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sincerelyella · 3 years

Text

My Person (Liam x MC)

Book: The Royal Romance (AU)

Song Inspiration: My Person by Spencer Crandall

Pairings: Liam x MC (Ella) Summary: A one shot of my favorite couple - it’s Liam and Ella’s anniversary and there are big plans in store.

A/N: Okay, I’m gonna be very honest, I am super nervous about posting again. I wrote this maybe last week and kind of finished it earlier today. Thank you to those that I vented to about actually posting my stories, not sure why I feel really sick right now. New blog name (used to be @callmeellabella), new post LOL and I didn’t really know who to tag since it’s been a long time so I’m using my old list. Please let me know if you want off.

A/N2: Participating in @wackydrabbles this week. Prompt will be in bold.

Thank you @alyssalauren and @ofpixelsandscribbles for reading through this for me and kind of handing me that invisible paper bag for me to breathe in. Love y'all!

Warnings: Fluffs. A lot of fluffs.

Words: 1658

Isaiah and Noelle grinned as they filmed their parents in the seat in front of them, holding hands. After 15 years of marriage, Liam and Ella were the epitome of the best partners to each other and parents to their children. There were rough times, of course, you can’t escape those, but the King and Queen handled things in stride.

Noelle’s eyes filled with tears when she watched her dad lift her mom’s hand to his mouth and kiss her knuckles. The way he looked at Ella, like she was the only woman in the world, made Noelle have very high standards for a future partner for herself.

Isaiah grew up knowing how you were supposed to treat a woman, and it was all modeled from how his dad treated his mom. At 15 years old, he grew up in the public eye, but thankfully, his parents allowed him to have a normal childhood. The only time there was mention of royalty was a gala or a ball held at the palace; his Uncle Leo, Max, and Drake as well as his Aunt Olivia and parents all dressed up.

It was their parent’s anniversary that day and Liam had planned a family dinner, just the four of them.

One week ago

“Hey guys,” Liam smiled as he watched his kids sitting at the kitchen island doing homework.

“Hey, dad.” “Hi, daddy.”

Liam hung his keys on the wall by the door and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Next week is mine and your mother’s anniversary.”

Noelle and Isaiah stopped what they were doing and met their father’s gaze.

“I … was hoping you could help me with something,” his brows rounded as he stared at them.

“Sure, what did you need?” Noelle asked.

Isaiah chewed his bottom lip. “No pranks though, right dad?”

Liam chuckled, remembering that anniversary and how it went … so wrong. “No, son. No pranks. Plus, your Uncle Maxwell is not invited until later.”

Present-day

“Guys, we’re here,” Liam turned to Noelle and Isaiah and widened his eyes at them, the two nodding back with small smiles. Ella missed the entire silent exchange as she climbed out of the black SUV after Bastien opened her door.

Everyone piled into the restaurant, all of them laughed and cried as the kids asked for a cake to be presented to their parents to celebrate their special day.

“How beautiful,” Ella wiped her tears away as she gazed at the red velvet bundt cake covered in cream cheese frosting. “Was this your doing?” She turned to her husband as he smiled.

“No, love, that was them,” he gestured towards Noelle and Isaiah.

“Thank you,” she used a tissue to dab at both her eyes.

“Fifteen years is a long time to be married, ma,” Isaiah dimpled as he looked from his mom to his dad. “Now hurry up and eat it so that we can have a piece!”

The family laughed and dug into the cake. An hour later, they slowly stood from the table, grumbling about how full they were.

“Oh God, why didn’t you stop me?” Isaiah smacked his sister in the arm.

Noelle glared at her brother and punched him in the arm. “It’s not my fault you ate like you never saw food before.”

“Why did you say that?” Isaiah whined.

Liam and Ella walked behind their children, smirking at each other.

“They’re so dramatic,” Ella snorted.

“Wonder who they got that from?” Liam arched a brow at his wife.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Your Majesty.”

“Love,” Liam waited until she turned to look at him. “I have a surprise for you.”

“Where? What is it?”

“Come on,” he tugged on her hand and led her out of the restaurant and into the waiting SUV.

“Where are we going?”

“Ma, just wait, we’ll get there in a minute,” Noelle giggled in the back seat.

“You guys know too?” Ella looked from her son to her daughter and back again. “Liam?”

“Just relax, love, we’ll be there soon,” he squeezed her hand and laughed as her nose wrinkled in annoyance.

A few minutes later, Bastien turned into a small, private area for vehicles to park. “We’re here,” he said and turned to smirk at Ella. “Your Majesty, we’re going to blindfold you.”

“You’re … what?!”

Isaiah cackled as he leaned forward to wrap a scarf around his mother’s eyes.

“That’s blocking my nose,” Ella complained. “I can’t breathe.”

“You can breathe out of your mouth.”

“Isaiah Alexander,” she said sternly and he jumped.

“Sorry mom,” he mumbled as he fixed the scarf so it only covered her eyes.

“Okay,” Liam opened the door to her side of the SUV. “Come on, love, I’m carrying you to our destination.”

Ella let out a long sigh and reached up to feel her husband’s neck. She allowed him to carry her bridal style to … wherever they were going. When her family got like this it was usually because of her husband, who loved to take her places to surprise her. She didn’t mind, honestly, but it was annoying when everyone was in on it except for her.

“We’re almost there, love, I promise,” she felt Liam kiss the top of her head and she snuggled into his shoulder.

“Hey, I got a picture from Uncle Max!” Noelle opened the message and gasped.

Isaiah reached for his sister’s phone. “Is it another picture of him and his peacock Lady and the Tramping some spaghetti?”

Everyone began to laugh.

“I can’t believe that damn thing didn’t peck his eye out,” Ella snorted.

“That thing still scares the crap out of me,” Noelle said as her fingers flew over the keys.

“We’re here,” Liam smiled as he began to step down onto the large rocks towards the private beach.

“Don’t drop me, Liam,” Ella said as she lifted her nose to the air. “I smell the ocean.” She felt her husband lower her to the ground. “What now? I’m still wearing this.”

A moment of silence and some giggling in the distance made Ella furrow her brows.

“Okay, take off the scarf, love.”

Ella quickly undid the knot and opened her eyes; she faced the ocean. “Liam, what-”

“Turn around.”

As she did, she saw her husband on one knee, her children behind him in the distance carrying an old 1989 boombox, the song My Person by Spencer Crandall playing.

I was lookin' for a long time

I never found nobody like you

I got your name, got your number

And we talked 'til they turned on the lights

“A boombox?”

Liam smirked. “You made me watch Sixteen Candles.”

“Oh yeah,” she chuckled. “Liam,” Ella had tears streaming down her face and she wiped them away quickly. “Wh-what is this?”

He took hold of her free hand and ran his thumb over her knuckles. “Love, it’s our fifteenth wedding anniversary. We married that long ago.”

She nodded, the lump on her throat making it difficult for her to speak.

“But we were together before that,” he smiled up at her. “I met you and I was done for, I haven't looked at anyone else since. You came to my social season, I chose you, we were engaged for a year, and then here we are.”

My person

My heartbeat

My slow dance

My Sunday-morning-sippin'-on-coffee in bed

My know-when-you-know best friend

“You’re my person,” Liam bit his bottom lip to control his emotions. “You and the kids are my everything, and you know I’d give all this up for you if you asked.”

“We don’t want that though!” Noelle yelled and they all laughed.

“Ella Brooks Rys, I wanted to ask you if you would remarry me,” he reached into his pocket, pulled out a black velvet box, and opened it. “Renew our vows and our commitment to each other.”

The box held three rings, an emerald-shaped, 6-carat diamond solitaire in the middle, and one plain platinum band on each side of it. One was engraved with Isaiah Alexander and the other with Noelle Marie.

“Of course,” Ella choked out as Liam smiled and the kids jumped up and down.

My saving grace, my everything

I’ve never been more sure that you’re my person

Every minute is a long time

If I ain’t holding on to you

Liam pushed all three rings onto her finger. “You ready, Mrs. Rys?”

“I am, Mr. Rys,” she pulled her husband to her and captured his lips in a passionate kiss.

“Ew, gross!” “Stop! This is not part of the plan!”

“Congratulations!”

Ella was surprised by that last one and turned towards the sound. All of their friends and family were there on the beach, smiling at them.

“What are-”

“You guys are renewing your vows!” Leo hollered and lifted a bottle of champagne in the air. “Let’s get this going so we can get druuuunk!”

“Leo!” Liam snapped at his brother.

“I mean, I’m ready when you are.”

Hana and Olivia rushed towards Ella and hugged her. “Were you surprised?”

“I was,” Ella sniffled. “You guys all knew?”

“Yup!”

“My little blossom! You are so beautiful! Let me see the rings!”

Ella gave Max her left hand.

“Whatever you do, don’t let Beaumont touch it. I’m sure he’s got lasagna all under his fingernails,” Drake chuckled as he approached the group.

“Hey marshmallow,” Ella turned to hug him. “And you guys had lasagna without me?”

Liam laughed and put an arm around Noelle and Isaiah. “You guys ready?”

They both nodded.

“I’m ready to marry your mother again,” they all laughed as Ella put her arm around Isaiah. “Let’s go!”

My saving grace, my everything

I've never been more sure that you're my person

Yeah, baby, you're my person

#My Person #Liam x MC #Liam x Ella #the royal romance #the royal romance fandom #the royal romance fanfic #the royal romance fanfiction #trr au #the royal romance au #trr fandom #trr fanfic #trr fanfiction #Sincerely Ella #Ella still writes #Liam Rys #King Liam

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welllpthisishappening · 3 years

Text

It all kind of happens in slow motion.

