast live on tour.

Ha, I don't know where that is. It's probably behind a bin backstage somewhere in a Scottish theatre. The last gig on our last tour was in Aberdeen, I don't know whose fucking idea that was. It was a great gig and the people were amazing but we it did feel a bit of anti climax, although the journey back to London was ridiculous, it felt like it was half an hour! The honey monster head, I don't know, it's probably in Peter Kay's bed, discuss.

Holly asks: Do you find yourself grunting and acting like a primate after being onstage?

It's the most powerful thing to be in that costume, and acting it - especially in real life situations, I've found that out when I've been doing charity work, fundraising in banks and stuff, getting in lifts and acting nonchalant amongst business men and women. Some people react well and have a laugh, embrace it, others desperately try to ignore the fact that they're standing in a lift with Gorilla, others have massive heart attacks and die at my primate feet. It's weird for kids because they either run up and cuddle you or freeze, have meltdowns and are forever scared.

A friend recently did a film with John Landis [Director of American Werewolf in London and Thriller] who is apparently obsessed with monkey impersonators. He has a room in his house dedicated to all the monkey actors of the world and reckons he can tell who is in any monkey suit in any film anywhere. So he asked my mate for a signed photo of Bollo and I had to send him a strange signed shot like those ones you see in New York dry cleaners. Still, now I know I'm in John Landis's monkey room I sleep better at night.

John asks: In the Bollo Cadburys ad parody is it you in the suit*?

** If you don’t know what this is referring to, look here: tinyurl.com/bollocadburys

Of course it is, how very dare you suggest otherwise...

Which is your favourite episode?

Milky Joe is awesome, I love Nanageddon and Old Gregg and in series 3 it's got to be Eels. It’s tough to pick a favourite, I genuinely piss myself at most of them even when I watch them back now.

Is anything ad-libbed?

Yeah, have you met Rich? Ever tried to get him to say the same line twice! It's always where the best stuff comes from, harder in TV land but on tour it’s encouraged and is always where the gold comes from, also keeps you alive, when you're doing 6 shows a week for four or so months you need to keep it fresh.

In fact, there was one thing that Bollo had to do in the live show, rolling a big prop offstage. One day the caster caught and I stacked it, incidentally ripping my leg open in the process. It got the biggest laugh of the night so I carried on doing it for the rest of the tour!

Thanks Dave, it's been sweet.

No worries, nice to meet you.

And with that, like an ape in the woods, he was gone. 

Check out Dave's site - www.apeinc.co.uk

Dave took hundreds of photos of Ghanaians on his recent trip with Afrikids, a charity for whom he is ambassador.

#Dave Brown #Noel Fielding #Julian Barratt #The Mighty Boosh #ShellsuitZombie #ShellsuitZombie Magazine #`❦

[carryonsimoncarryonbaz]

Chapter 9 of my Carry On Big Bang fic is posted! Chapter title from the Social Distortion song Story of My Life. Read it at AO3.

Chapter Nine: Story of My Life

Baz

The letter, when it arrives, looks out of place among the scatter of bills, circulars and junk mail that usually fills Simon and Bunce’s mail bin.

This particular day had started just like any of the other languid, comfortable ones before it had. Waking up to Simon in my arms, indulging in some early morning distractions, sitting together for our morning tea in the sunny kitchen.

It’s blessedly domestic and I’ve no idea what I’m going to do with myself when Bunce returns.

I’d raced home after meeting with my advisor. I suppose it’s odd that I refer to Simon’s flat as home, when I’ve got my own place. Well, not actually my own flat. Although with as much as Fiona travels I may as well be living alone.

But her place doesn’t feel like home. Even after all this time.

Simon’s does. It’s got all the essentials that make it that way—the scent of food cooking, the lumpy sofa, piles of dirty clothes in the corner of the bedroom, the medicinal scent of Simon’s soap.

And Simon himself. All the details that take me back to Watford and that simultaneously reinforce where we are now.

Fiona’s place just holds the persistent odor of nicotine, greasy kebabs and Earl Grey.

I’m humming as I take the stairs up to Simon’s and my choice of song makes me realize I have truly become a cliché.

I don’t care. Fuck clichés. There was a time when the only cliché I thought I’d manage was becoming a dead vampire.

Humming Robert Smith’s lyrics on a Friday afternoon seems a far better outcome.

I burst into Simon’s flat and find him on the sofa. That’s not particularly unusual for this time of day but his expression is. I’ve not seen an approximation of his thousand-yard stare for months and it unnerves me.

“Hello, love.” I drop my bag and sink down on the sofa next to him, pressing a kiss to his temple. I find his hand and feel his fingers grip mine as I lean into him.

I know better than to push when Simon’s like this. I just hold his hand while my eyes dart around at the flat; looking at him, at the untidy stack of books nearby, the pile of mail on the table.

And that’s when I see it. The thick, cream-colored envelope with precise lettering on the front, addressed to Simon.

With a return address in Wales.

I only know one person from Wales. And that person is dead.

