#As of scheduling this post a new one is set to be delivered tomorrow | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

logically-asexual · 2 years

Text

I can tell I've rotted in your brain

summary:

another take on Logan becoming a Dark Side because Thomas just doesn't want him anymore. this one narrates the process through which is Logan is slowly pushed away until he has to leave. Janus and Remus are nice to him throughout (with tiny subtle hints of Loceit).

personally, I don't think Logan is or will become the Orange Side in canon, but that the Orange Side is a whole other guy. still I wanted to write this to explore that possibility and also indulge in the Angst.

note: this work is completely written!

warnings: Logan becomes the Orange Side, so this involves lots of anger and arguments and insults between all the characters. Logan has kind of a Panic Attack and he is restrained against his will. There are threats of violence and physical fighting.

Read on AO3

Chapter 1

| Next |

words: 1449

The first time Logan was in the Dark Side of Thomas’ mind wasn’t very surprising. Thomas didn’t actually want him there, really, the occurrence was caused by a short – although intense – disagreement.

It happened a few months after Thomas had graduated from college. Logan and him had been arguing for weeks, completely unable to reach agreements on any decision Thomas tried making. A better way to express it would be that Logan wanted Thomas to make decisions, any at all, but Thomas just wouldn’t. He had simple questions: “What kind of job should we start looking for?” “Do we want to stay in the same city?” “What short and long-term goals could we begin setting for our future?” But Thomas wouldn’t listen. He had no objectives, no plans, no schedule, and Logan was getting tired.

After those weeks of having the same argument and not reaching a satisfying conclusion, they began having arguments about every inconsequential nuisance, as well. Their last big argument started with a Vine. Thomas and his friends had tried to prepare it and film it for hours, but they couldn’t work out how to make the video shorter, since it was 2 seconds too long. Thomas grew tense, and as the sun set he decided to figure it out himself with the footage they already had. Logan argued with him about how they had to stop wasting so much time and how Thomas should instead prepare for a job interview he had in two days. It was a very short discussion.

“Done!” had yelled Thomas. “Guys, look! What do you think?”

Morality and Creativity replied with positive affirmations, happy with the result, and excited to post the finished Vine the next day.

“What about you, Logic?”

Logan looked at Thomas’ phone screen for the few seconds the video lasted, then simply stated, “I think it’s late, and that you should go to sleep already if you don’t want tomorrow to be a waste of time, too.”

The other two Sides turned to look awkwardly to the side, trying to avoid Logan’s accusation. Logan knew he was too harsh, but he had been asking Thomas to prepare for the interview the entire week; he was tired of repeating himself.

“Fine.” Thomas cut the silence. “Don’t worry, I’m going to bed right now and I’ll make the new post later tomorrow.”

“After you’ve gotten ready for the interview the next day, I assume?”

“Oh my gosh, yes! We know about the interview! You remind us every day, he knows already!” said Roman, with a voice too loud for after 10 pm.

“I only want Thomas to do well.” Logan turned to Thomas again. “You have to come prepared for this kind of opportunity to be successful, instead of focusing on delivering more inconsequential social media content.”

“Come on, teach!” Patton interjected. “He’s just having fun! Give him a break.”

“A break?” Logan couldn’t believe it. “I think he’s had enough breaks. He can’t keep up like this if he wants to become a professional engineer, which is what you want, right, Thomas?”

“I, uh… I guess?”

“You guess?” Logan was baffled.

“I don’t know! Okay? I just... I need time to figure it out.”

Everyone became silent at Thomas’ confession. The three of them looked at him, but he avoided making eye contact with anyone as he spoke.

“N– Nothing. Nevermind.” Thomas sighed. “I’m going to bed.”

With that, the three Sides had no option but to sink down to their respective rooms. Except Logan didn’t sink up in his.

Instead, Logan found himself in the Dark Sides’ space. Years later Logan could still remember his first impression of the place: a poorly lit living room, surrounded by cobwebs, trash, and– why were there so many knives on the floor? Logan heard someone clear his throat and looked up from the stained carpet to find Deceit, whose hand was still slightly lifted from having summoned him. After making eye contact, Deceit greeted him and began walking towards him, and then around him to stand behind Logan’s back.

“Good evening, Logan,” he said, “it’s nice to have you here.”

“I don’t think you mean that,” Logan replied.

“Well…” Deceit rested his hands on Logan’s shoulders, “it would be nicer if your visit was under different circumstances. Sadly, I needed to bring you here because Anxiety wanted to have… a little chat… with you.”

And, shit, Logan knew Thomas had felt stressed out, but he didn’t think they were messing with Anxiety. That was a problem. Logan felt Deceit’s hands stop rubbing his shoulders and let go of him, but when he tried to escape, he noticed his own hands were cuffed to the rail of the stairs behind him. He looked towards Deceit, who was now sitting on the couch, seemingly ready to enjoy the show.

The events that followed were all blurry in Logan’s memory, mostly due to the place’s impact on his ability to think properly. Anxiety was angry with him because of Thomas’ bad mood. Apparently, they all blamed Logic for putting too much pressure on Thomas, causing Thomas to become anxious, making Anxiety unable to sleep through the day or night, which made Thomas’ restlessness even worse. Even though Logan was just trying to help and it was the others that wouldn’t let him do his job and forced him to keep insisting.

It took a while, a few threats, and some knives thrown to the walls, but in the end Anxiety was able to intimidate Logan into apologizing for everything and promising he wouldn’t be so overbearing in the future. Once he was done with him, Logan was left alone and exhausted sitting on the floor, leaning on the rail he was still stuck to. Deceit had been sitting on the couch across from him reading, pretending to ignore what was going on, but Logan had heard him chuckle a couple of times at his responses to Anxiety’s questioning.

“Okay,” Logan tried to catch Deceit’s attention, “I learned the lesson. I would like to go now.”

“Oh, sweetie, you’re staying here.” He didn’t even look up from his book.

“What?”

“Twenty-four hours.”

“What?!”

“And they say you’re the articulate one…”

Logan pretended not to be hurt. Deceit rolled his eyes, then smiled calmly and went towards him. “You’re going to stay right here,” he kneeled down in front of Logan, “and be real quiet for one day. Do you understand?”

“But th–”

“But Thomas has to prepare for the interview!” Deceit completed with a mocking tone. “Yeah, I’ve never heard that one before.” He reached behind Logan and freed him from the rail, only to tie Logan’s wrists together in front of him. At least that was a more comfortable position. Sort of. Then, still leaning over him, Deceit whispered. “I decided to let you help him get dressed and be there during the interrogation, but until then you’re going to stay put, alright?”

Deceit’s intense gaze left no room for argument, so Logan just nodded.

“Wonderful.” Deceit stood up smiling and walked away, singing over his shoulder “Goodnight!”

Logan still wasn’t sure what his opinion was about that day. On one hand, thanks to this Logan would later find that the Dark Side of the mind was actually not a bad place to be in, especially when Thomas was dealing with emotional turmoil that Logic couldn’t really help with. Deceit was in charge of bringing him there a few times, and eventually Logan began going on his own. On the other hand, that failed job interview might have been the last straw for Thomas’ engineering career to disappear from existence, and with it most of Logan’s value within Thomas’ mind.

The years after that were uncomfortable for Logan, since Thomas was still not making decisions for his future, nor even trying to think about what he wanted. Logan did want him to be happy, and if the way he was acting before required the extreme measures that Deceit and Anxiety had taken, he agreed that changing it was for the best.

So that was exactly what Logan did. He carefully adjusted his goals to what he assumed Thomas really wanted, which was hard to tell when it came to the long term, but if for now Thomas wanted to have fun with social media then he would help him with that. Sometimes it felt like it wasn’t enough, that Logic should be able to do more, to contribute more. However, it was easier to push those thoughts back and focus on reality, the real opportunities they could take, the real achievements that were in Thomas’ reach. Mostly, Logan learned to stay quiet.

| Next |

#sanders sides #logan sanders #logic sanders #thomas sanders #janus sanders #deceit sanders #loceit #ts #i can tell i've rotten in your brain #pls reblog if you like thnx #lunas writing

34 notes · View notes

broiunno · 3 years

Text

License to Steal - Act IV

License to Steal

ACT IV

Act I // Act II // Act III // Act IV

---

summary: Min Yoongi is your new protection detail upon your return to your father's side after being sent away during a bloody gang war. Now the dust has settled, you've been called back to your old controlled life, and leaving you an unwilling participant in your family's plans. You don't know what they are but you are no longer willing to be the obedient, protected daughter. You don't really care in the least of it makes Yoongi's new assignment hell on earth- So you'll carve your own life out back home on your own terms.

-rating: 18+

-pairing: min yoongi x reader

-word count: 5.8k

-warnings: swearing, gang activities includes drug mention and eventual drug use, the slowest of burns, organized crime, toxic af family dynamics, BEWARE IN THIS ACT: graphic family abuse (father initiated verbal and physical assault- does not fade to black), violence, blood, graphic descriptions of torture, and graphic sex scenes will be included in this work.

-authors note: @chelsea-chee leading the au as usual. I love her the appreciate her as my love, writer, and my beta. Her works are *chefs kiss* Thank you again beautiful <3 PLEASE NOTE: I AM REALLY NOT EXCITED TO POST THE NEXT FEW ACTS. They deal with heavy subject matter and I don't fade to black at any point so please note my works are for mature audiences, warnings are there for a reason and in bold. You are an adult if you are reading this work (per the warnings) and you are responsible for the content you consume. Thank you. ILY all and I love asks about the characters. And that's all I have to say about that...I'm sorry for the wait. I've had covid. I'm back on a better schedule now.

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

You fumbled with your hair as you tried to rip your fingers through the still damp strands to assemble it back into a semi-presentable pony tail as the door slid open to your father’s office. You really did wish that you had been able to go upstairs and shower. Or at least change your clothes from the workout gear you currently felt sticking to your skin from the cooling sweat. As a breeze drifted from the vent as the air kicked on, you shivered violently, shaking your head and shooting a hateful stare in Yoongi’s direction as you stepped into the office. Appearances were everything in your family. They were the first level of protection to ensure threats stayed at a minimum. A show of strength and cohesiveness discouraged any hair-brained ideas from a weaker or less organized opposition.

Your father raised a dark, thick brow, turning from the man was speaking quietly to, his expression unreadable as you inclined your head slightly in greeting. “You asked to see me?” you said quietly, keeping your eyes downcast. Since Yoongi had mentioned your father was summoning you, you knew it couldn’t be anything positive. This soon after your arrival? Nothing good would come of this. You had just grabbed onto the distraction of Yoongi until you both stood in the office, feeling stripped bare, awaiting whatever admonishment was about to be delivered.

“You couldn’t make it a full forty-eight hours without causing me a migraine,” your father said sharply and you kept your eyes trained on the floor, as you replayed yesterday in your mind.

“Father, I don’t know what you-”

“Y/N, you weren’t even back a day and you spent how much?” he said, aggravation lacing his tone. “I had to call in Kim to look at your accounts immediately. You’re a fucking hassle.” He huffed and your eyes finally lifted to the stranger that stood next to your father, noting that he stepped away from your father and bowed quickly.

“Nice to meet you, miss. I’m Kim Namjoon. I’ve been handling your accounts and will continue to do so.” You felt your lips part in a soft ‘oh’ as you studied the broad planes of his face, full lips and intense eyes. You felt like he was picking you apart in that moment as you took your time to absorb his ash blond hair in a relaxed, but carefully crafted style. His skin tone was golden; a contrast to Yoongi’s milk-like skin. He glowed, and you couldn’t tell if it from his melanin or the fact that he was radiating intelligence.

“N-Nice to meet you too,” you stammered and managed to close your mouth as he pushed up the rolled sleeves of his white button-down shirt. You swallowed hard and tried to claw through the mental fog that had overcome you. With the teasing from both Jungkook and Yoongi, being presented with another god-like man was the last thing you needed. “I will admit I’m a little confused; my spending was never a problem when I was away? I mean, it’s not like I bought a car.”

Your father barked a laugh and threw up his hands. “You have no grasp on what I do to make this money that you just piss away Y/N! And you COULD have bought a car with the amount you spent yesterday! Like I said: a god damn burden!” he hissed and you flushed slightly, taking a step back unconsciously as you watched his neck flush. Yoongi hadn’t said a word, but you knew you could still sense his dark presence in the corner of the room, not looking at him to notice his eyes narrowed slightly as the scene unfolded.

“Y/N, I’ve had an idea. You’re a daughter. I can’t do much with you. Your brother who I could actually have used is dead. Your mother-” He stopped as he watched your eyes bulge and he shook his head. “I can’t have more children. I’d consider it disrespectful to her memory,” he mused, a hand running along his chin and you couldn’t help the scoff that escaped you, but your jaw snapped shut audibly as your teeth clacked together after the noise passed your lips.

Your father’s eyes flared to life in challenge and he glanced at Namjoon, lip curling. “Did you calculate her estimated cost of living and monthly expenditures? Do you have solid numbers?” he said shortly and Namjoon just nodded, eyes flicking between the family members silently. “And did you adjust for a profit at the margin we discussed?”

“Yes sir,” came the deep steady voice, Namjoon’s eyes traveling your figure, his gaze not heavy with lust or desire, but full of curiosity. “The monthly amount that you should request for that profit is in the proposal if you would like to review it.” He finished and cleared his throat. “I can return if you want me to look over the contract,” he said softly, clearing fishing for a dismissal and your father granted it, offering his hand and you felt your mouth tighten in confusion.

“What contract?”

Namjoon grabbed a briefcase and inclined his head to you stiffly in farewell before his long legs carried him out the doorway. Your father’s gaze didn’t leave your eyes as he spoke. “Yoongi, see him out.” Yoongi nodded and started after the tall man in silence, not sparing you a second glance on his way out.

“I asked you what contract?” you said softly, struggling to keep your voice even as your father stepped closer to you.

“Well, you went out. Spent a lot of money that you’ve done nothing to earn, and caught someone’s eye in the process. Someone worth a lot of money and who would be an asset to have closer to the family at this point in his career.” Your father clasped his hands behind his back as he continued to close the distance between you, each step he made, you felt your heart plummet further.

“Father… what exactly are you implying?”

“I’m not implying anything, Y/N. I’m telling you. Someone’s made a bid for your hand, and it’s the only thing you’ll be good for at this point. The shopping sprees, your lifestyle. I can maintain them, but if someone else is willing to do so, and the marriage benefits me in my business, I’d be stupid not to pursue it. Do you think I’m stupid, Y/N?” he said, voice getting dangerously quiet as he reached out to tuck a piece of hair that had escaped the rapidly put-up ponytail behind your ear.

“You can’t sell me off like fucking cattle!-” you said, flinching away from his touch, and his large, calloused hand shot out to grab your chin tightly. He forced your face back towards his as you tried to jerk away, squeezing hard enough to make your eyes begin to water. Your heart thudded out a dangerous irregular rhythm as you breathed hard through your nose.

“I can’t? Y/N, you seem to be under the delusion that you are free from the responsibilities that come with being in this family. I suppose that may be my fault. I was too soft on you, pitied the losses I caused you to have. I always had your brother anyway; there was no harm in indulging you. But now, you’re the only one with my blood in your veins. You’re home to do a service for this family. Everyone else has given their lives in some way. Did you think you were special?” His words were measured and cold as he studied you, grip not loosening on your face. You would be bruised tomorrow as you felt the throb set in from the pressure he was applying.

“You may order me to do it, but I don’t have to go along with this,” you hissed, barely able to open your jaw, but clenching your teeth to get your words out, rage licking up and down your body. He had taken your entire life as a child, as an adolescent. Did he really think giving you a few years of freedom put you back in his debt so far that you owed him the rest of your life?!

No sooner than the words were out of your mouth you heard the sharp crack, and felt yourself stumbling backwards into the wall. You blinked quickly as you registered the pain in your head, immediately starting to pound as the metallic taste of blood filled your mouth. You barely had time to regain a semblance of your bearings before your father was upon you again, face chillingly blank as his ringed fingers gripped the base of your ponytail, ripping your head back at an awkward angle, a scream breaching your bloody lips. The noise was cut short by another blow, snapping your head to the side before he jerked your face back to center.

“Who do you think you are, you little bitch?” he said with a lilt to his tone as you choked out a sob, unable to keep it from escaping your lips. “You really thought you weren’t going to do shit to replace that money you spent?” When he finished speaking he gave your head a violent shake, as if to scramble your thoughts further. It was completely unnecessary, as your head felt as if it was splitting with the pain he had rocked through you with his blows and harsh grip. You felt the start of a purely hysterical giggle break through, spitting out the fresh rush of blood that ran in your mouth due to the cuts in your cheek from your teeth. You noticed a piece of the skin from inside your mouth flapping loosely that made you nauseated if you dwelled on it.

The laugh was probably the worst response you could have had.

You heard a soft hiss, and your father stepped into your space further, hands darting from your head to wrap themselves around your throat and squeezing. As your hands scrambled to scratch at his hand, his arm, his face, anything, you wished you were surprised at this. You wished you were hurt because you were shocked, but you weren’t. There was blood in the water and he was a shark. He built his life this way.