One second, Emma hears the crack of the bat and the requisite roar of the crowd, and the next her eyes have widened to a size most scientists would likely advise against. Because, standing at home plate, that same home plate multiple baseball players are sprinting toward, is her kid. More or less waiting to be run over. That is, of course, until Killian Jones.

———

Word Count: 4.1K Rating: Flufffy fluff fluff of the fluffiest variety AN: Writing has been something of a legitimate challenge for me in the last few weeks, but earlier this week @ohmightydevviepuu sent a link to this tweet, tagged me, and said what I basically took as an unspoken prompt. Like, you’re going to send me video of a bat boy getting scooped up at home by a player in the middle of the game and then think I won’t write about it? Not possible. Even with the aforementioned writing challenges. Nothing stands a chance against my love of baseball. Here’s hoping the Yankees turn it around in the second half. Neither Aaron Judge or I deserve the season we’ve had so far.

———

Biologically speaking, Emma Swan is perfectly aware that the current positioning of her heart is more or less impossible.

Stuck somewhere between the back of her throat and the pit of her stomach, it makes her all too aware of the now-empty chasm in her chest, stretching out toward her arms and threatening the structural integrity of her lungs, neither of which appear all that intent on working properly. Oxygen is a luxury not currently afforded to her capillaries. Instead, nerves mix with anxiety and the telltale flush of adrenaline that probably also makes her look relatively crazy because her pupils are definitely dilated and she does not know nearly enough about science to be making any of these claims.

Whatever, really.

It feels like that ooze from that movie. FernGully, Emma thinks. With the fairies. She thinks they were fairies. She’s not entirely certain they were fairies.

And the ooze was definitely oil, obviously. There was a message involved in that movie. Not one that she appreciated when she was seven and Tim Curry’s animated-oil voice sort of freaked her out. But, like, she gets it now. The environment, and everything. With or without fairies. With Robin Williams, though.

She’s positive about that, at least.

Robin Williams was definitely in that movie.

Less positive about the ability of her heart to actually split itself in half, as it seems wont to do at the moment. So, as to make it easier when it inevitably soars out of her mouth and falls onto the scuffed-up clubhouse floor beneath her feet. Naturally, this will happen simultaneously. For maximum effect.

Much like the fireworks currently exploding over the left-field bleachers.

She’s not sure if fireworks do explode, actually. That seems dangerous. Likely to lead to injuries and sounds that don’t resemble the oohs and ahhs a ballpark generally inspires. Explode probably isn’t the right word. Maybe something more like…detonate.

No, that’s worse. Way worse. She’s got to learn more words. Find a thesaurus or a dictionary or—a fireworks expert would be ideal, honestly.

Someone who could give her a detailed description of the inner-workings of a Yankee Stadium pyrotechnics display on a Tuesday in July, enough words that Emma’s mind would still for a few moments, allowing her to catch her breath and reestablish a consistent heart rate, and both of those problems could also likely be solved by sitting down, but the chair to her left looks a little wobbly, and her legs appear to have minds of their own because science is rather quickly becoming a lie and—

“Is he alright?” She spins. Nearly falls over. Her knees are also awfully wobbly, that’s why.

Despite all of that, and the overall circumference of her pupils, the voice doesn’t retreat. Doesn’t even flinch. Shows absolutely no signs of imminent stumbling. And that’s probably because the voice is a man, one who is in possession of world-class instinctual reactions, and his hair is still damp from his post-game shower and it absolutely makes her something of an atrocious mother to acknowledge that last thing as quickly as she does.

His shirt sleeves are noticeably sticking to his biceps, so that helps too.

Opening her mouth, Emma is going to say words that are both vaguely intelligent and passably accurate, absolving this Major League Baseball player of any of the guilt he so obviously feels. Which is just patently stupid, really. None of this was his fault. None of it was anyone’s fault, really.

Except maybe the idiot who left his bat at that particular angle across home plate, but Emma’s an adrenaline expert these days and walk-offs are understandably exciting. First walk-offs more so.

She’s happy for Scarlet, really.

They won the game.

Everything is fine. Great, even. She nearly jumps twenty-six feet in the air at the next boom of fireworks.

The pinch between the Major League Baseball player’s eyebrows gets—

Pinchier.

The little roll of skin draws Emma’s attention, effectively robbing her of the ability to respond like an almost-sane person, but she’s also still trying to rationalize why she can remember the words to several FernGully songs while also being unable to recall what flavor PopTart she had for breakfast earlier this week and she figures watching her kid nearly get run over by professional athletes approximately forty-two minutes before gives her a fairly reasonable excuse.

For opening and closing her mouth no less than eight consecutive times.

Like a goddamn fish. There were no fish in FernGully. Least not so far as she remembers.

It’s entirely possible she squeaks on attempt number five.

The Major League Baseball player’s eyebrows do not move. It’s equal parts frustrating and incredible to behold.

“I should probably thank you, right?” Emma asks, not quite regretting the words immediately, but it’s awfully close. That gets her some movement. Of the eyebrow variety. One eyebrow, specifically. Arching up, it somehow still manages to pull her attention directly toward eyes that should be the star of their own marketing campaign. Not quite Yankee blue, but distractingly blue, and it takes everything in her not to huff as dramatically as she wants to. Once the athletic trainer is done with Henry, Emma is going to make him examine her lungs. Rationality rules the day.

Major League Baseball player shakes his head. It’s dumb to call him that. She knows his name. Knows at least some of his history. Is still staring obnoxiously at his freakishly attractive face.

Freakishly is kind of mean, too. As far as descriptions go.

“Unnecessary,” he says, an undercurrent of worry still clear in the letters. Ducking his head, he takes a cautious step forward, almost as if he’s wary of what Emma will do, and she supposes that’s fair. What with the impressive vertical she’s in possession of these days. “Anyone would do that.” “I’m not sure they could, actually.”

At some point in this otherwise shitty experience of a night, Emma is vaguely confident something will go the way she wants it to. Aside from winning. She’s glad they won. Seriously.

“No?” “No,” she echoes, and it’s not like she can feel him. A few feet of space separates them, so whatever heat appears to be wafting off the Major League Baseball player in front of her, with his damp hair, and stupid, stupid, stupid eyes is as impossible as any of the various impossibilities currently taking place within her person.

And yet.

He sticks his hand out.

It’s disarmingly earnest.

“Killian Jones,” he says, confidence replacing the nerves, and Emma begins to see why there are so many stories. And Twitter threads. Regarding his face and the potential for that face to date a variety of other attractive faces across at least four of the five boroughs. Somehow Emma doesn’t think Killian Jones, New York Yankees third baseman, is schlepping out to Staten Island for a date.

Nor does she believe that Killian Jones, New York Yankees third baseman, has ever once let the word schlep pass through his conscious mind.

She takes his hand.

It is—

Surprisingly warm. And...not quite soft, that’d be impossible with the job he performs almost nightly. But the calluses on the pads of his fingers aren’t as rough as Emma expects, which also suggests she’s managed to ponder the overall texture of Killian Jones’s fingers in the last twelve point six seconds, and that’s not entirely true. What is true is that Ruby thinks Killian Jones is real good-looking and has determined that the phrase quite a catch is the pinnacle of humor, so, sure, Emma has possibly considered the possibility of paths crossing and intersecting, and her hand looks minuscule wrapped up in his. So, that’s something to think about later.

Their arms move. Bob up and down as society dictates they should, and he’s smiling at her, and she’s trying not to look like a serial killer, straining to hear the voices behind the door, and it does not work.

“Why do you think people are so consistently fascinated by fireworks?” If he’s surprised by her absolutely inane question, he doesn’t show it. That’s points. For what, Emma hasn’t totally decided yet, but it’s something, and it’s probably good, and they’re going to play that clip on loop for weeks. Longer, probably.

Every goddamn day if the Yankees make the postseason.

When the Yankees make the postseason.

Her dad wouldn’t appreciate the buffer. Leaves room for loss, and that is not the Nolan way. Not when there are championships to win, and this was supposed to be the best possible time. Smack dab in the middle of the season, with the All-Star break looming, Henry would get to suit up as batboy for one game that didn’t mean much and wouldn’t draw too strong of a spotlight, no murmurs about nepotism by internet trolls who couldn’t possibly define the word with any sort of accuracy, but also like to shout about canceling and culture with an almost alarming sense of self-righteousness, so, of course, the whole thing was now blowing up in their face.

Much like the goddamn fireworks.

It wasn’t Will Scarlet’s fault.

Wasn’t Henry’s fault, either.

His job was to get the bats out of the field of play. Doing it while the field of play was still active was a mistake any kid could have made. Just so happens that it’s Emma’s kid, and the grandkid of the Yankees’ hitting coach, and that means something to the New York media and the New York fans, and if Killian Jones, New York Yankees third baseman with an arm that can make cross-field throws with ease, wasn’t also so quick-thinking and sure-footed, scooping Henry up as he crossed home plate and avoiding the ensuing swarm of players at home plate, all intent on celebrating Will Scarlet’s first-ever career walk-off, Emma can only imagine what would have happened.

Trampled. Stepped on. Broken bones. Concussions.

They’re checking Henry for a concussion now. He absolutely does not have a concussion. He was laughing while he was carried off the field. Like he hit the walk-off.

Front office is absolutely petrified she’s going to sue them.

The thought hadn’t even once crossed Emma’s mind. Plus, she’s sort of busy. Holding Killian Jones’s hand. His stupid, warm hand.