I squeeze Simon’s fingers and then slip my hand out of his to wrap it around him and pull him closer. He leans into me, head dropping to rest on my shoulder.

“You’ve not opened it, then?” My voice is low.

He shakes his head. “Didn’t want to do it alone. Dunno who it’s from or what it’s about.” He swallows and turns his face into my neck. “I don’t know anyone from Wales except . . .” He trails off.

“You don’t have to open it right now.” I’m dreadfully curious about the contents but it also makes me uneasy.

The fact that the return address is for a solicitor’s office does nothing to dampen my concern.

The past few months have been so much better. Uni’s taken Simon’s mind off all the misery and he found a focus in his coursework this past term that he never had at Watford. It’s been good. The Mage’s death and the whole bloody aftermath of that blasted inquiry devastated him. It just kept reopening the wounds of his loss. We’d finally moved past all that.

And now this.

Right.

He doesn’t have to open it now but I know Simon. He’ll brood on it if he doesn’t. The unknown is worse than whatever that letter holds.

“Do you want me to open it, love?”

Simon goes rigid for a moment but then he sits up, jaw jutted out and eyebrows lowered. I know that look. My heart squeezes because I know him. He’s never one to back down on anything. “No. I should do it.” He leans forward and picks up the letter, holding it gingerly in front of him. “I’m just glad you’re here.”

He flips it over and rips the back open, sliding a sheaf of papers out. I lean over to skim the cover letter as he reads it. His hand is shaking.

“ ‘Sole beneficiary?’ What the bloody hell does that mean?” he mutters. “ ‘The bequest includes all tangible personal property, real estate and such items maintained on aforementioned property, as well as all personal effects including items until recently held at the Watford School and that were acquired by the decedent during his tenure as Headmaster at that facility.’ Baz, what the fuck does this all mean?” He thrusts the letter at me.

I take the cover letter and scan it quickly, riffling through the document that accompanies it.

Fuck. It’s the Mage’s will.

Fuck.

I read over the letter one more time. “He might not have gone through the paperwork to officially adopt you, Simon, but it seems the Mage made you his legal heir.” I skim the pages again. “This is a copy of the will. He’s left his entire estate to you.”

There is silence for a moment and then Simon’s head drops into his hands. “I don’t want it.”

It’s too much, too sudden, too overwhelming. It doesn’t surprise me that this is his first reaction.

I put my arms around him and his head drops onto my shoulder once more, his face buried in my neck, his words just a whisper. “I don’t want it, Baz. I don’t want anything to do with him. Not anymore.” His tail wraps around my leg and his wings tremble against my hands.

I run my hands gently up and down his back. “I’ve got you, love. We’ll sort this, never you mind. We’ll sort it.”

I order dinner. I pay the delivery man. I set out the meal, watch Simon pick at the chicken tikka on his plate, do the washing up. I choose a film to watch, endure the silence emanating from him. I know this routine. It’s like all those weekends at Bunce’s in those first months. It chills me to see how easily Simon has slipped back into that state.

It’s later, when we’re in his bedroom, that he comes alive again. Simon’s hands roam over my body, his kisses fast and firm and desperate.

“We don’t have to tonight, Simon.” I whisper it into his hair, as he reaches down to trail his lips along my neck. “It’s alright, love.”

“I want to.” His breath ghosts over my skin, his mouth sliding along my collarbone. “I want this, Baz. I don’t want to think about anything but you.” He tilts his head up to meet my eyes. “And I don’t want you thinking about it either. Not here. Not now.” His jaw clenches. “This is mine. Ours. And it’s bloody well going to stay that way.”

Simon holds himself up above me, makes me reach for his lips. I slip my fingers into his bronze curls as his wings unfurl above us. It’s warm and safe in Simon’s arms, a haven from the outside world.

“I don’t want to think, Baz.” His words hang between us. “Make me stop thinking.”

So, I do.

Simon

Morning comes and for a minute, when I first wake up, it’s like it always is. Me, on Baz’s chest, listening to the slow, steady beat of his heart, my legs tangled up with his, the cool stretch of his body against mine.

Then I remember.

And I get angry. It thrums through me, my pulse quickening, a wave of heat washing over me. I’d be seeing everything edged in red and wavering, if I still had my magic.

But I don’t have it anymore.

Fuck him. Fuck the Mage. Fuck his lies and his prophecies and his bloody Chosen One bullshit. I close my eyes and take a deep breath but I can’t find that place, that internal calmness that’s been so much easier to channel these last few months.

I just feel the rage.

I thought it was over. The whole fucking nightmare of the inquiry, the Coven meetings, the jumble of emotions in the aftermath of it all. I thought I could put it behind me and be done. Move on with my life.

Be Simon Snow. Not the Chosen One. Not a mage. Not anyone’s fucking hero. Just me. The Simon who lives with his best friend and goes to uni and is blissfully in love with a complicated, unfairly attractive man who happens to be the gentlest, least bloodthirsty and most posh fucking vampire in existence.