“You don’t have to go along with this…” he said softly, voice void of emotion, “but you also don’t have to keep living here either. How long will you make it without this family? You’d never make it out of the city.” He mused and continued to squeeze, your vision starting to spot as you tried to draw in any bit of air within the hold he had, the choking heaves under the weight of him making the blood that had pooled in your mouth from his blows spill over your chin grotesquely as it began to stream onto his hand. “So will you behave for once in your fucking life?”

You were hyper aware of the tears streaming down your face as you managed the smallest of nods. You supposed he was right; you had never imagined you would be used in the family in any way. Your entire life had been lonely, and even though you hated it, you had resigned yourself to it. His hands unwrapped themselves from your neck, letting you inhale a burning gasp of air as you slid down the wall, and onto the floor. You coughed and rocked forward onto all fours as the shaking of your body didn’t allow for much more than consciousness.

Your father pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped the crimson of your blood off his hand before tossing it to you on the floor. You could barely recognize the quick but unhurried footsteps coming back down the hallway to the office before they stopped short.

“Yoongi, take her upstairs.”

The flush from hustling back to his boss’s office drained from Yoongi’s face as his eyes widened at your figure hunched forward onto your elbows on the floor. He watched you hack as your body tried to clear your airway. Yoongi stayed silent as he reached down, crouching next to you and attempting to offer you a hand so you could stand on your own, for which you were thankful. You felt the physical pain, but no emotions as your mind sluggishly screamed at you to just accept his hand and stand. You needed to walk out of here on your own. You knew you wouldn’t make it all the way to your room after the assault, but you didn’t need to. Just to the elevator.

You reached out your hand, shaking hard, as you clasped at his large palm and hoisted yourself up, letting him pull lightly as he stood with you, noting that he was still silent. You tried to ignore how your vision swam before you, willing your knees not to buckle. You couldn’t pinpoint if the unsteadiness was from the blows to your face, the lack of oxygen, or the tears that had thankfully stopped streaming down your face but still filled your eyes.

Yoongi seemed to read your mind, shifting his grip from your hand to your upper arm, nestling in your underarm and gently steered you to the door, but let you support most of your weight on the way out. You walked in silence as he didn’t rush you down the hallway, both of your eyes trained on the lift door as he typed in the code. As you waited for the door to open you felt your shaking legs betray you and start to bend. You glanced away from him, the movement of your eyes causing a piercing pain to shoot through your head. “Please,” was all you rasped wetly as you put more weight and started to sink, but the pressure holding you up immediately doubled, Yoongi’s support forcing you upright, even if it made your shoulder raise. It would be almost imperceptible from your father’s office if he was still looking in your direction, but you doubted he would. He had already received your submission; he didn’t need you for anything else.

Yoongi didn’t seem to want to take the chance that he was still watching, stepping into the elevator and continuing to only hold you in one place. His grip was still disguised as if he was walking you out in the same way he may escort an associate who was no longer welcome - in such a manner that would deter any further escalation. No one would be able to tell he was the only thing keeping you upright.

As the door slid shut to the elevator the facade crumbled, you lurching forward and gasping out a sob of pain, tilting your head down to let the blood that had been collecting in your mouth pour out onto the floor. You forgot how much mouth wounds bled. Yoongi was not bothered with the grotesque display as he swiftly adjusted his grip to wrap around your shoulders, his other arm sweeping at your feet as he lifted you with apparent ease. You shut your eyes as the tears began to flow once more, unable to restrain the moans and whimpers of pain that escaped between gasps as you cried. He still hadn’t said a word, even as you turned your face into his suit jacket, inhaling jaggedly as you tried to focus on the scent permeating from him, trying to place it through your snot-filled nose. The only thing you could recognize was the warm, woodsy scent of patchouli as you reached a shaking hand up to hold onto his jacket tightly. You knew he wouldn’t drop you, but it grounded you all the same.

You tried to slow your breathing, but failed as the elevator door opened and Yoongi strode quickly to your bedroom door, bending at the knees and somehow using his crook of his elbow and his body to turn the door knob, the only change in your positioning being that you tilted slightly as he spun it. He kicked the door with his foot gently as he stepped in, by-passing your bed as he carried you into your bathroom, carefully getting on his knees as he lowered you into your large bathtub as he placed you there. You continued to breath quickly, your gasps becoming sharper as your gentle shaking soon became uncontrollable. You released his jacket as he stood and you pulled your knees to your chest, shutting your eyes finally as you heard the tap briefly run before a cool rag brushed your chin, eyes flying open as you flinched away.

“Shh, I need to see your face. I have to get the blood off,” Yoongi whispered, and you finally looked at him, noting his face was still paler than normal. “Princess, I need you to take a slow, deep breath okay? Can you do that? Your lips are turning blue; you’re hyperventilating. You’re safe,” he murmured, brows pinching together in a pained expression you had never seen on his face as you tried to nod, attempting to take a long breath in but ended up gulping in air multiple times on the way, the blurring of your vision worsening as Yoongi grimaced, your breathing speeding up again, your shoulders shrugging with the effort to take in air. The last thing you heard was Yoongi’s tense exclamation of “Shit!” before you blacked out.

When you awoke, you were under the covers of your large bed. You sat up quickly before groaning from the ache in your head, then realizing that opening your mouth made you want to scream from pain. Between the squeeze on your jaw and the cuts inside your mouth, it was safe to say you would be saying very little for a while. You glanced towards the window, noting it was inky black outside.

“How long has he hit you?” came a cool voice from beside your bedside and you turned to face the source, seeing a figure standing beside the small table, casting a shadow with the aid of a lamp. Had he even left? Yoongi had shed his stained suit jacket, but still wore the white shirt and same suit pants. You only knew it was the same shirt due to the blood stain from where your mouth must have painted him. Instead of attempting to speak, you shrugged in an attempt to get his gaze off of you. It was piercing and unnerving. You felt as if this was the beginning of an interrogation, and you didn’t fail to notice the color had still not returned to his normally pale face. Now that your mind was a bit clearer you were able to recognize why it registered so deeply with you. He was the embodiment of white with fury. “How. Long?” he said again with such harshness you swallowed hard, ignoring the fire that licked down your throat as you did so.

“That’s a joke right? He’s always been like that. I just normally am better at avoiding it,” you forced out; your words were almost incoherent as you tried to move your jaw as little as possible as you spoke. That was bearable. Good. Not that you had expected it to be, but at least your jaw wasn’t broken; that would have been a pain in the ass. “What time is it?”

“It’s three am,” Yoongi hissed as his eyes glimmered in the near darkness, pushing off the wall and grabbing a glass of water off the table and sweeping a few pills into his hand. “Take these.” You took his offering and a small sip of the water before carefully throwing the pills to the back of your throat and washing them down, sighing softly. “They’re pain pills. They’ll help and you’ll be able to go back to sleep in a bit.”

You didn’t answer but pulled back the cover of your bed and slid out, noting that your bloody shirt had been changed but you still had on your sports bra and leggings. And your ponytail had been taken down, which was probably a good thing since your scalp was still aching from the hold your father had you in.

“Y/N… don’t.” Came Yoongi’s voice, still unemotional but a bit gentler than his earlier tone. You didn’t turn back to him but stopped your path to your vanity, obviously trying to look at your reflection in the mirror to assess the damage.

“Is it that bad?” you grumbled, turning to him and you watched him shrug.

“It’s not good. Don’t worry about it tonight. No bones are broken from what I can tell. I wiped you down the best I could. Just change once I leave and get back into bed.”

You let out a deep breath but finally stepped towards your closet instead to grab an oversized t-shirt. You could work the bra off under it and slip your pants off once you had it on. “Why did you even stay?” you said softly as you set to work, your muscles aching as you attempted to change modestly. You don’t know why it even mattered, but in this moment it did.

“I needed to know if he had done this before. I needed to know if this was the first time. When we were kids, you weren’t around all the time. Sometimes, I’d go months without seeing you. I didn’t know if this was a part of it,” he spat out, visibly tensing as he took a loud steadying breath.

You shrugged as you pulled off your leggings, successful in stripping your bra off under the shirt, and padded back to your bed. “There were a few reasons he kept me separated from everyone. It wasn’t all because he thought I was too precious to see any of this.” You climbed back into bed and tried to settle back into the plushness. Yoongi took a step closer to you, his mouth slightly open as he watched you try to get comfortable, seemingly unable to stop himself.

“Y/N…” he said softly and reached a hand towards you and you stiffened, eyes narrowing, and he took note, dropping his hand slowly.

“Yoongi, I never asked for your fucking pity.”

“I know, and it makes me want to help you even more.”

You blinked and tried to register what he was implying. “Help me?” you repeated, shaking your head as you felt the same hysterical laugh bubble up that had made your assault that much worse in your father’s office. “No one can help me!” You laughed, eyes widening as the smile twisted your features. “This is my life, this is what I was born into. This is what all those shiny things cost, Yoongi! I always knew it but I forgot.” You watched as the pained expression from earlier slid back over his features, and you raised your eyebrows in response. “I appreciate it, but unless you’re willing to put a bullet in my fucking head there’s no saving anything.”

“Who says it has to be your head, Princess?” he said gently and you swear you felt the world stop.

“Don’t say shit like that Min,” you hissed, baring your teeth and shaking your head. “Even if we don’t always get along, I don’t want you dead too.”

“Whatever you say Princess,” he said, a smile tugging at his lips as he cocked his head to the side. “Are you alright to sleep? You don’t feel like you’re going to vomit?” he asked seriously, watching as you shook your head.

“I don’t have a concussion,” you grumbled but as you watched him smirk and go to grab his jacket you felt your heart speed up. “Yoongi- w-wait.” He immediately stopped, as if he was anticipating your words. “Can you stay here the rest of the night? I know he won’t do anything but I-”

“Let me go change my clothes. Is that okay Princess?”

“Yeah… I just don’t want to be-”

“It’s fine Y/N. I’ll be right back.” You stayed sitting up, watching him as he dismissed your attempts at explanations and justification as he walked out.

You sighed, leaning against the leather headboard and let your breathing even out, even as your heart still raced. The pain began to slowly ebb as the medication took effect; what had you even taken? It had to be something strong as a comfortable fog began to cloud your thoughts.

You didn’t know why you felt the need to have him here. Did you even need to explain? He was technically your bodyguard. You had known each other most of your lives. You had just suffered through an assault; staying with you was reasonable. Even if the assailant wasn’t unknown, nor were the motives. At the end of the day, Yoongi’s presence made breathing a bit easier. His presence made you feel safe.

The door opened again and you sucked in a breath as Yoongi re-entered your bedroom, one hand carrying his gun and holster, the other a hanger with a clean pressed suit. “I’ll wake up before you,” was all he said in response to your surprised expression as he studied you. He mistook the shock on your face as being accredited to the suit. He was an idiot if he thought you cared about the fact he would dress here. You were too busy drinking in the sight of his lean figure in low-slung grey sweatpants. You tried to rip your gaze back to his face but you got caught on the black ribbed tank top and the swirling black tattoos covering his shoulder and chest before disappearing under the material.

“I didn’t know you had tattoos,” you choked out, feeling your face flush and mentally slapping yourself. He may look like sex on legs, but you looked like you just had the shit beat out of you. Which to be fair to yourself, you actually just had the shit beat out of you.

“Oh, I forgot,” he said, a small smirk tilting his lip up but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. He draped his suit over the chair to your vanity and carried his gun with him towards the plush armchair in the corner of the room.

“The bed is big enough Min. I won’t touch you,” you said breathlessly, trying to force away the blush that was deepening across your face. He seemed to freeze and take a few steadying breaths.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea Princess.” His voice was controlled but quiet.

“Please Yoongi…” you said just as quietly. “It’s just for tonight. I won’t feel safe if you’re all the way over there.”

It was definitely an over exaggeration. You hadn’t really expected him to even agree to stay in your room with you. The chair was the reasonable option. You knew you were pushing it.

“Princess, I-” He breathed, the airiness of his tone making your belly somersault and it gave you a tiny shiver.

“Yoongi, please. I need you next to me. Just tonight.” You shouldn’t be so worried about getting this man into bed with you, but now that he was here in front of you and it was so close to happening, you felt you might cry if he denied you.

You watched his back muscles rippled as he tensed and tried to relax. He turned wordlessly and walked to the opposite side of the bed, setting his holster down and climbing into the king-sized bed with you. “Go to sleep Princess.”

The drugs had to be prescriptions, not that you really expected a member of an organized crime family to just take a regular aspirin when they were in pain. “Is the oxy working yet? It should start soon if it hasn’t.” You hummed your assent as you squirmed down into the bed and tried to keep the smile from your face as you reached over and turned out the lamp. You took a deep breath and shut your eyes, savoring the heat that quickly built from having two bodies under the covers of your bed, ignoring the slightly annoyed sigh from the other side of the bed.

“Be quiet Min, I’m trying to rest,” you said softly and a soft dry chuckle cut through the silence as you let sleep take you.

Yoongi’s POV

Yoongi listened to the soft sounds of your breathing as they lengthened and deepened, the pain pills having done their job perfectly. If only he could have done his job in such a manner. He had been given a job: to keep you safe, and he took it seriously. Even if the one assigning his work was an abusive piece of shit. Yoongi let out a sigh, glancing over at your figure in the dark to make sure his huff hadn’t disturbed your slumber. It didn’t. You were still laying there, eyes closed and unaware, your face turned towards him to afford him a view of what exactly your father had done in his absence.

He felt his teeth grind against each other as even in the dark, he could make out the near black bruises covering your neck in the clear shape of hands, a bloom crossing your smooth cheek as well. Even your chin and jaw were dark from bruising; evidence that your father had held your face to force submission. It had worked. He opened his mouth and stretched his own jaw to try and stop himself from continuing to grind his molars down to nothing in rage. He didn’t know if he would ever be able to forget how you looked and how he felt when he entered the office, watching the blood drip onto the floor. How he wanted nothing more than to simply pull out his gun and lodge a bullet into your father’s knee before proceeding to swing the butt of his gun down onto him until he shattered every bone in the pig’s disgusting face.

Until he begged him to stop. Until he begged his daughter to tell Yoongi to stop.

The daydream made Yoongi smile a full gummy smile and chuckle for the first time today. He would stop when you told him to. If you told him to. Now that he knew your father had put his hands on you before this, he wondered if you would just let him continue until his mania at seeing what had been done to you was sated. He knew it wouldn’t be until he heard your father’s death rattle, knowing it had been at his own hands.

You stirred slightly to readjust in your sleep, drawing his attention back to the present as you moved closer to him in the bed and he sucked in a breath. Even beaten and bruised you affected him. Even carrying you in that elevator down the hall as you clutched onto him. He had been spiraling down into violence but as soon as you grabbed his jacket, he knew you wouldn’t withstand even him raising his voice to anyone without shattering. You were normally so fierce and seeing you broken made him want to tear apart this entire society you both lived in, even if it was all either of you had ever known.

It was then he had decided he would be what you were asking of him with your sobs and how you clutched onto him; he would be as gentle as could be and give you whatever you needed tonight. Tomorrow he would begin the undertaking of dismantling your father piece by fucking piece.

He had watched over you after you passed out; you had woken up briefly for him to get you to take pain medicine once before you actually were able to speak to him. Before you asked him to stay with you. He wanted to pretend it didn’t make his icy heart crack, the way you tried to explain and justify his presence. He would never ask you to in this kind of situation. When Yoongi returned to his room, he attempted to steel himself for a night of sitting in that uncomfortable chair, and a sleepless day tomorrow. He had gone more than twenty-four hours without sleep before.

But when your eyes, even if they had started to become glossy and dilated from the drugs, began to run over him, he had to try and think of every unsexy thing he could fathom. You had just been fucking violated and just with one look he felt the blood travel away from his brain and pool below his waist. Why did he think he would be able to wear sweatpants while staying with you? You destroyed every semblance of self control he had. He still hadn’t forgotten your teasing in the elevator prior to this shit show.

Then your soft drowsy voice had called out to him just as he had regained his mental fortitude and continued to the chair. You would be the fucking death of him and he didn’t think he would really mind. Now, as he laid here in bed with you trying to ignore the fact that you were shifting closer to him in your sleep, seeking his warmth, he closed his eyes. He had anticipated the pure fury of tonight keeping him awake, but instead it was the fact that he could feel your breath on his neck, that if he turned his head back to you he could still make out your absolutely gorgeous feminine form from under the blankets. The dip in your waist and the curve of your hips, sloping into your soft thigh. Yoongi’s eyes shot open as he let out a soft hiss as he felt his member stiffen in his sweats, one large hand reaching down to palm himself, and he willed his hard-on to disappear.

He dropped his eyes again, confident he would get his bulge to go down without waking you, and as he tended to it, a soft small hand reached across his middle, making his forehead furrow. He tried to take a steadying breath, and tried to not imagine that the events of last night weren’t the reason he was in your bed. That you had just invited him to bed because you wanted him there, not for security but because you wanted him as a man to share your bed and body. That he could roll over to face you, slip his own hand up that oversized shirt and rub soft circles into your skin before slipping his hand down in-between your thighs.