“Bright colors,” he says, responding to a question Emma’s nearly forgotten about. Jumping is more challenging when his fingers tighten ever so slightly. “Flash, boom. Taps into baser instincts, I think.” “You think people’s base instinct is to enjoy explosions.” “Phrasing that as a statement makes me think you don’t agree with me.” “You didn’t want me to thank you,” Emma points out.

“Well, no,” he says, and the precise way his eyes drop does something specific to all of her instincts. Leaves her flush with a heat that reminds her of Fourth of July sparklers rather than any sort of massive explosion, and that’s not bad, per se, although it’s admittedly a little surprising. As is the slight uptick of precisely one side of his mouth. It takes her a moment to realize he’s smirking at her. And another for her subconscious to admit that it’s working as intended. Her shoulders drop half an inch. While Emma pulls her hand back to her side. “Thanking me suggests I did anything to warrant the thanks.” “Big words.” “For a dumb athlete, you mean.” “That wasn’t a question, either.” “No,” Killian repeats, “it wasn’t.” “I’d really like to thank you. I—Dad told him when to come out of the dugout, so he definitely knew the rules, but I think he was super worried about you tripping over the bat.”

The smirk becomes a full-blown smile. Which is no less than forty-seven thousand times more powerful. Equivalent to staring directly into a solar eclipse or gazing upon the dark side of the moon, and Emma should at least do some research before coming up with these internal examples. Basic Google searches would provide her with the necessary information.

“That’s more or less what he told me, yeah.” Emma’s nose creases. “Talked your ear off after your daring rescue, huh?” “Keep complimenting me like this, and my ego won’t know what to do with it.”

She hopes she’s not blushing as much as it feels like she is. The state of Killian’s eyebrows and the precise curl of his lips make that seem unlikely. “Your reflexes are unparalleled.” “Something about big bucks and why I get paid them.” “Oh,” Emma laughs, unable to stop herself, and she doesn’t remember deciding to stop pacing, only that her knees appreciate it once she has, “you think you’re real funny, don’t you?” “I think I’m moderately funny, not the hero you’re suggesting I am—” “Oh, I never used the word hero.” “—And you never actually told me your name.”

“Because you don’t know who I am.” It’s not a question, either. Neither one of them mention that.

“I do,” Killian concedes, “Henry was also fairly quick to mention exactly who he was and where his mother was sitting.” Emma’s nose is going to freeze in this position. “But I gave you my name, which makes it only fair that we’re all square and whatnot.” “Whatnot, huh?” “Yup.” He pops his lips on the letter. Which is also unfair. In, like, the grand scheme of the world. The black ooze that is not actually oil when used in this particular metaphor recedes. Leaves Emma with a chest cavity that is partially full of butterfly wings and the growing sense of anticipation that isn’t quite as nerve-wracking as it should be. Like she’s about to step into the batter’s box with two outs and runners in scoring position. She’s totally going to hit against the shift. Fluttering her fingers at her side, Emma doesn’t lift her hand. It doesn’t matter.

Killian’s eyes drop. To the movement. And her. And part of her shies away from that because part of her has spent a lifetime tucked into a shadow that didn’t belong to her and doesn’t belong to Henry, but now there’s some joke about Peter Pan to be made because they live in an internet-age and Killian Jones has a very good face. So. Viral video, enter stage right. Starring Henry Swan, Killian Jones, and the inevitably uneven pitter-patter of Emma’s traitorous heart.

“Emma Swan.” “I think you should sit down.”

“Why is that, exactly?” “I’m worried about your legs.”

Whatever noise she makes can’t quite be classified as a scoff. It hurts her throat too much. And it’s not a laugh, either. Even as the butterflies threaten to rise up in mutiny of Emma’s more rational feelings, and she gets the distinct impression that Killian is reading her mind. Trying very hard, at least.

“Sounds like a line.” “Might be a line,” he admits, which draws another wholly inhuman sound out of Emma’s barely-functioning lungs.

“Did he kick you on the lift?” Killian hums. “You’d kick too if you were just hauled off your feet, so I understand the reaction. What I’m more worried about is the inevitable bruise on my foot from the bat landing there.” “Ah shit, really?” “I’ve had worse.” “But not in 4K video that people will play on loop for the rest of the news cycle. If not longer.” Narrowing his eyes, Killian doesn’t immediately respond. Mind reading requires a modicum of focus, Emma assumes. Instead, he rests a hand on her shoulder, directing her toward the chair and ignoring the soft crack her left knee as it bends. “That’s what you’re worried about.” “Stop sounding so confident.” “I can only sound how I am, Swan.” “Oh, I’m not sure we’ve reached nickname status yet,” she mumbles, pushing down the soft rush of metaphorical insects doing their beset to soar out of her barely-parted lips. “But, yeah, I—I mean, don’t get me wrong, I was totally terrified in the moment.”

“Understandable. Grown men barrelling down the third-base line at your kid are a lot to take in.” She snorts. It’s not cute. Not dignified. Killian smirks. “Should you be concerned that the Scarlet was making such solid headway behind you? Are you exceedingly slow?” “I am league average.” “How fast can you get out of the box to first?” “I’ve never timed it.” “Liar, liar.” “Please don’t make a crack about my pants,” Killian says, “I won’t be able to cope.”

“Oh God, you think you’re charming, too.” “I’ve had no complaints.” “To your face, at least.”

Throwing his head back, the laugh that erupts out of him is not of volcano proportions. Of which there was also one in FernGully if Emma’s memory is to be trusted. An arm circles his middle, stretching muscle and ensuring that Emma notices just how corded that same muscle is, the slight bend of his wrist leaving her off-kilter. When he meets her gaze, she swears his eyes are brighter. “Yeah, yeah, that’s true,” Killian concedes, “no one has flat out told me I was lacking charm to my face.” “This thanking you thing is going great.” “And I continue to not need thanks. Why are you worried about the video getting out there? Filmed in 4K like you suggest, at least we’ll all look great. Sharp pixels and whatnot.” “What do you know about pixels?” “You basically heard the extent just now.”

She’s getting better at laughing. The ooze has almost all but disappeared, Emma twirling a strand of hair around fingers that are intent on moving, and it’s an old habit. One Killian’s gaze catches on. Immediately. Quickly. Seriously, Emma needs a thesaurus. “Baseball’s always been my dad,” she says. “And that’s—well, we’ve lived this game, me and my mom, weekend series and West Coast swings, waiting up for him to get home because the flight got delayed, but Henry’s just a kid, getting thrown into this world because of his last name and who his family is? That sucks. Nothing was supposed to happen tonight.” “Nothing did happen.” “Because of you.” “I’d like to believe Scarlet, ridiculously fast as he might be, would not run over a small child,” Killian says. “And, uh, for the record and all that, I got a bad jump off first because I didn’t know if they were going to catch it in left. No one wants to get caught on the base paths.” “Yeah, that’d be embarrassing.”

He must hear the hitch in her voice because the next thing Emma realizes, her fingers are twisted back up in Killian’s, and she’s warm and falling and flying, and it’s good and weird, and the door swings open.

They both jump.

So, that’s something.

Rushing out quickly enough that he nearly trips over his own feet, Henry’s head leads the way and finds Emma’s stomach, a tangle of limbs, and overly-excited words, all of which rival the now-finished fireworks display in volume.

It takes Henry about five and a half run-on sentences to notice Killian standing there.

His eyes widen. His mouth drops. Killian grins. Emma tries very hard not to die. It only sort of works.

She blames the faulty body parts she’s in possession of.

“Killian,” Henry exclaims, clamoring back to his feet and nearly falling again in the process. Hands that belong to both Emma and Killian dart out, steadying Henry while their eyes meet over the top of his head. Killian winks. He tries. It’s more like a blink than anything. “Hi, hi! You did so good tonight! And we won, and I got to go on the field and—and, it was so,” Henry heaves a deep breath, “we were so good.”

Collective pronouns do something to Emma’s entire state of being.

Flips it on an axis she hadn’t been aware previously existed until it almost feels as if this was the path they’d been directing themselves toward from the start. Her eyes flit toward Killian. Who is already watching her.

“We did,” he nods, “maybe next time, though, you wait one extra second to grab Scarlet’s bat, ok?” Seeing her own nose scrunch reflected back on her kid is not the worst thing that’s ever happened to Emma. The vibrating phone in her back pocket, might be.

It’s one-hundred percent, Ruby.

“That’s what grandpa said too,” Henry grumbles, digging a toe of the cleats Emma’s mother bought him last week into the ground, “but I wanted to make sure you didn’t fall.”

Definitely dying, then. A systematic shut down of all necessary internal organs. It’s not as bad as Emma would have expected.

Neither one of Killian’s knees crack when he bends. That seems heavy-handed.

“And I don’t want you to fall either,” he says, “so we agree, right here, right now, not to let the other one fall, huh?” Emma holds her breath. Ignores the pinch in her lungs and the clearly unstable nature of both her mind and her heart, digging her nails into her palms. To ensure she isn’t tempted to haul Henry back toward her. Or push that one strand of hair away from Killian’s forehead.

Henry nods. “Deal.”

They hook their pinkies together.

It’s adorable and as endearingly charming as everything else Killian Jones, New York Yankees third baseman, has done since he walked into that hallway. Less so when her dad emerges from the office, the athletic trainer on his heels to not-so-quietly inform Killian that he can’t just blow off post-game like that, and the second wink is as bad as the first.

She does her very best to memorize the movement.