That Simon. That’s the Simon I want to be.

I don’t want to be the fucking Mage’s Heir again.I know it’s not the same, it doesn’t have the far-reaching ramifications and portents and utter shite it did before but Merlin, I am so fucking sick of those words in relation to me.

In any bloody form.

I had a bad feeling when I saw the envelope. Nothing to do with magic or foresight or any of that rot. Just unnerving. A tingling in my fingers as I picked the letter up, a chill down my spine when I saw that it posted from Wales, the wave of unease at the solicitor’s return address.

Nothing good could be coming out of Wales. Not for me.

I only knew one person from there. And it’s the person I would most like to forget.

I’m still trying to keep my breaths steady but the fury coursing through me is relentless.

He fucked with my life while he was alive. Can he not leave me in fucking peace now that he’s dead? Is that really too much to ask?

I can feel Baz’s breathing pattern shift and then cool fingers run through my hair. Bloody hell. I must have woken him up.

I tilt my head up. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

His fingers keep carding through my hair, rasping against my scalp. It’s far more calming than any of the breathing exercises I was half-heartedly attempting moments ago.

Baz is like that. Nothing calms me the way he does. His touch, his voice, that infuriating sardonic tone he has that makes me laugh.

It didn’t always do that. He used to just infuriate me, the jammy bastard.

Not anymore. He’s a cool breeze that soothes my soul now. Not that I tell him that, mind you.

Well, I don’t tell him often. He’d be insufferable if I did, the tit.

“You’re a mouth-breather, Simon. It’s virtually impossible to remain asleep when you are huffing and puffing like that.” His voice is gentle, even if his words aren’t. A finger traces along my jaw. “Are you alright, love?”

I drop my head to rest on Baz’s chest again, letting my breaths slow to match his. “I’m just angry. I thought we were done with all his shite.” I fist the sheet in my hand. “I wanted to be done with him.”

His fingers keep combing through my curls. “I thought so too. But we’ll sort this. I told you.”

“Sorting it means dealing with it, Baz. I don’t want to deal with it. I don’t want it. I don’t want anything to do with it.”

Baz sighs and shifts a bit. “It seems fairly clear-cut from the letter. Property, personal effects, any and all belongings. What you choose to do with that is up to you, Simon.”

“I don’t want to choose anything. Can’t I just throw the letter away and pretend I never got it?”

He laughs then, a rumble I can feel reverberating through his chest.  “You know they’ll keep sending letters, right? You’re the only heir. They made that very clear. ‘Sole beneficiary.’ Trust me, love, they want this sorted as much as you do. Unfinished business on the books is no good for them. They’ll track you down, no matter what, so we may as well deal with it head-on.”

It makes me want to tear my hair out. “I don’t want to deal with it, I told you.”

Baz tugs on my hair to make me look up at him again. “I know you don’t but someone needs to. If for no other reason than to get things in order and let you move on.” His expression is grave as he continues, although his tone is almost tentative. “Do you want me to deal with it, Simon? I can speak to Father, get his input, see what I can manage without you getting dragged down by it all?”

I collapse on his chest. “Yes. Yes. I would be eternally grateful if you just took over the whole sodding thing and left me out of it.”

“I can’t do that, you utter pillock. It’s your inheritance, not mine. You’ll still have to make some decisions, sign papers, likely speak to the solicitors. But I will do whatever I can to minimize your involvement, if that’s truly what you want.”

“That’s what I want.”

“Fine. I’ll call Father today, if that’s alright with you.” Baz frowns down at me. “I can talk to him about this, yes? Let him see the documents?”

“Merlin above, Baz, you can give him the bloody documents, for all I care. I trust you and I trust your father.”

He raises one eyebrow and quirks his mouth up. “It still absolutely bloody wrecks me to hear you say things like that, Simon.”

“Well, it’s true, you wanker. I trust you and Penny more than I trust anyone in this world. Your father’s one of the smartest people I know, present company excluded, and he’s far more sensible than you. I’d gladly take his advice on all this legal twaddle.”

That just makes Baz roll his eyes. “It’s not twaddle, you philistine, it’s inheritance law.”

“Call it what you like. But can we be done talking about it? At least until after you call Malcolm?”

The grin that appears on his face is wicked. “I’m going to tell him you finally called him Malcolm. He’ll be absolutely chuffed to hear it.”

“Ugh, I can’t believe I did. It feels so awkward calling him that.”

I feel the press of Baz’s lips on my forehead. “You can’t keep calling him Mr. Grimm forever, love.”

I can. I absolutely can keep calling him that.

Although I must say the thought of anyone describing Malcolm Grimm as chuffed is even more awkward than me calling him by his first name.

Then I’m laughing at that thought and Baz gives that fond smile of his that makes my heart beat faster and even though this fucking Mage business and inheritance shite is throwing me off kilter, I’ve got him and he can make anything better, just by being here with me.

#carry on #simon snow #baz pitch #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch #carry on big bang #next chapter #things are getting interesting