Yoongi felt his cock twitch and himself harden further, forcing another deep breath in and out as he circled back to try and think of grotesque things to make his longing subside. You at least had stopped wriggling in the bed in an attempt to get closer; he was thankful for that. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter and tried to calm his heart and regulate his breath to make it possible for him to drift off.

This was going to be a long night.

#bts suga #bts ff #bts x reader #mafia!bts #bts gang au #bts imagines #yoongi fanfic #yoongi x reader #suga x reader #btsxarmy #License to steal

75 notes · View notes

puckngrind · 3 years

Text

Leave Her Wild: chapter 3 - N. MacKinnon

Summary: MacKenzie heads to Washington and cashes in her bet with Nathan.

Warnings: swearing, fluff and stuff

Word count: 2,565 (swear they will get longer)

Series masterlist / Puck ‘n Grind’s masterlist

Washington.

The two texted back and forth over the week. Mostly randomness with a splash of real life. A friendship was blooming with the text conversation but what else could come of it? Neither one seemed to want to touch the subject. Kenzie wasn't even sure what to make of the attention from Nate. She threw herself into work as she normally would.

MacKenzie spent a few days in Colorado Springs for work but took advantage of her time off by hiking the Garden of the Gods. She was was halfway through Palmers trail when she feels her phone and decides to stop for water and take in the view plus check her phone thinking it was work. She laughs to herself realizing it was in fact not work.

Nate: how’s Colorado Springs?

She snaps a picture of her view and sends it.

Kenzie: gorgeous as always

Nate: holy shit are you hiking alone?

Kenzie snaps a selfie where you can see she’s alone and sends it.

Kenzie: don’t worry not anything too dangerous today. Lol

Nate: ok… not worried. Anyways, thought maybe dinner could be in DC since we will both be there next week.

Kenzie thinks about it and starts walking again. She realizes dinner out of town may in fact make things less awkward.

Kenzie: depends on my schedule but that should work

Nate: good. Enjoy the rest of your hike.

MacKenzie did just that. One thing most people knew about her was she loved adventures and trying new things. She rarely goes to the same vacation spot twice. Always wanting to try new restaurants and really only frequents Gus’s place in Denver. She liked to be free which drove her mother insanely crazy but MacKenzie didn’t seem to care. Her dad was her biggest supporter. Constantly sending her wanderlust Instagram posts after she taught him how. At least her mom had home in Kenzie’s brother, Cameron. Cam was doing everything he was expected to do including recently proposing to his high school sweetheart which Kenzie thought was dumb as seniors in college. His life was his life that was for sure, well and maybe their mother's life too. She couldn't control Kenzie which meant Cam got all of her energy.

The flight to D.C. was a breeze but busy would be an understatement as MacKenzie met her client at the end of the week. The demands were insane in the time frame. She spent almost all weekend in her hotel room working and talking with her team back in Colorado.

Nate: would you want to come to the game? I have tickets.

Kenzie: I would love to but I don’t even know if I can do dinner I’m so swamped

Nate: you need to eat right?

Kenzie: I mean, yeah. I’ll order in

Nate: how about you come to my hotel, we have an amazing restaurant here. You can work and eat

MacKenzie thought it over as she looked out her window. Walking the block and a half to Nathan’s hotel tomorrow night seemed doable. He had a point that she needed to eat and could work while they ate. It would complete their wager from the card game in the same instance. Wondered if Gabe or one of the other players would be around to ensure the dinner happened. MacKenzie thought she wouldn’t have the awkwardness of it feeling like a date this way. Plus, she wanted to try the restaurant out since last time she was in town and another client mentioned it. Mosi was all for the dinner when she called ensuring Kenzie her condo's mail was indeed checked. She thought this was the perfect arrangement and MacKenzie couldn’t find a reason to say no. Thinking Nate would already be at the arena for the game she sent a text.

Kenzie: Yes, to dinner at your hotel if you are still up to it after the game

She starts typing away again and laughs when the ping is almost immediate.

Nate: Perfect. I'll text you when we are back on the bus.

MacKenzie decided to turn the game on while she worked. She normally would have something on as background noise while she worked. She knows she can get lost in work and wanted to make sure she knew to pack up her laptop and such waiting for Nathan's call. She hears his name and looks up to see him score with less than a minute left. The Avalanche was already been leading but that goal ensured their win. She decided to change then couldn’t decide if she should pack up her work yet. “How sure how much time would he take between the game and the bus?” Kenzie asked her reflection. She texted him nice game to see if he would respond. He did a few moments later so she packed up slowly. Kenzie walks down to the street turning to head over to his hotel, humming to herself trying to not over think this very simple dinner. She slows down as she sees the charter bus in front of the hotel. Fuck.

"MAAAAC! Good to see you!" Gabe's voice comes booming out of the bus with some others chiming in as the stepped off the bus. MacKenzie awkwardly smiles at the team and then catches Nathan out the side of her eye. He’s staring at her as he walks down the step.

"Did you walk?" Nathan looks down at MacKenzie puzzled.

"Well, hello. Nice game. And yes. Just two blocks." MacKenzie pulls at her loose curl and then slides her finger down her messenger bag.

"Ready for dinner? I see you brought your work." Nathan taps her bag with his knuckle. MacKenzie nods and follows Nathan into the hotel. She awkwardly stops and he realizes it. “Whatcha doin’ there?” Nate walked back so he was standing in front of Kenzie.

“Isn’t the restaurant that way?” She points in the direction of the sign she stopped next to.

“Yes but they deliver to the room and I’d rather change into sweats and let you work in comfort.” He pulls at his tie. “Less eyes too. Come on.” Nathan placed his hand briefly on MacKenzie’s lower back to lead her to the elevator.

“I normally take the stairs.” MacKenzie looks around Nate for the steps.

“My room is on floor 12 and I just had over 20 minutes of ice time. Can we please take the elevator?” Nathan looked into MacKenzie’s questioning eyes.

“Fine. You have a point.” She smiles but gets lost calculating if that time is high or low for him.

They make their way to Nathan’s room. MacKenzie is surprised how nice it is. She’s not sure what she expected but it wasn’t this. Nathan’s suits neatly hanging up. Sweats sitting in his open luggage next to the closet. She realizes he hasn’t moved from behind her.

“Everything okay?” He moves to grab a pair of shorts and shirt.

“Yeah. Just not what I was expecting. You literally live out of suitcase don’t ya?” She watches him take off his suit coat and gulps at how his shirt is sticking to him.

“Some trips it feels like that. This one we won’t be home until the 26th… then a home stand with a few games on the road… and I’m boring you. Set up wherever you want and I’m gonna go change then will be right back.” He heads to the bathroom shut the door softly.

MacKenzie stares at the uncomfortable looking desk chair in a moment of indecision wanting to be set up so she’s working when Nate returns, she decides the bed was a better option for her to sit. Getting out her laptop Kenzie starts typing as soon as she hears Nate opening the door. He smirks when he sees Kenzie on the bed and moves to the desk to find the menu. She cannot help watching him. His muscles easily seen in the shirt and shorts he picked. He hikes up his pant leg exposing his thigh. Kenzie coughs focusing back on her work again.

"Here it is." Nathan turns around and walks towards MacKenzie handing her the menu. She stares at the menu then her finger lands on a cheeseburger and fries. Nathan moves to the other side of the bed, sitting to call in the order. He hangs up and starts to move.

"You can stay here. That chair is horrible looking." MacKenzie looks over at Nathan and he stops moving then looks down at his feet before swinging them up and adjusting to sit on the bed.

"Thanks." He looks over at her screen. "So what exactly do you do?"

"Simple description... I am a social media consultant." MacKenzie giggles. "Speaking of... your social media..." "Is non-existent." Nathan finishes her statement.

"Yeah, only two posts. That’s shocking for someone your age. Nate, do you know how you could amplify your earnings post career?" MacKenzie moves her computer and shift so look at him. He rubs the back of his neck and rotates on his hip to look at her better.

"Yeah. No, yeah. I get it. Just not my thing but you looked at my socials?" He bites his lip.

"I did after we ran into you at the bar post-game. Would've felt funny giving you my number if you had a girlfriend." MacKenzie admits.

"No girlfriend. So did you say you watched the game?" Nate changes the subject which Kenzie made a mental note of.

"Background noise while working. You can turn the tv on now or just talk to me. You scored." Kenzie looks over at Nathan.

"Empty netter but yeah. Nice win." Nathan says softly. The knock on the door stops their conversation. "Oh, dinner!" Nathan pops up and answers the door.

Dinner was delicious. The two shared backgrounds such as where they were from, college for MacKenzie, boarding school and early days of hockey for Nathan. They were laughing at each other's stories which lead to both laying on their stomachs watching a video for MacKenzie's work on her laptop.

"Kenz... Kenzie. Wake up!" Nathan whispers and MacKenzie's groggy self pops up and lands on Nathan's naked torso.

"Holy fuck!" She yells out. Nathan's hands steady her.

"Hey." Nathan backs up and bends to look her in face. Panic written all over her face. "You okay? We fell asleep talking." He looks at her.

"Why didn't you wake me? What time is it? Fuck. Sorry. I'm on a schedule." MacKenzie pulls away and looks for her bag realizing Nathan plugged her computer in at some point.

"It's 6:30. We just slept. I sleep shirtless and, uh, must've taken it off in my sleep. Sorry, should've put in on before I woke you. Hold on." Nathan moves to the other side of the bed and throws his shirt back on. "Let me call you an uber." He grabs his phone.

"I can walk. I don't have a meeting until noon so I'm fine. Thank you." MacKenzie points to the bathroom and Nathan nods.

She stands in front of the mirror for way too long just looking at herself. Pinches her cheeks and starts ranking her fingers through their loose blonde curls making them manageable enough to put up in a high ponytail. She grabs Nathan’s toothpaste and brushes her teeth with her finger.

“Well, Mac. This will have to do.” She bobs on the balls of her feet to psych herself up. Returning to the room she notices that Nathan had changed and slipped on some shoes. “Whatcha doin’ Nate?”

“I’ll walk with you. I wanted to grab coffee from down the street before we leave for the airport.” He grabs his wallet.

“You don’t have to.” Kenzie whispers as she heads to her bag.

“I don’t, but I wanna.” Nate smiles at her. She notices those soft eyes again. Almost gray but then again blue.

They head out of room to the steps. MacKenzie took a deep breath not realizing she was holding it until they got to the door.

“Why good morning you two!” Gabe’s voice comes from around the corner with a bag and coffee in hand.

“Mornin’” Nate answers and pushes the cross walk button.

“Glad to see you Kenzie.” Gabe nods and starts whistling while heading back to the hotel.

“Don’t mind him.” Nate breaks the silence after crossing the street.

“I’m assuming he’s thinking you got lucky last night.” MacKenzie tries to control her racing heart.

“I’ll talk to him.” Nathan assures her. She stops and looks up at him.

“Did you want to?” She puts her hand on her head not sure she really said it out loud.

“What?” Nathan stops and looks at her confused.

“Did you want to sleep with me?” She looks to see if anyone could hear her.

“No. Well… damnit. Hi. Let me start over.” Nathan looks deep in her eyes and cups her face.

“Go ahead.” She’s not sure if the words actually could be heard or not.

“I like you. You are easy to talk to. In the short time I’ve known you I’m constantly wanting to know more. I’m just bad at dating.”

“Why do you say that?” She moves closer to him without thinking.

“I’m not romantic. Plus my job isn’t the easiest for most of the year to maintain a healthy relationship. Plus, there is those who just want me for what I could give them.” He drops his hand to her hip. She sees his chest rise and fall.

“Who says you aren’t romantic?” MacKenzie questions.

“Every girl I’ve dated.” Nathan grumbles. This makes Kenzie laugh. “Well, they have.”

“I like you too, Nate. You intrigue me.” She feels the heat in her cheeks.

“So to answer your original question, yes. I would very much like to be physical with you but I also want to date you. Like not to fuck it up by…” She stops him by pushing herself to her tip toes to softly kiss his cheek.

“Well, saying all that is a start in how not to fuck it up.” She smiles at him. “Let’s get me back to my hotel then we can visit this whole dating thing when you return to Denver.” She starts walking and he quickly grabs her hand to walk with her.

“Here we are.” He stops at the doors of her hotel. “So, I’ll see you in two weeks, Kenzie.” Nathan drags out the two while contorting his face.

“It’s not that long plus you will be busy and I have this plus another project to finish before then.” She rubs the back of his hand with her thumb realizing how large his hand was in comparison which could crush her hand if he wanted. “Thanks for dinner Nate.”

“Can I?” He starts and gulps. MacKenzie watches his Adam’s apple bob. “Can I kiss you?” He asks with a quiver in his voice. She nods her head yes. Nate brings his hands up to her jaw holding her face up while he leans in pressing his lips to hers. Kenzie kisses him back and cannot remember a first kiss quiet like that. He releases while sucking in a deep breath.

“I…” Kenzie touches her lips.

“Well, see you soon Kenzie.” He kisses her forehead then turns quickly to head back down the street leaving Kenzie wanting more.

#leave her wild fic #nate the great 29 #N MacKinnon fic #2019 hockey season #nathan mackinnon

65 notes · View notes

calif0rnia-lovers · 3 years

Text

four letters.

a/n: 1/10 of stories I was initially hesitant to post. not glorifying adultery, just an idea i got from this song.

part: 1/3

pairing: miguel galindo x elena

warnings: themes of adultery. not really smut in this part, it's literally a paragraph?

summary: they met when Miguel's family would visit during the summer. each summer vacation was a mixture of stolen glances and moments. time has passed, and summers are no longer theirs. every time he leaves Mexico, he leaves her with a promise. one day he'll be hers--and only hers. years in and Elena must decide if what she feels for Miguel is love, or something else.

words: 1.9k

Diamonds.

Universally, they represent love. A promise of commitment. A priceless gift you give the woman who has your heart. A gift with the power to project the facade of happiness. A gift with the power to distract even the most intelligent woman from her man’s past mistakes.

And for that reason, diamonds are Miguel’s favorite gift to give.

Each call to his jeweler inspires a substantial chunk of change and a customized gift. The said gift is invariably dressed in a black velvet box, sealed with a golden ribbon. Delivered to an office in Sinaloa on the same day, always two months apart.

Always accompanied with a neatly penned note. A date, time, and location. Short and to the point, signed M.

It arrives two days before him. The need to reschedule, or the mention of a conflict in scheduling, never allowed.

Each delivery carries the same false promise.

One day, my love.

This time, his promise comes in emerald green.

Pressed and shaped into glimmering flowers to accent the black dress she wears. Although the dress itself is a beautiful work of art, fitting as though it was designed just for her, no one is focused on Elena’s dress.

Their focus is on the dollar sign hanging from her neck. It’s impossible to miss. Only so many people, in Sinaloa, could afford such a beautiful piece. With her long dark locks pinned, to rest at the top of her head, Miguel’s necklace is on full display. Paired with her beauty, it is distracting. So distracting, no one notices the matching hairpins.

"You look beautiful as always."

Her heart flutters. A soft smile brightens Elena's face as a familiar warmth trickles down her spine.

A soft kiss ghosts the curve of her shoulder, Miguel's smile coming to rest against her cheek.

“I see my gift suits you well.” His touch lingers against the curve of her neck, pausing to trace the petal of an emerald flower. The smile on his lips is one of admiration, his playful eyes briefly lifting to meet hers. “It seems you’ve attracted the attention of the entire restaurant.”

“Don’t sound too surprised, Mr. Galindo.” Elena’s eyes roll, the grin on her lips causing his to grow. “You’re acting as if this is something new. People always stare at me.”

“Trust me, I know. It's not something I particularly enjoy."

“Too bad,” Elena smiles, lifting her glass of wine to her lips. “I like it when people stare at me, and you are late. You’re lucky I didn’t leave with someone else.”

“Nicholas…” Miguel reads from the baby pink card.

The question in his tone is barely audible, bogged down by something Elena has never heard--at least not from Miguel. It is hard for her to pinpoint. But as she pushes her heels aside, she’s almost certain it is jealousy.

She rounds the corner to find Miguel standing in the center of her kitchen. He has stripped himself of his jacket the white fabric draped carelessly across the back of a nearby stool. His back remains to her as she crosses the room. He does not turn to acknowledge her, even after she drops her purse to the countertop before him.

His focus is no longer on the message.

Ellie. Congratulations on the promotion. We should celebrate. Until then--enjoy your favorites. x Nicholas.

His attention has shifted to the vase of lilies and peonies. A mixture of pinks, white, and corals. A fresh take from the white roses Miguel typically sends.

"These are your favorites?" His thumb gently rubs the petal of a lily. His brow arches as he glances in her direction. "How come you never said anything?"

Elena's eyes lift from the hairpins resting in her palm. Shaking her curls loose, she lets off a tiny shrug.

"The roses are always very beautiful, Miguel." Standing on her toes, she places a kiss against his cheek. "I really appreciate them. You know that."