And the joy on Henry’s face the next morning when a box arrives on their doorstep, a genuine, game-worn Killian Jones jersey inside. She doesn’t notice the note at first, tucked between the cardboard and the tissue paper someone must have bought for him. He can’t have bought that tissue paper himself. He just—it’s unfathomable.

Emma knows he bought the tissue paper himself.

As clearly as she knows that those numbers in that particular order will lead to Killian Jones answering his phone and that her voice likely won’t shake when she replies to the question written in surprisingly loopy script. Which is why, Emma will argue, she does reply. In the affirmative. To several questions over the course of the remaining season, and they don’t star in any more viral videos, but there are a few pictures once they clinch the division.

Drops of champagne cling to the tips of Emma’s eyelashes and the ends of Killian’s hair, hands on her waist that blaze a quick path up her back and around her middle, and she has to tilt her head up to get the right angles. Of lips. While they kiss in the middle of the clubhouse, the hat someone forced onto Emma’s head falling and it’s impossible to hear over the sound of celebratory fireworks, but she can somehow still hear Henry’s laugh ringing out from the general area near Scarlet’s locker, and his jersey collection is growing at an impressive rate.

No one can withstand the overall cuteness of him.

Emma included. Emma, especially.

Sometimes she worries she’s so happy she’ll burst, unable to contain the sort of emotion her body is still acclimating itself to. But then she realizes just how dumb that is and happiness cannot possibly be quantified, and her head is buzzing enough from champagne that she nearly misses Killian when he says, “people love the bright spots, Swan.” It’s not the most romantic thing he’s told her. Doesn’t crack the top five, quite frankly. She swoons all the same. With her kid laughing and her team winning and that’s about all the sentiment she’s willing to acknowledge before her tongue is in Killian’s mouth. He groans. She grins.

And he’d been right about the video. It wasn’t the embarrassment Emma worried it could be. Was mostly relegated to the corners of the internet set aside for formerly popular content as soon as the season ended, spoken about only in fond recollection as the other seasons went on and the wins kept coming and all three of them stand on a parade float with the World Series trophy a few dozen feet away, several Novembers after that first game.

It’s a Thursday afternoon, then.

And yet Emma never entirely forgets. What the video meant and what it did and she’s not remotely surprised when it finds its way back to the forefront of the sports zeitgeist on a Wednesday in July. Most mentions come with similar taglines and messages. Something about feeling our age and wanna feel old because that bot boy, David Nolan’s grandson, Killian Jones’s stepson, he’s getting drafted now.

Got drafted, technically.

Third round, video of the soon-to-be third baseman for the San Diego Padres makes the internet circuits and garners plenty of interest. It’s not the most exciting video, though. Henry just hugs his family. Who hug tightly back.

What is more exciting is the box that arrives on Emma and Killian’s doorstep. With a note that eventually earns a frame next to the last one and a wholly official, game-worn jersey that has a noticeable streak of dirt across the left sleeve. From sliding head-first into home plate.

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan ff #cs fic #captain swan fic #do not ask me why this is so full of ferngully references #i do not have an answer for you #the google doc title for this was: BaseballCuresWritersBlock #thanks baseball

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royallyprincesslilly · 4 years

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Title: Hibiscus Kisses {1}

Chris Evans x OFC Ajali Rambaue AU {Ah-Jah-Lee, Ram-Bow}

Warning: Plot Heavy, Cursing,

Words: 6.1k

Summary: Ajali decides on a rash decision to go on a Disney cruise, not for her love of Disney, but because she needs time to figure things out after things get even more complicated in her complicated life. She only expected peace, quiet, tropical drinks, and an overabundance of Disney songs. What she got was more than she bargained for when the cruise of a lifetime on the brand new ship Enchantment turned into a nightmare. The only saving grace is that she’s not the only one living through the nightmare. Can Ajali survive the test of a lifetime and the dangers ahead of her, and better yet, will she finally be able to live a little?

Note: Hey, hey, hey, guys! So here we are trying something different/new. I hope you enjoy this. 🤞🏽 Please feel free to tell me what you think. I’m super excited to explore this one with you all. 🤗 Also, what do you guys think of the title? What does it make you think of?

As always, thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed this, please LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG! ❤️❤️

I appreciate each and every one of your guys’ support and love!

***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

**Very Interactive**

***French Language Incorporated w/translations according to Google***

“Yes, mom, I packed my charger and my vitamins. Oh my god, of course, I have my scarf. Mom!”

Your mother continued to press you about things any woman would never forget packing. This was how she was normally. Almost morning, she would make her routine calls. First to your sister Atali, then to you. When she made it to you, she’d ask if you ate, and of course, by the time she called you, you were usually at work or on your way to it, and you wouldn’t have eaten. Then she’d ask you why you hadn’t eaten, to which she’d go back and forth with you about the importance of eating a well-balanced meal. Somehow that would lead to her asking how you expected to find the one when you didn’t eat enough. It was a never-ending thing with her. She was obsessed with you and your sister finding the one.

You understood. Your parents had been married for well over two decades, and they were still disgustingly in love. There was also no one like your dad, so you understood. They both saw what a catch they both were. After she told you the story of how she finessed your dad and got married in record time, it always turned into focus on you finding someone to marry. No matter how many times you told her that even though marriage was great and all, you weren’t in any hurry, it never registered.

“Mom, I have everything I need. It is just supposed to be a two-week cruise.”

“You’d be surprised the things you realize you left once you’re at sea. Then it will be too late,” Cynthia, your mother warned.

“Then I’ll just buy it. Mom, I’m not going to the middle of nowhere. I am going on a huge ship from one of the world’s most reputable companies. I am positive they have every possible thing I could want to buy onboard. Plus, when we dock at ports, I’ll be able to buy much more.”

“You’re always buying. Gah, I blame your father. He spoiled you and your sister rotten.”

“I am not spoiled. It’s not like I haven’t worked for my money. Yes, daddy helped me set up my company, but I got where I am today because of me,” you professed.

“I know, sweetheart, you don’t have to preach to the choir. All I’m saying is your daddy’s wealth only helped spoil you and Lali more. I saw it in you at the playground the most. You always wanted what the other kids were playing with. If it was a ball, you tried to take it. If it were the swings, you’d overtake it, toys in the sandbox my goodness those kids would end up with sand in their eyes and you alone with the toys.”

“Some would call that persistence, hardworking, and assertive.”

Your mother laughed then tsked.

“I’m surprised that when you were in high school, I never got a call about you getting into a fight because you stole some girl’s boyfriend.”

You pursed your lips, but as you were going to open your mouth to respond, your phone vibrated, signaling a notification.

“Hang on, mom.”

You thanked the Lyft driver for helping with your bags then checked your phone.

MSG Javii: I’ve been calling you all night. Come on, Chaton (kitten). You have to talk to me at some point. Tu me manques (I miss you).

You sighed and rolled your eyes. He had some nerve, you thought.

“Ajali, hello!”

“Yes, mom, I’m here. Sorry. I was getting my bags together.”

“So, you’re really doing this?”

“Yes, mom. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Who goes on a cruise alone? What about the man I heard in the background of our call a few weeks ago? Why not go with him?”

You rolled your eyes again, thinking about that man in the background a few weeks ago who was on your shit list.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. It was the tv,” you lied.

“Ajali--,” your mother began before you cut her off.

“—Plus, mom, it’s a Disney cruise,” you stressed.

“Exactly. The people who go on Disney cruises are families, wives, husbands, kids. You are neither of them and have nether of them.”

You balanced your phone on your shoulder and rolled your luggage toward the designated pier.

“I just need some time to myself to clear my head and destress. Two weeks.”

“Ignore your mother, my petal. You take the time you need. I’ve told you, and your sister working is important, but living is just as important. You don’t live to work; you work to live,” your father said.

“Thank you, daddy.”

“Plus, maybe you will find a worthy man on this cruise while you’re living,” your father slid in.

“Oh god, not you too, daddy.”

“We are unified in this, Lulu. He may wear the pants, but I control the buttons and the zipper if you know what I mean.”

You tasted vomit in your mouth.

“Eck! That is disgusting, mother. On that note, I gotta go.”

“Wait, wait, enjoy yourself, my petal. We love you.”

“Love you too, daddy, love you, mom.”

With that, you ended the call and continued to walk toward Pier eighty-one. You passed families with rowdy children who looked like they couldn’t wait to get ice cream wasted, couples who looked as if they couldn’t wait to get to their suites and even elderly couples who were dressed to the nines for vacation, including already applied sunscreen and sunhats. Despite what your mother thought, Disney cruises were for everyone.

You’d purposely chosen Disney because you didn’t want to be around other couples who were loved up and nauseatingly adorable, spewing love in the air. You wanted to be as far from that as possible. Love was the last thing on your mind. You were going on this cruise to get away from it. Your phone vibrated and went off twice.

MSG Atali: Have you made your getaway yet?

You stopped rolling and went to reply.

MSG: Almost. I’m walking to the boarding line now.

MSG Atali: I think you’re doing the right thing. Space and time. In two weeks you’ll know what you want to do. I hope it’s what we talked about.

MSG: I know, Lali, I know.

MSG Atali: Have some fun too. It’s Disney.

You could picture her face as you read it. She was probably cheesing at this very minute.

MSG: Thank you for looking after the company while I’m gone.

MSG Atali: Boo, you know it’s my company too, right. Don’t worry; our clients will be taken care of. I’ve got it covered.

You knew she did. Atali was the older one and had always acted like it, even though she was only nine months older. You knew she could take care of things on her own while you were away.

MSG: I know, still. Thank you.

MSG Atali: You’re welcome, Lulu. Call me later. Margaret Bailey’s appointment is next. Apparently, she’s throwing some party, and she wants to be the envy of everyone.

MSG: Eck, you have your work cut out for you. Bye.

As you were putting your phone away, another message came in.

MSG Javii: Chaton (kitten), call me, please. Don’t you think you’re dragging this out a little?

You almost said, “are you stupid” out loud. The man had some nerve. Dragging it out? You rolled your eyes as another message came in.

MSG Javii: Je t’aime (I love you).

Just like that, you melted. He was playing on the fact that your father was French, and the language itself was a favorite of yours. He was not a stupid man; he was a smart businessman.

MSG Javii: I’m sorry. I know we’ve talked about it, but you have to give me more time. Please.

Unbelievable, you thought as you exited your messages and stuck your phone into your back pocket. You turned and ran smack dab into someone’s hard body.

“Shit. I’m so sorry,” you rushed out even as you were falling back.

A pair of strong arms grabbed you and firmly held you, preventing your fall.

“It’s okay, you’re lucky I don’t mind beautiful women bumping into me,” a deep masculine voice said. You knew it was a man, but you couldn’t see his face even though he looked to be well over six feet. His head was dipped low, and the hat he wore over hair that fell to his neck was so low you couldn’t see anything but the full beard that showed off a chiseled jawline.

He set you right side up and slowly brought his hands from your arms back to his side. “Stay safe out there,” he said before he walked off.

You stood there for a few moments, then looked back to where he’d walked and watched him saunter away. He had a slight dip to the way he walked that could either be seen as a happy go lucky type of thing or something that said he had some sort of swagger. Before you stared any longer, you sprang into motion with wheeling your luggage to the growing line to board the ship. Thankfully the line went quickly thanks to the ten different lanes that had ship staffers ready and eager to help guests.

When it was your turn, a friendly-looking woman with a trendy bob cut explained what to do. While she talked, her smile never fell, but you didn’t really pay attention because her uniform was so distracting. She had on a purple and green hat that had mermaid scales and Ariel printed all over it. This hat matched the shirt and skirt combo she wore. Her shirt was two-toned, on one side was Ariel’s face, and on the other was mermaid scales while her skirt was plain white. It looked like The Little Mermaid threw up all over her. You didn’t expect anything else; it was a Disney cruise after all.

After doing all the check-in steps, such as handing off your rolling luggage to the ship porters and taking a photo for your provided identification wrist band that the crew will use to identify you and your indicated needs, you boarded the ship. All the friendly faces you passed all looked happy to welcome you to Disney Cruises and to direct you to where you wanted to go. The noise inside was much louder inside than it was out. The kids that looked excited outside looked downright jubilant inside as they posed for pictures with life-sized Disney characters and got welcome ice cream treats.

You were even tempted to take a picture or two, but you decided against it. What you did not decide against was ice cream. You took an offered vanilla cone and kept on your way, looking around the ship as the other guests did. From your research, this was the best-rated cruise this year. It was a newer Disney ship and one that cost over ten million dollars to design and build. Everyone said it was the Rolls Royce of Disney cruises.

From what you saw with the décor looked to have cost a fortune. There was glass, fancy lights, and marble everywhere. It was clear they didn’t skimp on funding and clear that they had the comfort and luxury in mind. There were plants around the central atrium that gave off that tropical vacation vibe and even paintings and pictures hanging on the walls that further pushed the agenda that this was supposed to be a fun time for all.

The more you walked around looking at different areas, the more you were impressed. If the gathering areas looked this upscale, you were even more excited to see your suite.

“Can I help you with anything, ma’am?”

You shook your head and smiled at the man wearing Hans all over him. “I’m all right, thank you.”

The next thirty minutes or so were spent walking around while following the map in your hand. You found and noted where the spa, library, on-ship garden, movie theater, bowling alley, tropical setting wave pool, and best restaurants and bars were. You had every intention of soaking up all the luxury that you’d paid top dollar for. When you saw a few amenities that you hadn’t expected, your jaw dropped. You had no idea why there was an ice skating rink or an indoor sky flying dome that had the tallest clear tube you’d ever seen. You didn’t know who’d designed this cruise, but you knew it must have cost millions. You were sure you wouldn’t be getting in that sky flying dome.

When you finally got the alert that your suite was ready, it was well after one in the afternoon. The walk among the crowds was noisy. Everyone was either talking about what they wanted to do first, how enormous and beautiful the ship was, or making a plan for the cruise duration. In between all the chatter, there of course, were the screams and cries of babies and toddlers who were already losing their shit.

This is what you’d expected when you decided on this Disney cruise over another like Carnival or Norwegian. You knew that the other passengers would be of a specific age range leaning on the younger and family-oriented side, which meant you wouldn’t have to fight off unwanted suitors who tried to shoot their shot. It also meant that you wouldn’t have to deal with any sort of drama that usually happened on a cruise with young adults all looking to hook up. That was not what you needed right now. You wanted to stay as far away from hooking up or eligible men that had blue eyes or a perfect head of hair, or abs that were chiseled by Michelangelo himself, or an ass that would make a mannequin jealous.

On the elevator ride to your floor, you caught the eye of an adorable little boy with a complete head of luscious dark locks and doe eyes with an unmeasurable depth. His smile was innocent. Every time your eyes met his, he hid behind his mother. When you looked away, he looked back at you. After two or three playful back and forth glances, which had him becoming more adorable, you surprised him by not looking away. When he realized it, his squeal was so childlike and filled with so much glee that everyone on the elevator had to giggle. Over the next several minutes, the passengers on the elevator got off group by group until it was just a few people remaining.

“Sixth floor,” the elevator attendant announced.

You made your way through the door but gave the adorable boy a look. “Have a fun cruise, cutie,” you said with a wink before the doors closed with the sound of his giggles. You looked at your phone to remind yourself which room was yours, then glanced at the numbers on the wall that directed you where to go. The dinging sound of an elevator brought your attention down the hall to your right to see one man walk off. His hat was dipped down low, but you noticed his face was buried in his phone before he turned and walked in the opposite direction of you.

Focusing on the signs on the door, you walked down the left side of the aisle. It didn’t take you long to realize your room was at the end of the hall. Once you reached it, you glanced back to see the same man with his tipped low hat. It looked like the same man from before outside the ship. It couldn’t be, you thought. The odds were not that small. As you opened your door, you saw him disappear into the room at the opposite end of the hall.

Once you walked inside, you immediately thought that this was what you got when you had Atali handle the arrangements. The theme of the room was clearly sky blue. The couch in the living area was a satin, silky sky blue that looked as if it was plush and comfortable. It matched the blue and grain colored carpet before it perfectly, and the abstract blown glass art on the wall. The colors all worked together to give you a sense of peace. It wouldn't have been something you’d chosen because, unlike Atali, you liked to keep things as low maintenance as possible. Just because your family had money doesn’t mean you had to look or behave as if you did.

When you walked into the bedroom portion of the stateroom, you saw your suitcases waiting for you in the far left corner of the room. The sunlight pouring in from the screened balcony bathed the room in a beautiful, cheerful yellow that was so inviting that once you kicked off your shoes, you had to step out into it. The temperature was not blazing hot because it was just the middle of April in New York, and that meant a mix of chilly and warm days with the occasional possible snow shower. The salty air of the sea was one of your favorite smells. You remembered when your father took your family to France on your yearly family vacation. As a child, you loved the beach and the salt of the sea. When you became an adult, nothing had changed.

Not realizing how long you remained on the balcony, an intercom announcement came on.

“Attention passengers, this is Lucas Albright, one of your captains. It is with great pleasure that I welcome you aboard this Disney Enchantment Cruise.”

He paused, and you could hear the uproar of cheers and claps from over the intercom as well as in the halls and neighboring staterooms.

“We are all excited to host you on this two and a half week christening journey from New York. I say christening because you lot are the first to travel on this brand new ship. This is her maiden voyage.”

More cheers and applause came for what felt like forever.

“We will be on this beautiful vessel for two days, at which time we dock in Punta Cana, Dominican Republic at approximately eleven o’clock in the morning, where you can enjoy plenty of the excursions and activities for the day.”

Again applause followed. Everyone was undoubtedly excited about this cruise. You tried to get out of your funk and onboard the excitement train.

“We will then set sail again, leaving port at ten o’clock that evening and moving on to two days at sea until we reach our second destination of Port of Grand Turk in beautiful Turks & Caicos. At that time, we dock at eleven 0’clock and lift anchors at ten o’clock. From the beautiful Turks & Caicos, we will be at sea for two days until we reach the tropical breezes of the British Virgin Islands!”

You were already making some mental plans for everything you wanted to do at each port.

“After spending out eleven o’clock to ten o’clock time there. We set sail to the glorious white sandy beaches of—Arrrruuuba!”

At that time, the classic Beach Boys song Kokomo came on at the Aruba part. It was so corny, but everyone seemed to love it. You shook your head as the short clip of the song played loudly until it was lowered to play in the background.

“Again, we’re docking at eleven o’clock to set sail again at ten o’clock. We are then at sea for three more days until we get to Ocho Rios, Jamaaaaica!”

As he spoke, you went around the room, placing things you’d need and freshening yourself up. When he finally finished giving the itinerary, you were situated and checking the schedule of events for the day. All in all, it was set to be an action packed seventeen days at sea. Atali must have chosen this length because she knew seven or ten days would not be enough time.

“All right, ladies, gentlemen, kids, and big kids, I hope to see you all at the welcome mingle we’ve scheduled to begin within the next twenty minutes or so, at which time we will lift anchors and say sayonara to New York and aloha to the seven seas.”