The words of reassurance are not enough to divert his attention. The soft kiss she leaves against his cheek earns her a glance.

“I didn’t realize you were...seeing anyone.”

“You mean, aside from the man who only comes to see me when his schedule allows?” The slight roll of her eyes tightens Miguel’s jaw. “Because that would be ridiculous.”

She ignores his expression, reaching around him to retrieve the card. She returns it to its original resting place.

“It’s not ridiculous,” Miguel states this as if it is a fact. “Not when you spent the last hour talking about us over dinner--.”

She can’t stop it. The laugh she releases silences Miguel. It is not a sound typically directed at him. It is a sound that makes his skin crawl, eats at him deep inside. Sparks the need to prove himself. It's a feeling he's hated his entire life.

“I’m sorry,” Elena clears her throat, the smile remaining on her lips as he focuses his scowl in the direction of the lilies. “It’s just. I thought we didn’t do that.”

Miguel chooses not to respond. Instead, he focuses on undoing his cuffs. He knows she’s right.

They don’t do that--share personal details about their lives. Or probe for them. In fact, at this point, they’re typically already undressed--the idea of talking about their lives the last thing on their minds.

Elena watches Miguel’s gaze return to the bouquet. They study the flowers before passing over the darkened living room. Searching for other intrusions, signs of another man, that were not here during his last appearance.

“Come on, Mikey,” she sings softly. The warmth of her palms brings his gaze to hers. “Did you come all the way here just to ruin my weekend?”

The corner of his lips turns up. His gaze drops, following the path of Elena’s touch. It drifts down the chest of his shirt pausing to undo the buttons.

“Because I thought you came because you missed me. Isn't that what you said on the phone?” Her lips press against the curve of his jaw, her smile growing as his lips instinctively move to meet hers. She giggles, turning to grind back against him. “So, show me how much you missed me.”

His response is immediate, his hands pressing into the curves of her hips. The weight of his chest pressing her body forward and towards the closest stable surface. With her heels abandoned, her weight shifts to her toes. She stumbles forward in a clumsy attempt at maintaining her balance. She gasps as the chill of the marble countertop presses against the heat of her cheek. A perfect contrast to the hot and heavy hands pushing up the skirt of her dress. Their first exchange is always the same. Quick and messy. Both focused solely on satisfying the need that has built up in their time apart. The note is fresh in his mind and fuels his movements. Bruise his fingers into her hips, leaves her breathless as he sets a pace that nearly splits her open.

Elena can feel the warmth of her cheeks slowly creeping throughout her body as she concentrates on the task at hand.

"What?"

Instead of lifting her gaze, to meet the ones watching her every move, she tries for a second time to tug down the zipper of her dress.

Miguel doesn't speak. Instead, he motions for her to turn around.

The silence, which falls over the darkened kitchen, is a part of the routine. One that lasts long enough for their pulses to taper off. For their highs to drift away, opening their minds to reality.

Elena focuses on the glow of moonlight on the marble before her.

She breaks the silence, her words soft as she tries to press out any sign of hopefulness in her voice. Sounding eager about any aspect of their arrangement has never turned out good.

"Are you leaving tonight?"

The room is quiet, Miguel's fingers pausing for the briefest of seconds. He shifts forward, ducking down to allow his lips to press a soft kiss between her shoulder blades.

"Not tonight." A soft smile finds his lips as she glances over her shoulder at him. "It's your birthday tomorrow. I wouldn't miss it."

She can't suppress the smile that spreads across her face as his lips press against her cheek. His eyes drop to the watch on his wrist as she turns to face him.

“Looks like we got two hours before it's officially Saturday," he chuckles as her arms wrap around his neck.

"Is it too early to start with my birthday demands?"

His response is a soft kiss, his hand drifting to the nape of her neck. It's a kiss that melts her body into his, knotting his fingers in the softness of her hair. By the time he’s pulled away, her pulse is unsteady. His lips brush against her forehead, his touch lingering against her skin before he takes a step back.

"I'll start the bath." He grins, his eyes drifting towards the wine across the room. “Get a bottle or two, and join me.”

“I’ll be up in a minute.”

Her eyes close as his lips press against her forehead. They remain closed as she listens to his footsteps track through the quiet house. They soon fade out as he reaches the top of the steps, and Elena allows her eyes to open.

Her breath catches, her teeth tugging at her lip as her fingers gently brush against her neck. She finds herself standing before the mirror at the base of her steps. Her eyes pass over her reflection, lingering on her disheveled curls, the flush of her cheeks, her swollen lips, the hazy green glow from the moonlit flowers against her skin.

Her fingers comb through her hair, gathering the locks and pushing them over her shoulder. Unlatching the clasp, she carefully places the necklace on the countertop. She leaves it alongside the emerald hairpins. The breath she takes is deep. Her lungs hold the air until they begin to burn. With the weight of her necklace gone her shoulders fall, feeling weightless, as she exhales.

The excitement of his admission bubbles in her stomach, her hands clasping together as she forces herself to take a second breath. This time, as she excels, the excitement slowly deflates.

Getting your hopes up is foolish, Ellie.

Elena turns and crosses the dark kitchen in search of wine.

She retrieves two wine glasses from the cabinet. She pauses, elbows resting against the countertop, as she studies the bottles of wine on display against the cream backsplash. Her fingers stop short of her bottle of choice as a faint jingle fills the quiet room.

Abandoning the task at hand, Elena naturally retrieves her purse. The rose gold iPhone she finds inside is silent, screen pitch black. The ringing is louder now. Her head turns, her brow furrowing, as she looks towards the white jacket draped across the back of the stool to her right.

There is a brief moment of hesitation. A voice of warning--telling her "leave it"--in the back of Elena's mind as she reaches for the jacket.

A silence falls over the room--a blessing in disguise. It is her out. The reminder for Elena to adhere to the promise she made herself the moment she met Miguel Galindo.

Never snoop--never bite off more than you can chew.

What is the saying about curiosity?

With the touch of her finger, the screen illuminates. It reveals a missed call from Emily Galindo. It is not the name that gives Elena pause, but the photo behind the notification. A photo Elena has never seen or anticipated. A photo that breaks the fantasy Elena has spent the evening willingly participating in.

The fantasy typically lasts a few more hours. The one where they both pretend Miguel doesn’t have another life he has built outside of her. A life Miguel's never provided insight into. A life Elena has never asked--nor searched--for details on.

Maybe if she had, she wouldn’t have been blindsided by what all his life across the border entails.

The round brown eyes staring back at her own are innocent. Accompanied by a head of dark curls and soft cheeks. The blue top the infant wears matches Miguel’s jacket.

Miguel wears a smile--a distinct smile. The smile wore by every proud father.

One day, my love. I just need time.

The soft plea echos through her mind. It is the same he has whispered each departure when she has asked him to stay--even if just for an hour longer.

Time.

It’s all he’s ever needed. And all she has given.

The arrival of a message paints Elena’s kitchen in a blue glow--breaking her haze of confusion surrounding this new revelation.

Hope you made it safely. Call me when you’re settled. Love you.

Elena's stomach tightens as she rereads the message.

She jumps, her body scrambling to catch the phone as it nearly slips through her fingers. Miguel’s voice drifts down the stairs.

“Need help picking the wine?”

“No--it’s okay. I'm coming.” Elena shakes her head, returning the phone to its original place. She replaces the phone with two wine glasses, mindlessly grabbing the closest bottle.

mayans tags:

@appropriate-writers-name @rosieposie0624 @jjwriter23 @briskywalker @princesspeachypeach @cind-in-real-life @rocketqueen @brownsugarcoffy @chibsytelford @maybeisthemoon @jatriciaaa @mylittlelonelyappreciationtoo @chellybear98 @silverstarsandsuns @henrycavill19 @omg-mymelaninisbeautiful @mayansxlover @holl2712 @pedropcl

@inyourbackpocketisbutterflies @cocotheclown @cant-decide-at-this-moment @helli4nthus @megapeacelovemusic-blog @est1887 @demonquartz @bucky-iss-bae @thesandbeneathmytoes @sesamepancakes @shawty-fenty @peoniarose @starrynite7114 @agoldin @tomhardydallasstarsgirl @wiccanmetallicrose

#got a covid vaccine yesterday and woke up feeling like i was hit by a truck #super groggy atm #let me know what you think of this so far?#miguel galindo #miguel galindo imagine #mayans mc imagine

80 notes · View notes

cassiaa · 3 years

Text

Metanoia part 2

Warnings posted in the first part.

This part lacks Namjoon and is mostly a filler, but he will be back soon. Deciding on an update schedule and whether or not to tag accounts or not. Until I’m more used to posting this way I won’t be tagging people, thank you for understanding! Roughly edited.

Ava sat, twirling the ring on her left hand.

It had been a week since she had told Namjoon of the baby. He took it well. Simply nodding and smiling softly. He had stood and taken her hand, leading her to what she assumed was his office where he unlocked a desk drawer and pulled out a small black velvet box. And with a 'this wasn't how I had planned to do this....' he had asked her to marry him. Of course she said yes. Then he spent the entire night worshipping her body. The next morning she was beyond exhausted and slept the entire day.

Her parents were less than pleased, though they didn't get a say in it. Ava had told her mother briefly over the phone after Namjoon had left to America to discuss it in person with her father. Her mother didn't say much, she wasn't in a position to, she only said that she would try to come early for the wedding to be with her.

Even with Namjoon being in a different country, most of the work was still done by him personally. A lot of the wedding preparations he had taken responsibility of to make sure they would be perfect, and only left a few specifics and special touches to be done by Ava.

"Gonna sit there all day?"

"Maybe." Ava glances away from the window, grinning at Yoongi, who didn't hesitate to drop on the free couch and throw an arm over his eyes.

"Your mom should be here soon." He offered up after a moment. "You should at least pretend to be busy."

Ava scoffs, "my mom knows I'm lazy. She will see right through it."

"Maybe," he shrugs, "but it will give you an excuse to make a run for it if she starts getting on your nerves."

"Thats what you're for. And why we're not meeting here but at a restaurant." Ava stands and starts placing all the books back into their correct positions on the wall, before collect all the papers with wedding details on them and locking them in a box before setting that next to the fire place to act as decoration.

"That's a stupid hiding spot." Yoongi remarks, still not even looking. "Lazy."

"Doesn't matter." It was Ava's turn to shrug, "I just need two people not to see it, and both of those people are banned from this room anyways."

"You're not including your parents in any of the wedding details?"

"No," Ava scoffs, "why would I? If it weren't for Namjoon they wouldn't have received invitations in the first place."

"Have you sent out the invites yet?" Yoongi asks, sounding half asleep at this point.

"Most of them. But Namjoon is talking to my father in person and I told my mother over the phone. They will still get a card though, probably after Namjoon is on his way back." Ava hums, playing with the flowers in a large vase that she moved from the mantle of the fire place to the window. They were a gift from Namjoon that had been delivered that morning, they weren't the first and she knew they wouldn't be the last.

"Shouldn't you go get ready?" Yoongi finally broke the silence twenty minutes later.

Ava's nose twitched, "do I have to though? I should just go like this." She gestured to her (Namjoon's) sweatpants (that she had raided his closet for despite her closet being filled to the brim with clothes) and white t shirt that was slightly see through depending on how you looked at it. Yoongi gave a very unimpressed look earning a huff from Ava before she stood and dusted herself off.

"Fine. I won't go out looking like trash today." She grumbles, "enjoy your nap."

"I will."

Ava threw one of the couch pillows at him on her way out, receiving a laugh and nothing more as she shut her parlor door behind her.

"Would you like help Miss Smith?" Imo-ssi offered gracefully falling into step just behind her, respectfully. Ava had learned from Yoongi that her name was HaeSoo and since then had taken to calling the woman by it, despite her objections. She did compromise by adding ssi to the end, to not be rude.

"Yes please, HaeSoo-ssi." Ava nods with a smile, "that would be lovely."

It wasn't long before Hae-soo had created a masterpiece of the young woman and was ushering her towards the doors.

"Who is going with us?" Ava asked Yoongi as the man stepped from the shadows against the wall and joined her in her car. It was the same car that Namjoon had gifted her in America, a white and black Range Rover that literally sparkled it was so shiny and new.

"JK's driving and Jimin is already at the restaurant. Hobi picked up your mother from the airport and is bringing her there now. We will be there before her but just barely." Yoongi gave her the run down, glancing from his tablet to the window before speaking in Korean to someone over an ear piece.

Ava nods slowly, the team was divided up, Jin, Taehyung had gone with Namjoon to close off American deals as well as be with Namjoon when he spoke to her father and Yoongi and Jungkook had been left with her for her protection. Yoongi had dragged Hobi and Jimin into the detail when the two had showed up after their latest mission and gala coincidentally at the same time.

"Hey Noona." Jungkook grinned, hopping into the front seat. "Thanks for giving me permission to drive your car."

Ava rolls her eyes, which was seen by him in the mirror. "I didn't, don't put a scratch on it." She warns, half serious. Even if he did mess it up in any way she'd have a new one by morning, maybe even by the time she was done with dinner.

"Let's just get there." Yoongi orders.

"Let's get it!" Jungkook mumbles under his breath, a little too excited compared to the two in the back seats.

Ava and Yoongi exchange glances, Ava biting back her sigh and Yoongi quickly going back to his tablet. It would be a long night.

Finally having separated from her overwhelming mother, Ava curled up on top of the covers, hugging a pillow close to her chest.

"At least get underneath and pretend to sleep." Hobi grins, standing in the doorway and crossing his arms.

"No." Ava murmurs into the pillow. "Don't want to."

"Namjoon's going to be upset that you're not sleeping." Yoongi said closing the balcony doors of the master bedroom and clicking the lock shut.

"Don't care." Ava sighs deeply, shutting her eyes and feigning sleep. "He shouldn't leave me alone for this long then. He knows I don't like sleeping alone."

"Sounds like a you problem." Yoongi smirks, gripping the edge of the bed spread and tossing it over her half way.

"Wanna snuggle?" She grins up at him, pulling the blanket up a little more.

"And get a bullet in the ass?" Yoongi scoffs. "I think not."

Ava looks up towards Hobi, "how about you? You a wuss too?"

"The biggest." His grin widens, pushing off the door frame he flicks a two finger salute as goodbye. "See you tomorrow. Go to sleep."

"Yeah, go to sleep." Yoongi adds with a nod. "Call JK if you need anything he's probably the only one able to get away laying with you if you're man walks in tonight."

Ava's eyes brighten, "is he coming back early?"

Yoongi holds a sigh in, "probably not. But we don't need you getting anyone shot between now and then."

Ava repositions, hiding deeper in the blankets and imagining being anywhere else. Preferably not pregnant to be honest. "Ok. Goodnight."

Yoongi shuts the door behind him, leaving Ava in mostly darkness except for the pale moonlight coming from the glass doors.

It was an odd thing to crave. Wanting nothing more to be alone and nothing more than to not be alone. It was something she had grown accustomed to. Being surrounded by people around the clock but not truly having companions. She grew up in it. And since meeting Namjoon she had grown accustomed to his overwhelming presence. He drowned out her inner demons and made her feel safe again.

#Kim Namjoon #Namjoon #mafia #bts #Namjoon mafia #jungkook #Yoongi #yandere #bts yandere #jung hoseok #kim seokjin #kim taehyung #park jimin #metanoia

24 notes · View notes

posttexasstressdisorder · 4 months

Text

Dynaco Repair Post No. 3

Friday Evening 12-15-23

Welp, no real physical progress to speak of today, although an interesting factoid caught my attention in researching all this and it may solve the PAS problem without much more intervention, if my thinking is correct.

On the PAS preamps, the diode kit does NOT replace the 12X4 Rectifier Tube! The diode kit on the PAS only provides the filament (LOW) voltage to the four 12AX7s. The 12X4 provides the HIGH voltage to the tubes! My 12X4 was not lit up on my test run!

So I found one on eBay for six bucks, and it will be here around the time the wafer switch arrives. Again, timing.

And yes, I have decided to go much slower with things going forward. Too antsy to get it done leads to sloppy work and breaking things. Ya think I woulda figured it out by now....

At any rate, the cover and base are slipped back into place on the PAS, and it's set aside. I will be turning my attention to the ST70 in the interim.

BEHOLD THE BEAST:

"Bone Stock", just like I like 'em. And all original.

The dust and most of the corrosion will polish off the outside without much hassle. And rummaging through my bin of Dynaco parts, I came across one of these that I ordered a number of years back as a "spare" ( I thought they were all gone)...and so I will be replacing the original can cap with a fresher, never-used now-older-stock can cap.

Underneath, it's as clean as it gets, actually.

And again, everything is original. The electolytics get replaced by literal miniatures of their former selves, and the selenium stack in the very center gets replaced via diode.

And yes, the original beige & brown cord is stiff with age. I found a new manufacture 2-wire non-polarized cord, rated 10Amps, that I will clip the end off of and use.