He had a voice for radio or a game show. It was velvety deep, just what many women seemed to like these days. You grabbed your phone and crossbody bag and walked out of your room. You had a mission before you lifted anchor. Everyone was still abuzz with talk of the itinerary as more of the beach boys played over the ship speaker system. Vacation vibes were in full effect. Once you got to the media area, you promptly purchased your airtime so your cell would be able to work while at sea. You knew your mother would have a heart attack if you went two days without checking in with her. You didn’t think it was because she was that attached to her children though, you knew it was her motherly duty to remain up in the tea, so she felt continuously connected. As she got older and older, you realized it more and more.

As soon as that mission was completed, you made your way to the top deck where the mingle was being held. As you stepped out into the sun, you marveled at just how extravagant Disney had chosen to go with this ship. Several feet before you stretching obscenely high into the air, you saw something that looked like a rollercoaster. There were plenty of other passengers pointing to it and excitedly chattering about it. You made a mental note to stay as far away from it as possible. Who would think to ride an insanely high rollercoaster on a cruise ship in the middle of the ocean?

Slowly you walked around the deck, cordially smiling at those you passed. You passed a bar area and took one of the prepared cocktails, and proceeded to find a good spot at the side of the ship to watch them lift anchor. After several minutes of searching and bumping into all the excited kids and passengers who were posing for pictures with friends, family, and Disney staff, you found an excellent spot to press your back against.

Across the way, a familiar hat caught your eye. It was him, you thought. He always kept his head low and tried to steer away from big crowds. It was strange to you considering he’d chosen to get on a cruise ship filled with hundreds of people. He wouldn’t be able to escape the crowds. Your eyes followed him as he walked to another bar to grab one of the drinks there. As he did, he joked with the bartender, and it was then you saw a flash of his pearly smile. You couldn’t tell if he was attractive or not, mostly since all you’d gotten were glimpses of pieces of his face. Part of you wanted him to take off the stupid hat so you could be sure, but the other part—the sensible part that remembered why you’d chosen a Disney cruise slapped your ass back into focus.

“Welcome, Disney guests!”

In response, everyone around you screamed, clapped, cheered, and stomped so loudly the sound could have rivaled that of a rave.

“We are pleased to welcome you once again!”

As one of the staff members continued to speak about the ship procedures, expectations, highlights, amenities, and more, you continued to look around the deck, taking in all the grandeur before you. It didn’t take long to get lost in the directory you held. Again you took note of where everything was that you wanted to experience and even went as far as to make a plan of what you wanted to eat each night. Between you and Atali, you were the planner. You liked things to make sense and liked them to be stable and constantly reliable. You hated the erraticness of people and impulsivity. You always tried to steer as far from it as possible.

By the time the speeches were finished, you’d had three drinks and were working on your fourth. The vibration of your phone brought your attention to it.

MSG Javii: Chaton?

You rolled your eyes and sighed out a little louder than you intended. What attracted you to him in the first place was what was annoying you right now. His persistence. You sat in a nearby seat and stared at the text exchange and thought of what you wanted to reply. Five minutes passed with you not typing one word. The truth was you didn’t know what to say. You were that jumbled up. The stress of it all was making your head hurt. You rubbed your brow and began your message.

MSG: I need some time away.

Instantly a message came back.

MSG Javii: From me?

Bobbing your head from side to side, you tried to make a quick decision.

MSG: From this—us.

MSG Javii: Chaton, say what you mean. You know I prefer directness. Do you mean from me?

MSG: Yes.

A few minutes passed before he sent another message. You wondered if you’d hurt him. Part of you didn’t want to hurt him, but the other part wanted him to suffer and see what it was like to be without you. Maybe then he’d start appreciating what he had.

MSG: I just need to figure some things out.

MSG Javii: Are you breaking up with me, Chaton?

The name was killing you, and you were sure he knew it. Every time he called you “chaton,” it made your belly flutter.

MSG: I just need time and space, Javii.

MSG Javii: I love you. You know that, right? I love you more than anything.

MSG: If that were true, I’d be there right now instead of where I am. I have to go.

You closed your messages and sighed out again.

“Mm, I can easily read that expression, and if any man causes brow or forehead wrinkles, he isn’t the one.”

Your head snapped to your right to see an older woman sitting there. She wore a straw hat atop her long red hair that looked close to that of Lucille Ball’s. The hue of her hair complimented her bronze and gold complexion. Her makeup was expertly done, as was her purple painted nails that pinched the straw that was at the corner of her mouth, a mouth that was painted perfectly accentuating her cupid’s bow lips. She was gorgeous.

“Uh--,” you began as she continued.

“The only one who is worth it is the one who gives you cheek wrinkles and smile creases.”

You grinned to yourself and took a sip from your glass that was resting on the table between you.

“Trust me. I’ve dated plenty of men, ones who cause both, ones who cause one more than the other and ones who only cause one—the bad ones.” She motioned to the space between her eyebrows, symbolizing stress wrinkles from furrowing your brows.

“I have yet to meet one who only causes smile creases,” she finished.

You shrugged and looked glanced back to your phone before you put it on the table face down.

“Maybe that one doesn’t exist on this Earth,” you countered.

“A skeptic, I see. You’re one of those women who don’t believe in the one, right?”

After scoffing, you looked at her. “I don’t know what I believe. Once upon a time, I did then---things got complicated.”

The woman placed her drink down and nudged her fist underneath her chin, giving you her complete attention.

“Oh, complications are the joys of life, darling. Nothing is ever cut and dry or so simple and steady. I say go for the ride but make sure you hand on for the bumps.”

You contemplated her words. There was some logic there, but once she said nothing was simple or steady, you had to admit your heart skipped a beat. You hated when things weren’t simple. You took your glass again and finished its contents. At the same time, your eye found the man who’d caught you maybe an hour ago. You watched as he walked closer to where you were seated and caught another glimpse of his face before he passed you.

From beside you, you heard the woman whistle.

“I wouldn’t mind going for a ride with that one.”

Your laugh was loud and couldn’t be stopped. You shook your head at her, but she didn’t look one bit embarrassed or remorseful.

“It’s a cruse darling, a vacation. Now’s the time to live a little—or a lot,” she said, finishing with an exaggerated wink.

This woman was inadvertently suggesting you let your hoe flag fly for the duration of the cruise. She reminded you of your aunt Josephine from your father’s side. As a French woman, she definitely embodied the French lifestyle of only living once and to live life right the first time. You’d spent countless hours with her listening to her stories of her travels, boyfriends, escapades. You and Atali always loved to live vicariously through her. That was until Atali came of age and decided to live just like her.

You sat with this woman who introduced herself as Genevieve and listened to her stories of life and love. Usually, you hated speaking to strangers, but she didn’t feel like one. She felt like a kindred spirit, a much more carefree spirit but still kindred the same. You didn’t realize that two hours had almost passed with the two of you sipping cocktails and giggling. When you said your goodbyes, you wandered around the ship, taking in all it had to offer. You peeked in on activities that were already underway and scoped out other places you could disappear in.

You made it back to your room in time to shower, change, and put on a lite layer of makeup before you made it to dinner at one of the forty restaurants. Once you walked into the restaurant, the atmosphere screamed luxury though it was not opulently done. It still looked family-friendly, but it was done in a way that let you know that you were meant to feel important by the décor alone.

At the bottom of the long stairs, you quickly looked around, trying to find an empty table. When you’d zeroed in on one, you saw a hand waving you down—the hand of the same woman from before, Genevieve. Why not, you thought to yourself before you began to cross the dining area toward her. Within a few steps, you ran right into a body that felt like a brick wall. You could feel your body falling backward, but in the nick of time, a pair of strong, muscular arms wrapped around your back, holding you in place.

If his face had been eluding you all day, it was not anymore. The eyes you stared into were blue enough that the sea you sailed would be envious. His lips were so red that an apple would want a rematch for bragging rights and his face so symmetrical that even the perfect line of symmetry didn’t seem perfect enough when next to him. The man was gorgeous. You watched his eyes roam your face as if he was in no rush, wanting to take in every detail. What felt like minutes was probably only seconds before he set you upright. As you were prepared to speak, he smiled, and the action had you feeling like you’d been hit in the head at the same time as your gut.

“Twice in one day. What’re the odds? Are you okay?”

Rather than speaking, you nodded.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, thank you. I’m—I’m sorry,” you stuttered.

“Nah, forget about it. No harm, no foul.”

From behind him, you could see Genevie giving you a look that said she wanted to know what was being said and who he was.

“I uh—I was going that way,” you said, nodding your head to behind him.

“And me that way.” He nodded behind you. “Stay safe out there,” he uttered before he walked off in the direction you’d just come from, giving you the opportunity to walk to Genevieve.

The look on her face needed no words to along with it, but she still spoke.

“Is that the same snack from before?”

You nodded and nearly snorted out, hearing her use the word.

“What’s his name?”

“No idea, but I feel like I’ve seen him somewhere before. I just—can’t place it.”

“I don’t know how. I’d never forget a face like that.”

She had a point; he had an unforgettable face, one that stayed with you and possibly could haunt your nights. You bet he got whatever he wanted and whoever he wanted. As dinner progressed, you had your choice of different appetizers, entrees, drinks, and desserts. If one wanted Scandinavian food, they could get it, or southern food it was within reach. As you ate, you listened to more of Genevieve’s stories. She told you about the men she’d dated, the things she’d seen in her years, and lessons she’d learned from those men. The moral you learned from her stories was love often, love hard, and love entirely because while you’d remember the pain, you’d remember the love more.

As you ate and listened to her, you couldn’t help but think of the reason you were on this cruise in the first place. You were not running to love but from it. If you were to listen to Genevieve, you should have stayed your ass in New York and gone to Javii. If you listened to her, you’d probably spend another year living in sin. By the end of dinner, you’d met three other women all within the same age range as you, but they all were in different times of their lives. One was newlywed, and on her honeymoon, the second married a year and expecting her first child and the third long married with three children.

It was an interesting look at alternate timelines for you. Any of them could have ended up being you if you’d only made different choices. Part of you wondered which one you wanted to be more, your natural self, or one of the three possibilities.

After dinner, you made your way to one of the theaters to watch the planned show for the night. It was a re-enactment of The Little Mermaid, and the audience was filled with little ones who clapped and cheered throughout. You were surprised at how well the staff performed. They could have easily been true broadway stars. A little more than halfway through the show, you found the stranger with the deep eyes across the room. He was sitting alone, just watching the show with a relaxed look on his face. He looked as if he were genuinely enjoying it. Your curiosity was piqued as to why he was sitting alone watching The Little Mermaid on a ship full of people and why he didn’t seem to be bothered to make acquaintances. Who came on a cruise alone? Once you thought it, you wanted to laugh at yourself. You were the one to come on a cruise alone.

As you were about to look away, his eyes found yours. At first, they looked empty as if he were looking right through you. Then after a few moments, there was a spark in them. You watched him raise his glass to you with a soft smile teasing his lips. Realizing you’d been caught looking, you curtly nodded back then looked to the stage to focus on the show.

Two in the morning. That was the time when you finally made it back to your room. Festivities were going on all around the ship. No one seemed as if they wanted to go back to their rooms. There was something for everyone. The little ones had endless activities, including a sleepover with their favorite Disney characters, where they were set to have plenty of fun for the night. There was a mixer set up like a rave on the opposite side of the ship for the adults. From the things you saw when you scoped it out, you were sure a few siblings were going to be conceived tonight.

As you scanned your bracelet and opened your door, you looked back to see the stranger again. He was looking directly down at you. You gave him a head salute and disappeared inside your room. After a quick shower, you found your way to your balcony to watch the waves roll by with a glass of wine. It was the perfect end to the night.

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

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welcometophu · 3 years

Text

The Meaning of Home, Chapter 1

The Meaning of Home Chapter 1

Tags for all Welcome to PHU novels will be available at the PHU tag list on Pillowfort. This list is under construction as of Sept. 5, 2021.

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Even knowing that he’ll see him at the end of the trip, it’s strange for Pawel to be driving to his childhood home without Conor in the car. Usually his son would be requesting music changes, playing videos so loud that Pawel could hear them even with Conor’s headphones in place, or generally talking up a storm. Even after cranking the radio up to fill the silence, Pawel feels alone in a way he hasn’t felt in a long, long time.

He can’t blame it entirely on Conor. Yes, as a single father he hasn’t had much, if any, time to himself in the last nine years. But this past academic year has been chaos to the point where it seems strange not to have one of his students in the car as they head off to save the world.

Students, yes, but he’s not that much older than most of them. Some of them are friends as well.

Rest. Take the summer and rest.

The voice in his mind sounds suspiciously like Mac, and he hears Carolyn’s soft, aggravated huff not long after as she adds, Get normal amounts of sleep. Take a shower. Eat real food.

Spend time with your kid, imaginary Mac adds.

Great. He’s back to being that only child who used to have conversations with invisible friends, except now, as an adult, it’s advice about self-care from real people who aren’t even here.

The thing is, they’re not wrong. He knows he has a tendency to focus intently on the one most important thing at hand and tune out everything else. Since fall semester—for the first time in nine years—that wasn’t Conor, and he still feels guilty about that. He feels the kind of guilty that means there are two brand new games for Conor’s handheld system in a bag on the back seat, along with a cooler holding freshly butchered grass-fed bison steaks as a thank you for his father for helping him out.

Pawel exhales.

Maybe he’s having a little trouble letting go of the chaos. In a way, it felt good to be busy. To fix things.

They saved the world.

Nobody knows it, but it happened. And Pawel knows, so he should be satisfied with a job well-done.

The question is: what can he do now?

Rest.

For all that they’re imaginary, the voices of his students are right, and he knows this. It’s just hard to let it all go, to accept that the chaos has ended and he can do that. But he’s clean-shaven, and his hair is neatly trimmed, even if he didn’t go back to his buzz cut. He looks older in the mirror than he remembers being when the school year began. He might even look his age, which would go a long way to gaining respect from incoming freshmen in the fall.

He just needs something to do with himself while on vacation over the summer.

Maybe his old dojang would let him step into a taekwondo class or two while he’s visiting Dad. It’d be nice to be the student rather than the instructor for once.

You couldn’t let go of control that much.

“Shut up.” He says it as if imaginary Mac would even listen.

One song ends, and for a second, the silence in the car echoes before the next song begins.

This isn’t working.

He reaches out to touch the button on his radio dash for the phone, then presses Mac’s number from his contact list.

“Aren’t you with your family?” She starts speaking without bothering to greet him.

He adjusts the volume so that her voice isn’t quite so loud. “Hello to you, too. I’m almost there now. It’s quiet in the car. No Conor. Not even any grouchy almost adults grumbling about saving the world, or muttering about sparring.”

Mac snorts softly. “I’m only a few years younger than you, Pawel. And out of us all, Rory’s probably got the oldest soul. I take it you’re bored?”

“A little,” he admits. “Pels’s family moved into the house on Friday, then left for Burlington. As far as I know, everything’s gone well up there; they weren’t back before I left the house today. Anita’s got my number in case she needs anything for the house while they’re renting it out this summer. Traffic’s been decent, so I’m maybe fifteen minutes from my Dad’s house now, and the silence is killing me. How’s your summer break going?”

There’s a delay before Mac replies, and her voice sounds determinedly cheerful when she does. “It’s a break. I’m thinking about my research, and the fact that my advisor is in Italy until the end of June and told me I can’t work without him there. Which means Mom thought I should come home for a while, and right now things are… awkward… with me and Dad. So. There’s that.”

When Mac says it, Dad means Senator Delwin Palmer. Pawel knows what that meant to Mac as a part of a secret government training program for Talented children, before she came to PHU. He knows that everything they learned about the government involvement in the creation of the soul-destroying Shadows has only made her relationship with her stepfather more difficult.

He makes a small noise. “Are you going back to PHU soon?”

“Mid June, so I’ll be here about three weeks. I’m going to take my brother to the festival when Rory and Thorne are in DC in a couple of weeks, and I’m spending most of my time in the museums and libraries in DC until then.” She exhales. “I’ve thought about going to see my father, but I think that’ll be the weekend that I drive back up to PHU. I’ll just stop in to visit him in the city while he’s got some time off work.” Mac hesitates, her words more forceful when she asks, “How long are you planning on staying with your dad?”

Fine, Pawel will accept the change of topic, changing conversational directions at the same time as he takes the exit into town that will lead to his childhood home.

Sort of. It’s not the same house he grew up in, but it’s close to the same neighborhood.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “I’m on leave for the summer. It’s not a sabbatical—they don’t do that for less than a year, and right now they won’t let me go for a whole year until the department has more experienced faculty. But it’s a paid leave and I’m supposedly researching my next book. The thing is, Dad doesn’t have a lot of space since he moved into the retirement community. I’m going to be crashing on his couch. Conor’s got the bed in the guest room.”

“Sounds great for your back.” Mac laughs. “You’ll probably still sleep better than you did for most of the spring.”

“Probably,” Pawel agrees. “I think—” He stops abruptly, because that makes it sound like he has a plan in place. “I’m going to play it by ear. Conor’s made friends there, although he’s clearly missing Alan and home, too. Everyone keeps telling me that I need to just stop trying to fix things and take a break. Including a voice in my head that sounds suspiciously like you.”

“Good to know my voice has infected your brain, like the way I hear yours saying ‘commit to the kick’ whenever I’m sparring and going for that head kick against a much taller opponent,” Mac says dryly.

“They’re all taller than you.” Pawel takes a series of turns, remembering to turn left instead of right at the critical intersection. He slows down; there’s no one else on the road behind him to annoy, and he’s not quite ready to arrive yet.

Mac sputters. “Rude.”

“True.”

“Fine. True,” she agrees. “Taekwondo is a sport for tall people. I’m just a good jumper, and before you say it, no, I’m not teleporting to get there. Most of the time.”

He rolls down the road towards a four-way stop. There’s a sign across the way proclaiming the entrance to Hart Acres. If he turned left, he could make his way to the police station where his dad works, and right would loop him back behind his old neighborhood.

Straight takes him into his dad’s new life in a retirement village where half the people who live there aren’t actually retired. His dad’s been living there for a year, and Pawel’s not sure when he’ll finally step down as Police Chief. He likes his work far too much to give it up.

Dad says it’s easier to keep working when he doesn’t have to worry about the little things like mowing the lawn. Hart Acres takes care of that for him.

Pawel’s pretty sure Dad’s going to work until he has both feet in the grave, and then he might just keep going.

“Hey.” Mac’s voice is low. “Did I lose you?”

Right. He was having a conversation.

“I’m just about there,” Pawel admits. “There’s an old lady walking her fluffy dog down the street. I guess I should hang up. Focus on finding the place and not hitting the two people that are in the middle of the road having a conversation.”

No exaggeration. Now that he’s pulled into Hart Acres and is following the first traffic circle he encounters around to the second exit, there are small knots of people gathered everywhere. Including two smack dab in the middle of one of the side streets.