And with that, I'm going to end this one for tonight, and pick things back up tomorrow. I will probably decide to go with cleaning/polishing the top, front , and back of the chassis first, to get it out of the way. Plus, it's quite the big payoff, visually, once it's all shined-up to the tits and sparkling!

While I didn't get much polishing done due to the crazy of the last couple days, I did manage to put the new power cord on.

Wednesday evening, 12-20-23

Started this afternoon, and got the rectifier replaced with the diode, and did the swap-out of the bias-circuit components. Both went fairly smoothly, without much fuss.

First thing was to unsolder the two leads from the selenium stack:

Replacing the long screw and stack with a shorter screw and two-lug terminal strip was easy enough, and the two leads were cooperative in going to their new lugs. Here's the diode and leads soldered in place:

That done, I turned my attention to the bias circuit replacement. Here's the new parts, pre-install:

After looking it over, I figured the best plan of attack was to leave the leads all soldered in place on the old lug strips, and then resolder onto the new lugs, one at a time, after I populate the new strip with the replacement parts.

This was a little more challenging to get soldered, just because of the awkward size of the components and ensuring that there was at least a solid physical connection to solder. But things ended up going in fine, taking up a lot less room than the old parts:

The next thing to do to the ST70 will be replacing the big quad can cap, and then it will be ready for tubes (which will hopefully be coming soon). I will tackle that in the morning. You can see the white spray of capacitor innards all over the corner of the PC board, as well as across the chassis on the other side. It will be the last piece of the puzzle, to get this replaced.

One last note for tonight: the 12X4 didn't come today, for some reason. It's scheduled to be delivered tomorrow. If I get the can cap done in a reasonable amount of time, I'll start in on replacing the broken wafer switch.

Thursday evening, 12-21-23

After a few delays, I finally got to sit down and do some decent work on the Stereo 70. First order of business was ugly, but it had to be done: unsoldering all the leads that go to the quad can cap, and getting the thing out of the chassis. Using my 30-watt pencil made it go a little quicker; also clipped the leads on the two resistors to swing them up out of the way so I can get at the rest of this mess.

Gaze into the abyss!

Look at all that dust and gunk! Time to put in a little elbow grease on the chrome.

A stiff brush made quick work of most of the offending dust on the driver board, and I used it on the area around the transformers.

And I found an easy solution for most of the gunk on the chrome, using a soft rag and some Meguiar's ScratchX scratch remover for auto paint. It was handy. It works! Now go back and look at how dirty it was after you gaze upon it after just an hour or so of going over it:

And welp, it looks like I hit the photo limit again.

So now I go start Dynaco Repair Post No. 4!

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

And links to the first and second repair posts:

#Dynaco #Hi-Fi for The Everyman

7 notes · View notes

rouiyan · 4 years

Text

𝘙𝘖𝘖𝘍𝘛𝘖𝘗 𝘙𝘖𝘔𝘈𝘕𝘊𝘌 [ 𝘭.𝘵𝘺 ]

synopsis — taeyong is ready to take on the whole world and anything else that dare comes between him and a successful first date.

✧ idol!lee taeyong x (gender neutral reader) ✧ established relationship au, first date au

✧ genre : fluff ✧ word count 1.5k ✧ disclaimers light swearing, food

✧ author's note — kinda enduring a little phase of writer's block after exerting all my feelies on 'it's (un)conditional' but i got sum black tea, a ten minute break between classes, and i'm gonna fucking write this.

the air is cold to the touch, breezy and crisp, with the loom of autumn sitting atop the clouds and you think it'll rain any second. suddenly, this very well-anticipated date comes with a feeling of dread. arriving at the apartment complex, you give yourself a once-over in the lobby mirror before heading up. taeyong had asked over facetime, a little under a fortnight ago, if he could take you on a date, something appropriately social distance themed. his door, now swinging open in front of you, caught the edge of his foot and from there, you brought your eyes up his figure to meet his own.

the man is wearing casual jeans, a grey knit sweater and black shoes that resemble clogs, you're not very sure, but it isn't his outfit that throws you off, it's the gargantuan, and i mean, colossal, backpack that’s weighing down his posture. and not just any normal, day-to-day backpack, it's the fucking 'i'm going camping for seven days in the mountains' type of backpack, with the straps that clasp in the front, once across the chest and once across the waist. "taeyong, babe, you-"

he cuts you off, a sweet lopsided smile adorning his face, "ready to go?"

taeyong doesn't answer but instead, takes lead, brushing lightly past you, his hand sneaking for yours and intertwining fingers in the process, eyes focused entirely up ahead. a few steps behind him, you peer over his shoulders (and enormous bag) to see that he's heading for the stairwell. confusion clouds over your face as you ponder whether to question him or not. taeyong clips the door open with the heel of his foot as he draws you by the hand in front of him, hands brief on your hips to guide you up the stairs from behind.

taking a fleeting glance at the man who's quick on your heels, you bear in mind the way the skylight that filters light softly down the column of stairs illuminates his face in a way you can only describe as superlunary, the gossamer-thin strands of hair falling into his eyes, bending light in ways that deem inconceivable. the fine features of his countenance that you are oh-so-blessed to be in the presence of on a daily. even the scar beside his eye offering another depth of otherworldly complexity to his expression. his smile broadens, crinkling up the corners of his eyes, scar included.

"please don't tell me we're going up to the tenth floor," you give into your questioning observations.

"don't worry, even i have a hard time setting foot in there," he discloses, "a little further than that though, hope it isn't too tiring."

"taeyong, sweetie, are you sure this isn't too tiring for you? with that hunk on your back and all?"

if your eyes weren't set ahead, you'd be met with another quirk of his lips, hands finding yours again and giving it a small, inspiriting squeeze. "not even a bit."

the door at the top of the stairway reveals a wide space, open to the sky and the teeming city below. but it's all the same as the sky you were met with upon arriving, the sunlight having trouble peering through the thick haze of grey clouds, the whole picture setting a muted film of scintillating light over the ground and all above. a frown crossed pout is cast in your visage as taeyong immediately sets to work in unpacking the load.

you stand a little off to the side until he spreads a thick blue blanket on the floor adjacent to the wall that houses the flight of stairs you’d just came from. sitting atop, you watch as he constructs a projector and screen setup, random objects emerging from the bag with each coming minute. soon you're left with a spread of chips and homemade salsa, your boyfriend's laptop, a blow-up couch, a hoard of pillows and blankets, and finally, the beginnings of pitter-patter drops from the sky. cursing, you look over at taeyong who, instead of looking anywhere near fazed, has a set look of determination lining his features, a rigid and clenched jawline, and brows drawn in to a point. he gives you a glance, one that immediately softens the creased lines on his face, and sets back to work in unearthing even more items from the never-ending pits of that bag.

this time, it's a whole ass tent. a small one, but a tent nonetheless. he assembles it with ease, as if he'd done (or practiced) it a handful of times, and shoos you out of the way so he can move the whole configuration into the makeshift cover. you feel a tad bit useless, just standing under the awning of the landing, but it isn't as if you hadn't tried to help. it's just that every time you even dare to trespass into his little workspace, taeyong's frown deepens and he puts all work aside to guide you back under the awning, telling you to stay put and content.

the tent ends up providing even more comfort than the previous array, the sheeted material deflecting the light rain and privately enclosing the space within. your very well-thought-out movie date with taeyong begins but he's wallowing in apologies that "you're not able to see the view, though," and, "this basically negates the reason i brought you up here." you're not sure if you'd rather pay attention to your boyfriend's complaints at the situation and his maxed-out, but apparently still-lacking, efforts to make the best out of it, or the movie itself. you opt for the former, gently tucking his chin in between your index and middle fingers and using a soft kiss to lift the frown from his lips.

"pay attention to the movie, babe, now you're negating the whole purpose of the date!" he's exasperated, you can tell, but also you know that paying attention to him as opposed to the movie, and praising him for his good work as opposed to the movie, and making sure he knows you appreciate the heartfelt sentiments as opposed to the movie, would cure his little tantrum a lot more effectively than anything else. so you shift until you're facing him, holding his face in your hands and making sure your sight is locked tight with his own. he breaks eye contact a total of four times, to try and deliver the hint that the movie is supposedly of more importance, but you stay persistent.

"how'd your day go?"

"but the movie's still playin-" he's confounded.

"did you guys learn the new choreo?"

"hey, the movie- !" he feels as if you're antagonizing him.

"oh, for fuck's sake taeyong, i care more about you than the movie!" he goes quiet at this.

it's right then and there that, after knowing you for a total of four years but only being able to call himself your boyfriend for the past month, he decides that he loves you. the long pause that ensues is drawn to a close when taeyong wraps you warmly in his embrace, the crown of his head molding in perfect unison with the crook of your neck, the dip of your clavicle. he mumbles, "i knew that," before withdrawing and taking your hand in his, yet again. he seems to enjoy the feeling of your knuckles rippling underneath the pads of his fingertips because he runs over them repeatedly, reassuringly, gladdeningly, lovingly.

"and i will still care about you even if we have a very muddled first date. even if you had let it rain on us, i would still care, really."

he's mumbling, still, but you catch the small, "i love you," that falls from his lips like honey to your ears. you say it back like it's the easiest thing in the world, as if those three words have been at the tip of your tongue the entire time. you say it because it's what you feel most in a day's worth of emotions and that your love for taeyong is anything but shallow. it's a sea, a vast sea that runs on and on, miles wide and miles deep. and then there's taeyong. taeyong, who finds joy in the fact that he can swell your cheeks in the form of happy smiles and sincere affection. he finds pride in the fact that he can set your heart alight with simple but earnest actions. and he finds love in the fact that you love him back.

✧ end note — this is a prewritten and scheduled post. i will be taking a brief rest for the duration of today (102720) and will continue writing/posting tomorrow (102820). thank you for reading.

#nct #nct taeyong #nct-writers #taeyong fluff #taeyong fics #taeyong x reader #taeyong x you #taeyong x y/n #lee taeyong #struggling to write anything over 2k #rouiyan fics #rouiyan writes

95 notes · View notes

calpops · 4 years

Text

falling facade | c.h.

part seven: falling forces

5k words

<< >>

Radio silence ensued between Calum and Arden for days after their parents left. Days of quiet left Calum’s admission floating in tense air and burning the back of his throat; the words taunting him among lonely days. She didn’t respond to his texts and she didn’t answer his calls, Michael wasn’t a mediator he wanted to use as the truth he offered her was one he didn’t want Michael to know. So he stopped texting and calling, decided to wait and try to play it cool though contractual commitments and management looming over him created more anxiety. Arden couldn’t opt out of paparazzi walks, they had to make posts and keep playing the game. After nearly a week Calum decided to head over to Michael’s and face her in person only to be met with confusion.

“She’s packing,” Michael informed as soon as Calum showed up; he didn’t even need to say a word for Michael to know he was in search of her.

“She’s leaving?” He asked and couldn’t keep the panic from his voice.

Michael was quick to catch it and though he may not have understood why he was so worked up he moved aside from the door and invited him in. He told him Arden ought to be the one to explain and sent him down the hall to one of many guest bedrooms. The door was closed but Calum heard footsteps moving about and rapped his knuckles lightly against the wood. A pause in motion ensued and Calum knew she was contemplating either opening the door or calling out to come in or go away. He hadn’t told her he was stopping by and he assumed her usual response to Michael would be something of the sort. Steps approached and the door swung open, Arden standing shocked and uncertain before Calum.

A suitcase laid on the bed with stacks of clothes inside, proving Michael’s statement to be correct. Calum knew Michael wouldn’t lie about that but the evidence was jolting and hard to swallow. Arden held a shoe in her hand and grasped the doorknob with the other, knees knocking into each other as her legs began to wiggle amidst the uncomfortable silence they were standing in.

“What are you doing here?” She asked after a stretch of silence. Her eyes flickered up and down Calum in her curiosity.

“You’re leaving?” He answered with a question and a sinking stomach. “You know we have a paparazzi walk scheduled for tomorrow.”

The burn in the back of Calum’s throat was flickering to life, words said and unsaid dancing on the tip of his tongue. Instead of telling her he wanted her to stay he reminded her she was obligated to. Instead of reminding her of what was and what could be real he reminded her of what was constructed and fake. He resented the words as soon as they rolled off his tongue and wished he could go back; say the right thing and be honest.

“I’ll be there,” she said and turned back to the bed and suitcase to drop the shoe haphazardly within. Calum followed her into the room, the days of silence and her curt answer doing very little to explain what was happening between them. His own foolish words didn’t help the matter either. “At noon, right?”

Calum nodded. “Arden, is everything okay?”

Calum really wanted to know if everything was okay between them but the words were caught in a fiery embrace and couldn’t escape. She turned back to look at him, hand blindly finding the edge of the suitcase to grip. She nodded this time but the nod slowly faded and pursed lips and downcast eyes replaced it.

“It’s fine. I just need to get out of this house,” she admitted and shook her head. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just need to get out of Michael’s hair. Stand on my own two feet. I got a job. Found a little place. It’s not much but it’s liveable seeing how I’ll be here a while.”

Words of being in Michael’s shadow and not having life figured out, not having a passion or pride floated through Calum’s mind. Suddenly her silence made sense.

“You could’ve told me,” Calum said and reached a hand out, almost certain she’d flinch or reject the gesture, but in her ever consistent way of surprise she leaned into the touch and nodded again.

“I know,” she began and shrugged. “But I wanted to do it on my own. I had to do it on my own. For myself.”

In a way Calum understood the sentiment of her words but couldn’t quite grasp why she couldn’t even pick up a call or return a text. A spiral of doubt and intrusive thoughts tumbled through and had his hand dropping from her arm, the loss of contact cool on his fingers tips and tightening his throat. Arden shifted and sighed, disappointment seemingly hanging over her head and escaping in her every motion. Calum shook himself, pushed his selfishness away and realized the situation for what it really was. Arden may not be chasing a dream but she was running after something.

“I’m proud of you.”

She looked up suddenly, inquisitive glance trying to figure out the simple sentence packed with meaning. A faint blush danced across her cheeks and calmed the doubts that once plagued Calum. She still reacted innately to him; leaned into his touches, knocked her knees together and blushed at compliments all while holding eye contact. Things were changing but what was real would always stay the same.

“It’s nothing, really,” she responded but the bite of a smile betrayed her humble statement and showed Calum his words were well received.

“I know you had to do it on your own but what about some help packing and unpacking? I can lift,” Calum offered and smirked as her gaze went to his biceps for just a fleeting moment. “Got anything heavy?”

Arden laughed and gestured to an already packed suitcase sat on the floor; one without wheels and that was stuffed to the brim. “Be my guest.”

***

Arden’s place was small but cozy by the time it was all set up. They spent all day bringing her things over and unpacking, adjusting the furniture that came with the apartment and running out to get a few necessities. It was late by the time they were done, takeout containers littered the small counter space and exhausted bodies crashed into the overly stuffed couch. There was still a lingering awkwardness that dwelled between them in Calum’s truth and Arden’s silence. Especially when there were no more tasks to keep them busy or food to keep their mouths full and provide an excuse not to talk. Calum yawned and stretched under the glare of light from the television static—they hadn’t figured out how to get channels but Arden didn’t mind. Calum would guess the moon was out but the very few windows were too small and awkwardly placed to see much of the night sky.

“I guess I should get going,” Calum mumbled and moved to stand from the couch. Arden’s hesitant touch stopped him short. She was unsure as her hand lightly settled on his forearm.

“It’s really late, you could stay,” she said and furrowed her brows before getting out a rushed, “if you want.”

Her offer surprised him, stunned him into his own silence and stalled any motion. They hadn’t spent a night together since Vegas provided allure of lights and drinks that wound up with them tangled in the same sheets as morning broke over the city. He remembered the panic that morning brought, the haze being demolished by the glint of the ring he had come to almost admire on her finger. It took him a few seconds to decide, to weigh the situation and realize he’d like a new morning with her. Something less panicked and nauseated, something like the naps they took on his couch together. Where they could wake up with ease. Even if Calum would have to crash on the small couch.

“I’ll stay,” he said with a decisive head nod and watched the smile slowly lift the corners of her mouth. Hazel went humble and a bit shy but stayed on him nonetheless as she stood and tilted her head to the only bedroom. “I can sleep here, on the couch, that’s fine.”

Arden waved her hand through the air and let out a small noise Calum might peg as a scoff. “You’d be crunched in on yourself. Besides, it’s not like you haven’t been in my bed before.”

Calum felt heat rise to his cheeks at the reminder of something he was already thinking about. He felt caught but laughed through it. “Right, Vegas.”

She threw him a look he couldn’t quite decipher and followed her to the room they had spent all day setting up. The mattress was still on the floor until a bed frame could be delivered but soft sheets and a pile of inviting pillows welcomed them.

“I was actually talking about when we were kids and you’d spend the night while I was away and I'd come back to you in my bed,” she said as she wandered to the closet and disappeared behind the door for a moment before emerging in a large shirt and small shorts. She was clearly dressed for bed and Calum stood in athletic shorts and a T-shirt from the previous day. “But there was also Vegas.”

Calum clapped a hand to the back of his neck where his palm and fingers were met with warmth. He was blushing all over at the reminder of memories he had forgotten. He blew out a breath as her knees hit the mattress and she pulled the covers back, an inviting pat to the comforter having Calum do the same.

“It was either your bed or the floor,” Calum defended and bit his lip. “Hope you didn’t mind.”

Arden smirked and slightly shook her head as she settled into bed, Calum was a bit stiff and awkward as he tried to do the same. The thought of Vegas was enough to make him settle at the edge; arm nearly falling off as he left little space between him and the floor. Whispers of reasons why this was wrong floated through his mind but they were quickly drowned out when Arden giggled and pulled him toward her with a small remark of him falling off and really sleeping on the floor. He rolled to his side, saw she had done the same and they were facing each other. A gap laid between them and though there was a want to close the distance he was also content to keep things the way they were.

“You don’t think we”—Arden began as she tucked loose hair behind her ear and slightly shifted—“did anything that night in Vegas, do you?”

She finally asked the question that had been continuously reappearing in Calum’s own mind. The only thing he could remember and be one hundred percent certain of was the kiss on the dancefloor and holding her close in the pool after hours. All else was a blur. But the way they woke up; with underclothes still on and rumpled as if from a full night of sleep, helped to paint a picture of what he thought could be.

“I don’t think so,” he confirmed. “I’m pretty sure I’d remember that.”

He couldn’t see a blush on Arden’s face but could imagine the rosy cheeks his words may have inspired. There was minimal light through a small slat of window up high on the wall. It wasn’t like in Calum’s living room where floor to ceiling windows painted her under sun or moonlight. This was more confined. The bed brought them closer than a sectional. It was more intimate. He could hear her breaths, could feel every shift in the mattress and map out every minuscule inch between them. He had thoughts of Vegas in his mind which brought tumbling woes of tomorrow barreling through as well. Another stunt loomed on the horizon. He didn’t know how his new truth being told would impact them in the face of the facade.

Arden yawned and burrowed under her covers just a bit more, pulling the blankets up under her chin and Calum could picture her eyes fluttering closed. He did the same, tried to get comfortable and it wasn’t for the lack of comfort the bed provided but the uncertainties of tomorrow that kept him stiff. Time passed in a blur, it wasn’t until Arden’s breathing was even and she had moved a bit closer that Calum began to relax and let himself fall asleep—though it was interrupted and constantly shifting.

By morning they woke in a familiar way. With Calum’s arm wound around Arden and her cheek pressed to his chest. Neither said anything as they pulled apart and vacated the bed. Only small smiles and lingering gazes back at each other brought them back to the reality of what the day had planned. They left Arden’s place once she was ready so that Calum could change his clothes and check on Duke; his friend had taken care of him for the night but a stop to say hello and make sure he was set for the day was needed. Arden took Duke out as Calum changed and a sense of normalcy and a craving for days like these befell Calum in an urgent way. If it weren’t for the silence on Arden’s end and alarm bells fleetingly ringing in his mind Calum may have had hope that this could be a new normal.

All too soon that normalcy was shattered when they had to leave for another stunt. The fake always caught up with them; the game was always in motion and distinguishing between realities was becoming increasingly more difficult. They found themselves in another familiar position, eyeing paparazzi out of the windshield of Calum’s car as Arden hesitated. Her fingers wound around the seatbelt and held it tight, white knuckles and a hazy gaze telling of how much she did not want to go. She let out a small huff and turned to Calum with pursed lips and a dropping hand. It landed on her thigh and made no move for the door handle.

“Did you mean it?” She asked and caught Calum off guard, made him nearly jump at the sudden question with no previous context. When Calum’s confusion was evident she further expanded. “What you said when our parents were here. Did you really mean it? It’s not all fake?”

Calum nodded without even having to further process the question. “Of course I meant it.”

“Then why haven’t you said anything else?”

Now Calum furrowed his brows. “I guess I was waiting for you.”

He didn’t want to push and he didn’t want to assume or make her feel obligated to reciprocate. He took her silence as uncertainty and she took his waiting for her to mean the same. He now realized that what he said could be open ended and not answer the questions that might have been tumbling through Arden’s mind.

Arden shrank back in her seat and let her shoulders slump. She blew out a breath and a tendril of hair went with it, an urge to tuck it back behind her ear coursed through him and won. He reached over and gently did so, fingertips trailing and reveling in the moment and the contact. Her hand came up to capture his, brought it down to the console and rubbed her thumb over the back of his hand; it was as if the movement was her contemplation and mind rushing back and forth.

“Sometimes it’s hard to know what’s real and it’s even harder to know what you think is real too,” she admitted and glanced away, bit her lip and stopped the motion of her thumb. It took a moment before she could look at him again. “What moments did you mean? What did you feel was real?”

Calum softened and squeezed her hand, pushed the thought of paparazzi lingering outside to the back of his mind and focused in on her and the memories they had cultivated in just a couple of months.

“The night of the party. The road trip and everything that happened in Vegas”—Arden arched an eyebrow and Calum quickly reconsidered his words—“kissing you on the dance floor, sneaking into the pool, waking up together. When you stood up for us to management. Dates at the diner. Napping on the couch with Duke. Afternoons in the pool. Sunset on the beach. Being proud of you for opening up and finding a path to follow while you figure out where to go to chase your dreams. All of that is real to me.”

Arden went quiet but Calum felt as if he could hear her thoughts out loud—he just couldn’t make sense of them. It felt as if she was thinking in another language, in a way he couldn’t quite understand, but desperately wanted to. He didn’t want her to stay silent again. He laid his cards on the table now it was her turn to show her hand. Whether it was what Calum wanted to see or not.

“That’s all real to me too.”

Calum let out a breath of relief followed by a small and dry laugh, unable to bite back the bubble of hysteria that had worked its way into him. Arden pushed closer, closing some of the minimal distance and reminding Calum of how much he missed peaches and sugar. He licked his lips, dipped his down just a bit.

“Can I kiss you again?” He asked, and suddenly that breath of relief felt fleeting; he felt utterly breathless as he stared into hazel.

She averted her gaze and pulled back, a sinking feeling consuming Calum. He thought it was real.

“Not here,” she explained and looked out to the paparazzi waiting mindlessly on the curb. “Not while we have to do this.”

Calum understood; no words were needed to define this. Crossing lines of real and fake would only make things more hazy. When the moment was right, when everything around them was real, he would ask again. Arden took a breath and flung the car door open, leaving little time for Calum to think further or get too intoxicated by the scent of peaches. He followed her, wrapped her in an embrace to keep the cameras off of her as much as possible and strolled into the cafe as cameras snapped in their faces. While in line he thought less about what the headlines would say, thought more about what they might do for a real moment once the cameras were gone and if it might lead to something sugary sweet.

This stunt was different, management wanted more photos and more affection, something to splash across pages of a magazine and keep fans attention apt. It was the build up before the breakdown. They would have more intense stunts like this before the inevitable drifting phase and while that stage of the stunt already had a harrowing grip on Calum he tried not to think about it. He was okay with living in the moment and unraveling more of Arden.

The line moved fast and their orders came in quickly and they situated themselves at an outdoor table where the paparazzi positioned themselves at a slight distance to make the photos appear off guard. Sunglasses disguised Arden once more and a tilted laminated menu helped to hide her even more. Calum dipped behind it as well, imaginations welcome to run wild at the hidden shots.

“You know,” Calum started and smirked. “You didn’t tell me what your new job is.”

Arden tilted her head and leaned in, whispering words so they could stay between only them. “I can show you, after we get out of here.”

Calum nodded with enthusiasm as he was excited to see another real side to Arden; to show his pride for her accomplishment and maybe, just maybe, get another kiss. In the meantime he humored the paparazzi as they ate, flung an arm around her and played up all the aspects that management was seeking. Arden fed into it and it almost felt like making a mockery of the demand. Over dramatized affection and longing gazes, bashful and playful hiding behind menus and pretending the cameras didn’t exist helped bring them through their lunch with as little actual interaction with them as possible. Once the food was finished and Calum was certain they had gotten plenty of shots he pushed out his chair and stood; offered his hand to Arden and tucked her back into his side.

“That’s enough for today,” he said in a low voice as they walked away, never wanting to give them any more of Arden than was necessary.

Although, Calum had to admit the way they were acting was not them and it felt like a victory to pretend on their own terms. Whether or not it would fool the masses and appease management was up in the air. Their over the top performance kept the paparazzi at bay and from spewing comments to incite reactions or ask questions they wouldn’t want to answer. They fed off of actions, a picture sometimes worth so much more than words. Photos were flashy and attention grabbing. Words fell flat when they were practiced.

Back in the car Arden took Calum’s hand as soon as the cameras were put away. Out of sight, out of her mind and back to being real and okay. Her fingers laced with his and their hands rested on the inner console. Neither said anything about it; all that was said was directions to Arden’s job and questions about it that she danced around with giggles and an emphatic you’ll see.

“Right here,” she said and pointed to a stone building with one large window and a glass door dominating the front. A flashy sign hung above the glass and Calum immediately smiled when he read it and pulled up to the curb beside the building.

“An art gallery?” He asked and remembered the discussion when they were sat in the grass about art only being a hobby and not a passion. “Don’t tell me you bought an entire gallery and filled it but I still don’t have one painting from you.”

Arden lightheartedly rolled her eyes at his comment as she unbuckled and Calum followed suit, wandered after her as she got out of the car and waved for him to peek inside the closed gallery.

“It’s not my gallery. I’m just a coordinator,” she explained as Calum took a look through the window to dim lighting and art hanging on stone walls—none of which he understood as well as Arden’s. “Who knew all it took was half a degree, an art history course and “good eye” to get a decent job. Well… that and maybe using Michael as a reference helped a bit.”

Calum’s hand found its way to the small of her back without thinking. She was still looking through the window and had come to bite her lip at the admission of using Michael’s name. Calum could tell it wasn’t something she wanted to do; still seeking to step away from his shadow and all. He thought quickly.

“It was all you,” he said and gently rubbed a circle into her soft skin as she gazed at him in question. “You got the job on your own merit. Michael’s name doesn’t hold any weight in the art world. Not this art world anyway.”

“You think?”

The question was genuine and the concern in her eyes spoke volumes to the authenticity of her character. She didn’t want to be a social climber. She didn’t want to use what little light got cast into Michael’s shadow to give her a step up. Calum couldn’t hold back the smile that overtook him or the need to move closer to her. She reciprocated and welcomed his embrace; hand moving to wrap around her waist as he stood behind her and ducked his chin down to the crook of her shoulder.

“I’m sure of it and I’m proud of you.”

Calum could feel the blush that heated up Arden and heard the slight choked up noise that slipped past her resolve. He didn’t know how long she had gone without hearing those words for something she actually felt pride for. Her hands found his and she titled her face towards his. She was so close, peaches and sugar once again invasive in the best of ways.

“I just figured if I don’t know what my own dream is yet I may as well help other people achieve theirs,” she said in a whisper and her lips nearly brushed along Calum’s cheek like so many thank you’s she had previously graced him with.

Calum warmed at her explanation and inched just a bit closer, felt her turn and welcomed her into his hold properly as he adjusted to accommodate. Her chin tilted up and her eyelashes fluttered as a quiet calm blissfully danced around them. Calum was hyper aware of his own heartbeat, could feel it in his throat and his ribs and the pit of his stomach. He wondered if she could hear it, if her heart was beating as erratically and wondrously as his. She licked her lips and the rest of the world faded away into muted colors. His breath hitched in throat.

“Now,” she whispered and let her eyes fully close as Calum leaned in.

It was soft and reminiscent of the dance floor at first. Just a tender touch that lingered for a beautiful moment. They both slightly pulled away but only enough to take one small breath before reconnecting. It was explosive and sent chills up Calum’s spine. His tongue swept at her lower lip and she invited him in, greedy hands sought out more of each other with a press of their bodies. Calum was fiery and floating, breathless and rejuvenated once they pulled away. Her eyes stayed closed a moment before fluttering open and softly meeting his gaze. Though there was the faint sound of bells ringing through Calum’s mind they were drowned out in favor of his heart beat and the small breaths that escaped Arden.

“I know you just got your new place set up but do you want to head back to mine?” Calum asked and waited with bated breath and hope on his heart and sleeve. “Duke misses you, you know.”

“Oh does he?”

Calum nodded with a cheeky grin and gave her a small peck on the cheek. “He does. Told me this morning.”

“How could I ever refuse then?” She questioned with sparkling eyes and a crooked smile as they started back for the car with hands held. “And you know Micheal won’t be waiting up for me anymore either.”

Calum stopped dead in his tracks and so did Arden consequently. Those bells came back as a blaring alarm.

“Michael’s gonna kill me,” Calum said with volition; as if it was a known fact. He rubbed at his jaw with his free hand and let worry crease his forehead. “Soon as he finds out we’re real that’ll be the end.”

Arden’s eyes went wide and Calum knew in that moment the warning bells had caught up to her. Her hand dropped from his and went unsurely to the hem of her shirt with a loose grip. Her knees knocked together and she shook her head. He could tell she was trying to think it through. He hoped he hadn’t scared her into not pursuing a real relationship. Michael was just another obstacle they would have to go around.

“Maybe we don’t need to tell him?” Calum asked with a wavering voice and not much faith; a bite of guilt already eating at him at the prospect of omitting such a big truth from his best friend.

“What Michael doesn’t know”—she said as she came back from the warning alarm and opened the car’s passenger door—“won’t kill you.”

Before she could get in the car Calum stopped her short and shook his head as he weighed the situation and his request. “Are you sure you’re okay with that?”

People passed by on the sidewalk as Arden took an extra moment to contemplate. Calum reached for her hand again and felt an ache in his chest ease up when she squeezed back.

“I mean, I did ask you to lie to your family,” she began and took a step toward him, the door shutting behind her. “And we will tell them all the truth eventually. Right now, we still have a lot to figure out between us. It’s probably best that it stays just between us. We don’t need more outside forces trying to call the shots.”

Calum knew that to be true, there was still a lot up in the air between them. It was real but it was still laden with questions and undefined. With a loose hold on her hand he pulled her closer and pressed a shy kiss to her forehead.

“Just until we figure it all out,” he agreed.

“Can we head to your place now? I miss Duke,” Arden agreed and teased.

Calum decided to ignore everything except the way she lit him up and made him feel like he was floating. To focus only on her and what was best for them. Nothing else mattered. Not Michael. Not management. Not questions and labels yet to be discussed. What they knew was that it was real and something more than a contract could define. All of the falling forces lingering around them didn’t hold half a flame to the importance of each other.

<< >>

If you’d like to be added to my tag list just let me know!

Tagged: @rosecolouredash @irwinkitten @golden-hood @who-do-you-love-5sos @caswinchester2000 @wildflowergrae @empathycth @cuddlemcalx @malumsmermaid @babylon-corgis @outerspaceisbetterthannothing @mariellelovescupcakes @xhaileyreneex @goth5sos @gosh-im-short @feliznavidaddycal @loveroflrh @findingliam-o @flowerthug @g-l-pierce @talkfastromance4 @cashtonasfuck @sc0ttish-wildfl0wer @wastedheartcth @calumscalm @notinthesameguey @lukesfuckingbeard @myloverboyash @treatallwithkindness @haikucal @wiildflower-xxx @calum-uncrowned @egyptiangoldhood @drarryetcetera @another-lonely-heart @megz1985 @idk-harry @dinosaursandsocks @wildflower-cth @idontneedanyone @everyscarisahealingplace @myfavfanficsever @stormrider505 @karajaynetoday @333-xx @calumshpod @calumsphile @calumrose @justhereforcalum @grreatgooglymoogly @mantlereid @hemmingslftv @sltwins @queenalinescherrypie @emilyma @zhangyixingxing1

150 notes · View notes

plaidbooks · 3 years

Text

The Detective and the Teacher

A/N: This idea kinda came out of nowhere, but I needed to get it out of my head (like most of my stories). It’s a two-parter, and I’ll post part 2 tomorrow. If people are interested, I could make it into a longer series, but I also am kind of ok with it being short. Also, idk how to write dates, sorry

Tags: None for this part, next part will

Words: 3k+

I have a meeting with a cute guy in my class. You should come, meet him

You rolled your eyes at the text your friend sent you. She was a professor at Fordham University, teaching Risk and Crisis Communications to undergrads and graduate students. She, however, was happily married. But that didn’t stop her from finding cute guys in her class and trying to set them up with you. “They’re college students; they’re going somewhere in life,” she would argue. Besides, her idea of “cute college guys” wasn’t totally off; the main problem was waiting for someone around your age to be in her classes. You were a teacher yourself, in your early 30s, and most people taking her classes were right out of high school; way too young for you.

It was the beginning of summer in New York, so you didn’t have classes, instead volunteering at the library. Your friend, Professor Stafford, was teaching night classes this semester; sometimes she stayed after class to help a student if they asked…and they couldn’t make her office hours. So, it was 8pm by the time you were walking the halls of the University, a coffee in your hand—an excuse to meet with a friend. It was her idea; if there was a potential date for you, she’d text you, you’d come to the University with a coffee or food to deliver it to her before the meeting, then casually “bump” into the student. You made it to her classroom, handed her the coffee.

“So, what’s his name?” you asked, grinning.

She took the coffee gratefully, taking a sip before replying. “Andrew Wise. He’s one of my top students; I think you’ll really like him.” She gave you a playful wink and you rolled your eyes.

“You said that about the last three guys, and they were all snobby jerks,” you laughed.

She opened her mouth to respond when there was a soft knock on the door, a man poking his head in. “Uh, Professor Stafford? Should I wait outside?”

“No, no Andrew. Come in. This is just my friend, dropping off some coffee,” she said, beckoning him in.

You looked Andrew up and down briefly; he seemed nice, and there was nothing really wrong with him, but just the vibe he gave off had you instantly thinking, nope. You gave a smile and wave to your friend before heading out, letting them have their meeting. You didn’t feel like waiting, like trying to come up with a reason to wait, to talk to Andrew after his meeting. Instead, you wandered through the hallways, looking out the windows to the trees, the sky darkening. The sunset was slowly fading, the sky changing from the bright pinks and oranges to the pale blue of evening. You were so engrossed with the picturesque beauty of it all that you walked face-first into another person, the side of your face fully connecting with their flat, warm chest.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry,” you said, pulling back to steady yourself, looking towards whoever you had just stumbled into. You looked forward and your eyes met chest, covered in a plain, Fordham U shirt. Your eyes travelled upwards into his face and you had to stop yourself from staring; he was, well, cute.

“It’s fine, really. I shoulda been watching where I was going,” he replied back, a small smile pulling at the corner of his lips. His dirty blonde hair was slicked back, his brow was furrowed, though his bright blue eyes hinted at amusement.

You smiled up at him, and he returned it, a goofy grin pulling easily across his face. “No, I was definitely admiring the view,” you gestured out to the landscape. You noticed the backpack slung over his shoulder, “and now I’m holding you from your next class.”

“No, no, I’m done for the night; just heading home actually.” He readjusted the backpack, as if your gaze had shifted it. He glanced over the balcony and towards the sky. “It really is a pretty view, huh?”

Your eyes never left him as you agreed. God, you’re acting like a teenager in a shitty romance novel, you thought to yourself, trying to snap out of whatever trance you were in.

“So, uh, do you go here?” he asked, eyes sliding back to you.

You shook your head. “I don’t, no. Uh, Professor Stafford is a friend of mine. I was just stopping by to say hi,” you explained.

“Professor Stafford? Hmm, doesn’t ring a bell. I dunno if I know them,” he said, contemplating. At some point during this conversation, you both fell into step next to each other, both heading towards the parking lot.

“Are you taking any Communications courses?” you asked.

“And that’s why I haven’t heard of them; I am not,” he grinned. “I’m a law student.” You nodded in understanding; while you thought Communications could be beneficial to a law student—to most students, if you were honest with yourself—most people didn’t take classes outside of their majors. Especially in a field that was so dependent on passing an exam.

“Well, if you ever need an elective, I highly recommend her class,” you smiled.

He chuckled. “I’ll keep that in mind.” You walked in silence for a moment. “My name’s Sonny, by the way. Sonny Carisi.”

It had just hit you that you never introduced yourself; with the shock of literally walking face-first into someone, then the easy conversation, it had completely slipped your mind. It was like you were old friends already. “Oh, [Y/N] [Y/L/N]. Nice to meet you, Sonny.”

“Pleasure’s all mine,” he gave you that goofy grin again, and you swore that you swooned right there. How did he do that with just a smile? You made it to the parking lot and found that you were parked semi-close to each other. He followed you to your car, something that you initially thought should raise alarms in your head, but something about him was calming, unthreatening.

“So,” he started as you unlocked your car. You opened the driver’s door, then leaned on it, him standing near the front of your car. He suddenly looked nervous, bashful, and it made him look even cuter. “Can I maybe buy you a coffee sometime? To, uh, make up for running into you,” he quickly added.

You felt your face grow warmer as you blushed, your heart fluttering. Did he just ask you out? “Uh, yeah. I’d like that,” you replied, unable to stop yourself from grinning broadly at him.

He smiled himself, seemingly happy that you agreed. “Great! How about tomorrow, say 10am, Cuppa Beans on 6th street?”

You quickly thought through tomorrow, made sure you had nothing scheduled in the morning. “That sounds perfect. I’ll see you there, Sonny.” With that, he made his way to his car while you got into yours. Once he was out of your line of sight, you flailed your arms in disbelief—you got a date with a super-cute law student!

*****************

You woke up the next day early, wanting to shower and pick out something cute to wear. While you got ready, you thought back to the information you had found last night. You weren’t stupid enough to go into a date blind; you googled “Sonny Carisi” the first moment you could the night before. And when that came up with nothing substantial, you asked Professor Stafford for help. Turns out, Sonny was a nickname; his real name was Dominick. With that knowledge, you were able to find that he was a detective for the NYPD, specifically for Manhattan’s SVU department. That gave you a little bit of a pause; you couldn’t imagine having to deal with those kinds of cases, what kinds of things Sonny had probably seen on the job. You wondered if that did anything to his mind, weighed on him at all. You hoped so; someone would have to be a monster for it not to. Maybe that’s why he was a law student, maybe he wanted out. Maybe he wanted some sort of revenge against the predators that he couldn’t get as an officer; some sort of control by being the prosecutor tasked with sealing them away rather than seeing the crime scenes.

You pushed the assumptions out of your mind; you didn’t know this man, not yet. You had met him less than 24 hours ago, had a small chat. He seemed nice enough, and he was definitely attractive. You resolved to judge him based on what you gained from first-hand experience, and to shove everything you learned online, all the conjecture out until you knew more.

Cuppa Beans was relatively close to your apartment, and it was a bright, sunny day in New York, so you opted to walk. Besides, you loved the fresh air of the city, the warmth of the sun on your skin, the soft breeze playing with your hair, the cacophony of sounds that others most likely found annoying or monotonous. You wore a simple, navy blue sundress that had a white tie around your waist, a big, white bow on your hip. You made your way through the crowded streets, full of people hurrying to whatever their destinations might be. You were early; you always were. But you didn’t mind; Cuppa Beans was set up for either those who wanted a coffee and to move on with their day, or for those who wanted to sit and relax, a shelf of books on their counter for anyone to read while they enjoyed their beverage. You ordered then sat, skimming the worn spines of books until a familiar one stood out to you. You picked it out, looking at the familiar cover. Remembering one of your favorite scenes, you opened the book, flipping the pages until you found it, then you quickly got lost in the text while waiting.

“[Y/N],” a happy voice greeted, pulling you out of the book.

You glanced up, Sonny standing in front of you, his trademark grin on his face. He pulled out the chair across from you as you closed the book, putting it back on the shelf.

“Hey Sonny,” you smiled. Right then, the barista brought you your coffee and you thanked her.

“Ah, I thought I was going to buy you a coffee,” Sonny said, jokingly offended.

Your smiled widened. “You have to order something to sit here, sorry,” you explained, taking a sip. Sonny ordered his coffee, and the barista left to make it.

“It’s fine; maybe I can convince you to let me buy you lunch instead.”

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “Are you asking me out on a second date before we’ve even had our first?”

His cheeks reddened and his eyes widened slightly. “Well, it doesn’t have to be…I mean, it can be an extension of this one?” You laughed, and he tried to switch the subject. “So, what were you reading when I got here? You seemed really into it.”

You nodded, grabbing the book once more. “It’s called Wind from an Enemy Sky by D’Arcy McNickle. It’s very good; I’m thinking of using it in my class next year.” He furrowed his brow at this. “Oh, I’m an English teacher at Townsend Harris High School…I know, I’m not a college professor at Fordham like my friend, but I like teaching high school.”

“High school, huh? I couldn’t imagine trying to teach a bunch of teenagers anything,” he smirked.

You nodded; that was most people’s reaction. But it was also that reaction that made you want to teach high school more. “It’s not as bad as people seem to think. They are people, you know. Just treat them with respect, and they’re pretty receptive. I mean, you’re going to have those class clowns, but you just have to know how to deal with them. Stimulate their minds in other ways,” you explained.

The barista gave Sonny his coffee, and he sipped at it appreciatively. “So, what’s the book about?” You started off slowly, explaining the main plotline of the book; how it followed Bull, the leader of the Little Elk tribe, and how it talked about how homesteaders came into the West, encroaching upon their land. But you couldn’t stop yourself from diving in, talking about the inherent cultural appropriation that the main antagonist has, how from the first page, you know how the story will end in tragedy, how the ecocentrism worked, and ending with how important it was for teenagers to read and understand books that were written like this; from the other side, from people other than white men.

By the end of your monologue, Sonny was blinking at you, a dazed look on his face, though something else underneath, something that looked a lot like admiration.

“I’m sorry; that got a lot more in-depth than I thought it would,” you said, cheeks turning red. Sometimes, you couldn’t stop yourself from getting into a text you really liked. Your students usually picked up on that and took advantage of it; many classes ended without the students talking because you had steamrolled over the conversation.

“Hey, don’t apologize for your interests. You just know…a lot more about themes and novels than I do,” he smiled.

You sat up at the praise but were still feeling embarrassed at the word vomit that had occurred. Taking a page out of his book, you decided to switch topics. “Tell me about yourself; how is it working as a detective and being a law student?”

Sonny’s brow furrowed, “how’d you know I was a detective?”

You face felt even warmer, and you knew you were fully red now. “I, uh, googled you last night…nothing personal, just wanted to make sure you weren’t, you know, a serial killer or something,” you laughed nervously, and he smirked.

“No, I get it, that’s smart, really. Can never be too safe.” He took a sip of his coffee. “I’ve wanted to be a lawyer for a while, now, but the timing just never seemed right, ya know? So, after high school, I just kinda went into the academy; I knew I wanted to help people, and I figured that was a good way to do it. It wasn’t until recently that I figured ‘why not’? So, now I’m taking the night classes to try and get my license, pass the bar.”

You nodded along with his story; you yourself changed your major a couple times before settling into where you were. It was definitely normal, and you believed wholeheartedly that anyone could go back to school at any point in their life, learn anything they wanted to.

“Are you going to switch out of law enforcement when you pass the bar, then? Become a prosecutor? Or are you just taking law classes to help you in your detective work?” you asked. The idea occurred to you while in the shower; knowing more about the law could help in the interview rooms, when he interrogated suspects. You knew he said he wanted to be a lawyer before, but that didn’t mean he was going for it.

“I’m…not quite sure, yet. I really like being a detective, ya know? I like helping people. I guess at this point, I just want to pass the bar; that’s where my focus is…when it’s not at work,” he explained. “I can figure out where to go after that.”

You nodded again. “I couldn’t imagine trying to work full time in…that department, and then also take college classes,” you commented. You shuddered remembering your time going to school full time and working retail at the same time.

“It can be…taxing sometimes. But at the end of the day, it’s nice knowing I’ve helped somebody.” There were unspoken words in the air, and you could hear them as if he had said them. You noticed it in his eyes, the flash of sadness as he thought about the ones he couldn’t help. But the moment passed, and his bright blues were clear once more.

That answered your other question; some cases did hit him hard. But, as you had also decided, that was a good thing; cases like that should pull on heartstrings. You noticed he had a hand on the table, and you reached up and slowly, so slowly, put your hand on his in comfort. That goofy grin reappeared on his face, and he interlaced his fingers with yours.

You both finished your coffees, then left the shop together, Sonny holding the door open for you, his hand never letting yours go. By some unspoken agreement, you both started walking down the street, hand-in-hand, arms swinging slightly. You asked Sonny about his semester and listened as he rambled on about some theory he had to memorize, or some law he had to apply to a fake case for a class. You realized that you enjoyed listening to him talk; he was very animated, dropping your hand to gesture in front of himself, then taking your hand again, before dropping it to gesture again. You smiled, then laughed as he described one of his professor’s insane expectations for how much he expected his students to read and write, wondering in awe how Sonny managed to juggle all that schoolwork plus his job.

“Do you sleep?” you finally asked, causing him to chuckle.

“Some nights,” he replied, and you couldn’t tell if he was joking or not.

Maybe because you were feeling bold, or maybe because he did already kind of ask you on a second date, but you replied with, “maybe I can help with that sometime.”

He stumbled a step, his hand gripping yours tighter as he struggled to stay standing, and you giggled. His cheeks were red, and he opened his mouth to say something, but then his phone rang. He dug it out, answering with a terse, “Carisi.” It was interesting watching him go from a flustered mess one moment to focused detective the next. He nodded against the phone, even though whoever was on the other end couldn’t see him. “Yeah, alright Lieu, I’ll be there in 20.” He hung up then gave you an apologetic look.

“Duty calls?” you asked.

He nodded. “Yeah, just got some new…developments on a case I’m working. I’m so sorry about this—”

“Don’t be, I get it,” you cut him off, giving him an understanding smile. If you wanted to try and continue seeing him, then this may become a habit…and you did want to try and see him, even though you’d only been on one date. You already felt a closeness to him that you couldn’t quite explain.

“I parked over at the coffee shop; I can walk you back there,” he offered, extending his hand back to you. You took his, interlacing your fingers once more, and hurried back towards the shop. Before he left, he handed you his card—you struggled not to laugh at the fact that he carried these around on his day off—and you put it in your purse, vowing to text him later that night, to set up that lunch that he offered to take you to.

“So, you do want a second date?” he asked, hopeful. You smiled; he was all in a hurry to head to the station, to get into whatever work awaited him, but he had stopped dead in his tracks at the prospect of another date.

“Of course. I had a great time today, Sonny.”

He grinned back at you, making your heart flutter in your chest. “I had a lot of fun, too. Hopefully our next date won’t be cut short.”

#sonny carisi x reader #law and order svu #law and order svu fanfic #fanfic #my writing

87 notes · View notes

foreficfandom · 4 years

Text

The Arcana - A Day In The Life (Dating MC, Post-Upright Ending)

(Note: as of this writing, Muriel, Portia, and Lucio’s route have not been finished, so their scenarios are based on their default/mid-game way of living).

-- Asra --

In the morning light, Asra wakes to your gentle shuffling and turns to cuddle you with a sleepy sigh. You smile and leave to start on chores, since you know Asra’s not gonna get out of bed until he absolutely has too.

The shop doesn’t open until noon, so you take your time in coaxing the stove salamander to fry eggs in tomato sauce and lentils for breakfast. Asra doesn’t shuffle downstairs until he smells tea.

After breakfast, you ask Asra to clean up while you leave to pick up the wash from the laundress. He teasingly demands you don’t spend all your allowance at the market buying every knick-knack you see, and you stick your tongue out in response.

By the time you return, Asra’s prepared the storefront for business, and lit the lantern by the door. You go upstairs to sort the laundry while the first customers of the day arrive.

The day passes as you and Asra man the shop - Asra does the Tarot readings, serenely leading troubled patrons to the back room to ask the Arcana about the future, or love opportunities, or business and fortune. You manage the merchandise, ringing up gentry that get bottles of wrinkle-erasing skin cream, parents who buy protective charms for their children, and crafting custom blessings onto scrolls and pendents.

After the sun sets, a different crowd of customers come in; rough-looking mercenaries who want sigils to enhance their swords, hooded strangers with cryptic questions for the Arcana, and also other magical-practioneers looking for rare artifacts, offering esoteric trinkets in exchange.

You make a stew dinner as business continues well into the night. Asra pauses to eat with you, getting up to tend to a customer if he hears the bell ring. The moon is high in the sky when he douses the lantern and you clean up the shop.

It’s his turn to do the books while you relax, so you graciously heat up water in a large wooden tub for a soak while Asra documents the inventory and earnings of the day. He interrupts your bath to help wash your hair, and he says that the shop is running low on fresh yarrow, so you promise to pick some up tomorrow morning.

You join Asra on the bed, Faust draped across his belly, and he pulls the quilts over all three of you. He always gets chatty before falling asleep, so he talks about the next trip he’s been planning, and how he can’t wait to take you with him.

With one last kiss, you and Asra sleep peacefully in each other’s arms, Faust crawled in-between the valley of your bodies.

-- Julian --

It’s unfortunately uncommon to wake up next to Julian. His clinic opens at dawn, and he spends more than enough all-nighters on top of that. It’s a rare day that you wake before him. Usually, the bed next to you is a mess of rumpled sheets that spoke of a tall, gangly man.

You manage the magical shop, and Julian’s clinic is right next door. The clinic has an open-door policy; official hours are from sunrise to sundown, but Julian needs to be ready to leap from bed if he hears knocking at the door. So he never leaves the clinic unmanned at any time, with at least an assistant available if he’s gone.

So you spend time at Julian’s place rather than the inverse. Julian’s nook is on the third floor of the building, large but a little drafty, and cluttered with Julian’s notes and books. He makes an effort keeping clean for your benefit, but the poor man just lacks the time to organize everything.

You go downstairs to see Julian already hours into work, and it’s unknown what the daily damage could be; sometimes, he’s not occupied by a patient and gets to smother you in morning kisses. Other times, he’s busy treating a miner for their black lung, or happily checking up on a newborn baby, or his assistants tell you that Julian’s locked up in the surgery room right now, cauterizing wounds or applying splints.

Today’s a day off for the magical shop, so you go to Julian’s medicine storage and help with grinding the cinnamon and boiling down the elderberry. His assistant and you also clean some of his surgical tools.

Julian finally emerges from a successful surgery, and his tired face brightens up when he sees you. He washes up so he gets to give you a tight hug, and his assistant brings over two mugs of coffee - Julian’s almost twice the size as yours.

He leaves off his paperwork for later in lieu of chatting with you about everything and anything, until his next patient walks through the door. You leave to go next door to cook dinner, since Julian’s upstairs nook has a heater, but no burners.

You bring over a plate of beef dumplings with cabbage - a recipe you learned from Mazelinka - and luckily Julian’s finished up so he can join you upstairs for a peaceful meal. You have to clear some papers off his tiny table, and he sheepishly promises that tomorrow he’ll clean a bit more. You offer to do it for him, but he insists that he organize his own documents.

The clinic closes and Julian accepts a cup of tea from you as he pours over his paperwork, and he suggests a near-future venture to Prakra to attend a seminar on spinal surgery. It’d double as an adventure! He says, and you give him a kiss for his enthusiasm.

He’s gotten better at maintaining a sleep schedule, but you still have to urge him to bed so he can fall dead asleep on the sheets. Before he passes out, he takes several long minutes to cuddle you close and play with your hair. Malak finally flies in through the window from whatever adventure he’s been having, and nests peacefully on the pillow above your heads.

-- Nadia --

The Vensuvian sun wakes the two of you gently. Nadia kisses your forehead before getting up to do her morning stretches. You might join her, or instead head over to the boudoir where the hand-maidens help you dress and accessorize. Palace etiquette demands some pomp and circumstance when it comes to appearances, plus Nadia’s been gifting you riches for a while now, filling up your closet.

Breakfast is bright and cheery, with Nadia insisting on a nutrient-rich and fiber-based diet to start the day off right. She shares the daily agenda with you, along with easy chatter and loving coos. The mail’s delivered on a platter; you open a letter from Julian overseas that’s addressed to you both, sharing the details of his latest adventure.

There’s some free time, so you and Nadia leave the palace to tour the town square and the affluent stores there. She sees a gorgeous pair of slippers and asks if you’d like them. You point out a large caged raptor and she orders her servants to purchase it for rehabilitation in Navra’s wildlife reserve.

Come midday, the two of you file into one of the galleries for a meeting with the counsel. It’s a meeting to draft a reform of the city’s infrastructure department, which involves tax rates and effective procurement and other boring decisions.

You’ve not been crowned yet, so you don’t have any official say on court matters, but more often you’ve been stepping in. Many are pleasantly surprised at your management sense, and Nadia has a small, prideful smirk whenever you play your cards.

You and Nadia part ways for a bit, she’s off to do some more mundane Countess duties involving signing paperwork, you decide to take Chandra on a walk through the gardens, chatting with the staff and feeding the pond fish. Chandra was glad to hitch a ride on your shoulders. You share some mulberries with her.

Today, Nadia’s duties force her to skip dinner, so you instead eat with other palace dignitaries you’ve made friends with, along with Portia who gracefully takes a few minutes to catch up with you. The cook had made a new recipe of spicy grilled squid today, and you find it delicious.

Nadia has a late meal in her chambers, and you join her for a chocolate mousse dessert. Come bedtime, you brush her long hair, which always helps her unwind. She returns the favor with soft embraces curled up in bed.

-- Portia --

Portia wakes up at dawn to cook breakfast for you both, happily encouraging you to sleep in so you can wake up to the delicious smells of melted cheese on toast and strong black tea. You have to wake up quickly if you want to catch her before she leaves for work, so you’re bleary-eyed and sleepy at the table while Portia’s as peppy as ever.

Portia’s job as hand-maiden takes up most of her day. She quickly bustles off to the castle, and you trot to run the magical shop alongside Asra. He teasingly suggests you’d much rather be with Portia right now, and you blush.

Portia wakes up Nadia with breakfast, and helps her dress. From there, it’s a busy day bustling back and forth the massive halls of the castle. As head servant, she’s on top of all the castle duties, including inventory and scheduling. She relays messages between the chamberlain, the cooks, the laundrymaids, chambermaids, footsmen, butlers, scullerymaids, groundsmen and gardeners, and also is in charge of handling deliveries and purchases.

Today’s a slow day at the shop, so Asra lets you off with a box of candied pineapple to share with Portia during her afternoon break. You now know Portia’s kinda-sorta-established schedule by now, so you eventually track her down in the buttery, hanging out with the other servants with a cup of tea. Her eyes light up when she sees you and she nearly topples you over with her strong embrace.

You share the pineapple with her and the servants, whom you now know by name. They offer some delicious gossip about some visiting dignitaries. Portia sneaks some palace tarts and feeds them to you by hand, giggling.

Portia’s work day ends at 5pm, and she heads straight to the magical shop for some tutoring. A long day’s work can only be capped off with you and Asra coaching her through the basics of magical theory. She’s so enamored by magic and loves to practice it. You can tell that she has amazing potential. Before the lesson ends, you cook them all pasta with tomatoes for dinner, and Asra gets to have a palace tart you sneaked home.

It’s after sundown when the two of you make it home to Portia’s cottage. A hard day’s work over and done with, it’s now just you and Portia (and Pepi, who begs for ear scritches the moment you two walk in the door), relaxing in the warm summer evening. You cradle Portia in your arms, watching fireflies dance over her garden.

-- Muriel --

Muriel’s up before the sun, stoking the embers of the fire back to life before gathering his willowwood fishing rod and heading out with Inanna. He has a habit of leaving without tell you where he’s going, so you wake in surprise to a missing Muriel. But before long he returns with several pike strung together, and he salts a few of them while you boil oat porridge with dried currants for breakfast.

Life in the forest is peaceful, but busy. Muriel has lots of morning chores to get to, and he doesn’t need your help but appreciates it. After breakfast he goes to his backyard garden to weed, while you sweep the hut.

Muriel tells you the agenda for today; go to the wild grape fields, then to harvest and bring in the late-summer corn, then he’s gonna work some more on that new table he’s been carving while you finish spinning the wild sheep wool you shaved yesterday.

Over the months, he’s gotten better at communicating with you. He’s still his silent, shy self, but now he’ll hold his own in a conversation without feeling overwhelmed. The two of you share few but sweet words as you travel to the grape patch and pluck the small grapes for their large seeds to grind and press into oil.

Muriel’s garden is sprawling and well-maintained. The many corn he’s raised have produced three giant bushels worth, and he divvies them up between those to pickle, or to dry, or grind into meal, or to eat fresh. The husks and cobs aren’t wasted either, kept to use as cooking utensils or animal feed. That single harvest will keep for the year.

It’s mid-afternoon when Muriel continues cutting and shaping oak wood for a new dining table, larger and sturdier for the both of you. Inanna keeps you company as you separate and spin wool into spools.

You decide to head into town before the sun sets, so you give Muriel a kiss and trek to the shop to say hi to Asra and Julian, and ask after Portia and Nadia. Asra promises to visit soon, and Julian gives you a wrapped cloth of scones Portia made. Before you head back, you tour the evening market for iron nails, cones of sugar, and other things you and Muriel can’t produce yourselves.

It’s dark by the time you return home, but the full moon and fireflies keep the path lit and you hug Inanna when she trots out to greet you. Muriel has roasted two quails with beans and cider, and the two of you eat peacefully on the new oak table.

Before he joins you in bed, Muriel quickly takes out the beef tallow soap he’s made from their molds to dry. You open your arms sleepily when you see him approach, and he smiles because he’s way too big for you to engulf, no matter how many times you ask for it. The two of you fall asleep to crickets chirping and the crackling of fire.

-- Lucio --

What’s the point of being Count if he can’t have lazy mornings? If you don’t want to stay in until 10am, then he’ll eventually start getting up earlier, too. If the two of you haven’t been wrapped around each other all night, you might have to do a couple body rolls to get across his huge four-poster canopy bed in order to give him some morning smooches.

He’ll make a couple of dad noises as he struggles to wake up (he’s not getting any younger, despite his best efforts), and it takes a while before he’s able to throw off the thick silk duvet to meander to the washbasin.

By the time he’s cleaned his face and shaved, he’s much more peppy and chats with you while applying his makeup. His servants help dress the both of you, snapping on his prosthetic and lacing up his waistcoat. The two of you won’t have any engagements until evening, so breakfast is taken right in his solar - angels on horseback, perfumed eggs, fresh fruit, along with pots of coffee, tea, and juice.

Throughout his career as Count, Lucio’s done a pretty good job making sure he’s got a ton of people doing the tasks he can’t bother himself to mind. Shady political practices, but it leaves plenty of time for leisure. His idea of ‘work’ is exercising in the grounds, polishing up his swordwork and making sure he’s still fighting fit. Watching Lucio spar, you can’t deny he’s talented. By the end, he’s sweating but invigorated.

Dinner is an official affair, meeting with a visiting dignitary from Zadith and his husbands. The feast is meant to impress, the huge table piled high with roasts and rare wines. There’s no deals to broker or anything, this is just the life of royals, visiting each other to pay respects and maintain relationships. Lucio takes one of the husbands by arm and leads them through the castle on a tour, charismatic as always.

Evening comes. You and Lucio bathe in his huge pool, drinking wine and eating desserts. He spends half an hour applying his various skin creams, and he gently combs a fragrant oil through your hair. Mercedes and Melchior follow the two of you to his bedroom, and you settle on his couches, one dog to each for pets and snuggles.

After a midnight snack of wine and cheese, Lucio calls you back under the covers so he can bid you lay on his chest for a while, which he loves. The fireplace burns low, casting warm red all around his massive bedroom.

#the arcana #the arcana imagines #the arcana headcanons #the arcana game #asra alnazar #julian devorak #nadia satrinava #muriel the arcana #portia devorak #count lucio

343 notes · View notes

foreverlogical · 3 years

Link

In his continuing quest to remain president despite having lost this month’s election, President Donald Trump has been trying to wrest electoral votes away from Joe Biden in states that Biden won. Among the most aggressive tactics that the President might use is a direct appeal to the Republican-controlled legislatures of Michigan, Wisconsin and Pennsylvania to hand him those state’s electoral votes.

On Thursday, the post-election narrative seemed to edge further down that path, as the Republican leaders of Michigan’s two legislative chambers—Senator Mike Shirkey and Representative Lee Chatfield—agreed to take a meeting with the President in Washington tomorrow. Until that point Shirkey and Chatfield were signaling that they didn’t intend to second-guess Michigan’s voters, who chose Biden by more than 150,000 votes. But by taking the White House meeting, they indicated their possible openness to changing their minds.

Politically, it’s possible that they see taking the meeting as a smart move, showing unhappy Michigan Republicans that they’re on the president’s side.

But as a matter of statesmanship—and, legally, for their own sakes—they’d be smarter to cancel it.

The scheduled meeting threatens two kinds of danger. At the largest level, it threatens the system of democratic presidential elections: If state officials start claiming the right to overturn elections because of vague claims about “fraud,” our democratic system will be unworkable. But in a more specific and immediate way, it threatens the two Michigan legislators, personally, with the risk of criminal investigation.

The danger to democratic elections is well-understood. The Constitution authorizes state legislatures to decide how states choose presidential electors. For more than a century, every state legislature has chosen to do it by popular election. According to one school of thought, though, a state legislature could choose to set aside a popular vote if it doesn’t like the result and choose different electors instead. This is a pretty undemocratic idea, as well as one that misreads the history of election law: the National Review recently described it as “completely insane.” (State legislatures have the power to change the system for choosing electors in future elections, but not to reject an already-conducted election just because they don’t like the result.) Nonetheless, the President is pushing for it. By so far refusing to go along with Trump, Republican state legislators have been standing up for the idea that fair, democratic elections are more important than any individual president. If Shirkey and Chatfield are reconsidering that view, they are playing with the possibility of throwing out the results of a free and fair election. That’s not something that the system comes back from easily.

The scheduled White House meeting also poses another kind of danger—one hanging specifically over the two Michiganders whose minds Trump seeks to change. Consider: Why, exactly, does President Trump want to see these two men in person, in his office? It isn’t to offer evidence that Michigan’s election was tainted and should therefore be nullified. If he had any such evidence, his lawyers would have presented it in court, rather than abandoning their Michigan lawsuitas they did today. It’s also unlikely that Trump is planning to persuade the Michiganders through subtle legal arguments about their constitutional role. Subtle argument isn’t really Trump’s way of doing things.

The president is a dealmaker, and it’s far more likely that his agenda is transactional. When considering a course of action, he doesn’t think about principles; he thinks about what’s in it for whom. So it makes sense to think that he is inviting Shirkey and Chatfield for a private meeting to offer them something. If they help throw the election to him, he can offer a lot. Give me Michigan’s electoral votes, he might say, and I’ll give you a cabinet post or make you Ambassador to Spain. President Trump is also not above offering cash: Give me the votes, and I’ll see to it that lots of money flows to places where you want it—to your state, or to you personally. (That would be an outrageous allegation to have made about Barack Obama or George W. Bush. But the president who paid illicit cash to Stormy Daniels to protect his first presidential run shouldn’t be presumed to scruple at paying more illicit cash to protect his second one.)

The danger for Shirkey and Chatfield, then, is that they are being visibly invited to a meeting where the likely agenda involves the felony of attempting to bribe a public official.

Under Michigan law, any member of the legislature who “corruptly” accepts a promise of some beneficial act in return for exercising his authority in a certain way is “forever disqualified to hold any public office” and “shall be guilty of a felony, punishable by imprisonment in the state prison not more than 10 years[.]”

To be sure, there’s lots of horse-trading in politics that doesn’t amount to bribery. There’s nothing legally wrong with “You vote for my turnpike project, and I’ll vote for your dam.” But the prospect before Shirkey and Chatfield isn’t legislative logrolling, with representatives negotiating policy or even pork-barrel spending. It’s the prospect of a promise to deliver something of value to the officeholder personally. In other words, we aren’t talking about Trump’s saying “Here’s what’s in it for your constituents.” The prospect, in a one-on-one meeting with this president, is Trump’s saying “Here’s what’s in it for you.”

Shirkey and Chatfield are already on record—admirably—as being against a legislative intervention to ignore the popular vote and reallocate Michigan’s electors. If they take a meeting with a man who desperately wants them to change their minds, and who has no scruples about what kind of leverage he might use to get it, and then they do change their minds and try to send Michigan’s electors to Trump, the possibility that they were bribed will be screamingly obvious.

To be sure, it might not be true: Maybe Shirkey and Chatfield fear Trump’s supporters in the next election so much that they’d change their minds without a direct bribe on the table. But the bribery possibility is strong enough that a responsible prosecutor might feel compelled to pursue it. And the relevant prosecutor—Michigan Attorney General Dana Nessel—is a straight-shooting Democrat who does not pal around with Shirkey and Chatfield. If she thought the facts justified an investigation, Shirkey and Chatfield would be investigated.

If the risk of prosecution were federal, the two men might figure they had little to worry about: President Trump, in his second term, would tell the Justice Department to lay off. But the president can’t stop a state prosecution, and he can’t pardon a state crime. Nor would the president’s conversations with Shirkey and Chatfield be shielded from investigation by any sort of executive privilege: Shirkey and Chatfield are not members of the president’s federal policymaking team. So if the Michigan attorney general decided to proceed, Shirkey and Chatfield would be looking—in the best-case scenario—at the pain and disrepute of subpoenas and a criminal investigation. In a less-good-case scenario for them, they’d be looking at the loss of their office and their liberty.

The point here is not that Shirkey and Chatfield are shady characters who might be involved in bribery. Let’s assume that they are honorable and upstanding public servants. But one thing that people who try to stay clean know is that it’s unwise to put yourself in a situation where it will look like you’ve broken the law—or, worse yet, where you might be induced to do so. “Lead us not into temptation” is well known as a religious precept: it’s also excellent legal advice.

The Trump Administration is nearing its end. Any other president who got these results on Election Day would have conceded gracefully and now be cooperating in a peaceful transfer of power—giving his successor’s team the information it needed so that from the stroke of noon on January 20, it could begin protecting American national security, fighting the Covid pandemic, and so forth. President Trump is choosing to block all of that constructive work so that he can avoid admitting that the other guy won. He is doing a fair amount of damage on his way out. That damage is hurting the country in general, and it will also hurt specific people.

A drowning man grabs at anything, and a strong drowning man brings other people down with him. To this point, Republican legislators in Michigan—and in other states where Trump might try to tip the scales, like Wisconsin and Pennsylvania—have wisely kept their distance. That’s good for them, personally, and it’s also good for democracy. If they’re smart, and the country is lucky, that’s how things will stay.

VISIT WEBSITE

29 notes · View notes