They see him looking and lift their hands in cheerful synchronized waves.

“I am really not ready to see my dad as the kind of guy who needs to be surrounded by old people looking for a social life,” Pawel mutters. He makes a disgruntled noise when Mac snickers.

He’s in front of the house before he can say anything else.

“Go,” Mac says. “Hug Conor for me, and tell him to work hard. He’s still in school, right?”

“Another three weeks, yeah,” Pawel says. “I might take him out for a day on Friday to head up to Buffalo for Rory and Thorne’s tour, though. It’s a holiday weekend, so maybe the school has the day off—they do weird things with snow days sometimes. Although the weather was strange this winter and they might not have the extra days.”

“Nikki would apologize if you need her to,” Mac says. She’s quiet for a moment. “Hey. You really should take the time to rest. Let your dad be the parent for a little while. Enjoy being home, and with your family. You don’t have anything you need to save right now. The world isn’t ending. Just have fun for the summer.”

“Only if you promise me that you’ll rest, too,” he responds. He wants to say that he understands that it’s not that easy. He understands that talking to Delwin Palmer is going to be complicated, and that putting herself back in that environment only brings the PTSD out in full force. “You can always call me if you need someone to talk to.”

“I’ll let you know when I’m back in the area,” she says. “Maybe we can get together and spar. I’m taking a break from organized classes while I’m home.”

Her old dojang isn’t full of happy memories like Pawel’s is.

“Sure, we can do that.” He catches movement out of the corner of his eye; the door to his father’s unit nudges open. “Conor’s coming out. I need to go.”

“Bye, Pawel. Rest.”

“I will,” he promises.

The music blares for a moment after she hangs up; he turns the key and silences it. He manages to get out of the car as Conor races around it and slams into him, hugging him hard. Pawel wraps his arms around him, and exhales as he feels the familiar crackle of Conor’s magic around him.

“I missed you,” Pawel murmurs. His hand is between Conor’s shoulder-blades, and it feels higher than it used to rest in this same position. “Did you grow in the last two months?”

“An inch since he arrived.” Dad stands on the lawn next to a girl about Conor’s age that Pawel doesn’t recognize. Her mouth is pinched and her brows furrowed. She has her arms crossed tight across her chest as she leans forward, a myriad of braids falling forward across her shoulders and down her back. Dad puts a hand on her shoulder, and she straightens up, shoulders relaxing. “I started a growth door for him here. We’ll need to get a mark on it for you so he can see what he’s aiming for.”

There was a piece of trim in Pawel’s childhood house that had marks for every few months of his age, from toddlerhood to adulthood. He wonders if the new owners painted over the careful notes made in his mother’s hand, and the messier ones his father wrote after she passed away.

“I had Dziadziu put Emma on the door, too.” Conor slips from Pawel’s hold and grabs his hand, dragging him towards Dad and the girl who still watches warily. “This is Emma. She’s in my class, and she’s a Weather Witch, and she’s my friend. We’re both new here. She’s talked to Alan with me.”

“I know they’re married,” Emma says with a heavy sigh and an eyeroll. “Conor’s not my boyfriend. I don’t want a boyfriend.”

“You say that like people have been trying to tell you that you can’t be friends because you’re a boy and a girl.” Pawel stops in front of her and holds out his hand solemnly. “Hello, Emma. I’m Pawel. And don’t worry, I understand that most people are full of shit. Right now my best friend is a girl and I can assure you I have no romantic intentions towards her whatsoever. And if I did, she might kick me in the balls.”

Dad makes a strangled sound.

Emma tilts her head, brow still furrowed. “I’m pretty sure you shouldn’t say that people are full of shit.” She takes his hand and looks at their joined hands in some confusion, then drops it again. “But you’re right. They are. Come on, Conor.”

“I think you’d like Mac,” Conor says as he walks by Emma’s side and they disappear into the house. “She’s small but fierce. She used to be a gymnast and now she kicks ass.”

Pawel should say something, but he did just tell them that people are full of shit, so maybe he can cut him some slack for language this time.

“I did say that someday you’d be lucky enough to have a kid just like you,” Dad observes. “That said, Conor’s been a good kid while he’s been here. Getting good grades, getting his work done. He and Emma bonded straight off—her parents disappeared not long before you did, so they had something in common. Except, of course, you’re back and they’re not. She’s living with a foster family here.”

There are a dozen potential things wrong with everything Dad’s just said. Pawel rolls the thoughts around in his mind as he heads back to his car, opening the doors so that he and Dad can both take several things into the house. “Do they know she’s Talented?” he asks.

“You know where the guest room is.” Dad points through the living room and kitchenette to the small hall beyond. “Right at the end there. Just take Conor’s stuff down. We’ll put your things to the side in the living room for now.”

Conor pops his head out of his room just as Pawel arrives. “What do you mean for now? Aren’t we staying all summer? I thought we’d stay here all summer, Dad. Dziadziu said we could.”

There are times when Pawel wonders what their family looks like from the outside: three generations having three separate conversations in tangled instances, answering questions in random order. He can see where Emma sits on the bed, Conor’s tablet in her hands. She doesn’t seem concerned.

“I’m sleeping on the couch, Conor. We’ll stay in town, but we might need to get a hotel room. I’m going to need a bed eventually,” Pawel points out.

“I’ll move in with Emma. Her dads wouldn’t mind.”

“I don’t think they’d even notice,” Emma says dryly. “I like Conor better than Matt.”

“She has four foster siblings,” Conor stage whispers.

Emma looks up, gaze pinning him. “They aren’t my siblings. I’m an only child. We’re all just fosters in the same house, except Nevaeh and Jennie. I think they’re almost as good as adopted. Jennie doesn’t even remember her parents.”

For once, Pawel is the one getting whiplash from the swift turns in conversation.

“Is everyone Talented?” It’s the same question, asked a different way, and this time he throws it out there for anyone to answer. He drops the bag of Conor’s summer clothes on the bed, next to where Emma sits.

“Her dads are both Talented!” Conor bounces up onto the bed, almost knocking the suitcase off. “One’s Clan and one’s—”

“They aren’t my dads,” Emma snaps. She drops Conor’s tablet on the bed and stands up, her body shivering so hard that her braids shake. “My mom and dad are coming back. They aren’t my dads at all. I’m just staying there until—”

“My dad can find them.”

Emma’s mouth is slightly open, her voice a small squeak. “What?”

“My dad is really good at everything about Talented people. He’s an expert.” Conor nods quickly. “He’s so much an expert that he teaches people not to be stupid—uninformed,” he corrects himself, “about what it means to be Talented. He knows everything.”

“Not everything,” Pawel tries to stay, but Conor steamrolls over him.

“He just saved the world, and he’s friends with Clan and with Mages, and we know this entire commune of Mages up in Burlington and if anyone can find your parents, he can,” Conor says firmly. “You’ll do it, Dad, right?”

“I think I’d need a little more information before I can promise that,” Pawel says slowly.

“Your father is supposed to be resting.” Dad stands behind him, and Pawel doesn’t need to turn to know the look Dad gives Conor. He was on the receiving end of that look himself many times as a child. Dad continues, “The last time your father got involved in something, he disappeared and you came here.”

Conor’s mouth snaps shut, lips pressed and his cheeks flushed. “He came back,” he mutters. “He always comes back.”

Emma pats the bed and when Conor sits, she puts her arms around him and holds on. “Maybe mine will come back, just like yours did. Then your dad won’t have to go find them.” Her whisper is too loud to be entirely secret. “I don’t want your dad to disappear again.”

“Me neither,” Conor admits.

“Emma.”

“Dziadziu!” Conor interrupts him. “Did you ask Emma’s dads—”

“They’re not my dads.”

“—if she can stay over tonight?” The sadness is gone from Conor’s expression as he bounces on the bed. “She’s got stuff in a drawer from the last time she stayed. She can get on the bus with me in the morning, and we can play games with Alan online later.” His gaze skates to Pawel. “If you say it’s okay, of course.”

It’s only been a couple of months, and Conor has somehow built himself a routine here. Pawel isn’t entirely sure how he fits into it.

It’s strange thinking about Conor growing up and growing apart from Pawel when his son is only nine years old.

“I talked to them,” Dad assures them. “But that means sleep tonight. It’s a school night, and I’ll be checking. No magic after dark. No surprise storms. No more rain indoors.”

“That was once!” Conor protests.

“Lights out by half past eight, and I want you asleep by nine,” Dad says in a tone that brooks no argument. “You’ve got plenty of time before then; we haven’t even had dinner yet. You might even be sick of each other by then.”

“Never!” Conor and Emma chorus.

Pawel has to wait for Dad to move before they can both slip out of the room, leaving the door cracked. “I’m glad he’s made friends here,” Pawel says quietly. “He and Alan are—well, I’d almost call them codependent sometimes. I was worried. But they both seem to be doing well.”

“Conor’s fallen on his feet, that’s for sure. He’s a lot like another child I once knew: just starts talking until he finds his spot to fit in. Might even have a bit of a savior complex.”

Pawel gives his father a dark look. “I do not have a savior complex. If I did, I’d have followed you into law enforcement, rather than going into academia.”

Dad smiles. “You’re still saving people. You just go about it in a different way on a daily basis. But it seems to me like you didn’t even hesitate when you found out your students needed your help. You can’t resist a puzzle.”

“Apple didn’t fall far from the tree, I get it,” Pawel mutters. “Fine, fine. We’re all peas in a pod, and a hundred other trite descriptive phrases. The Szczek men have similar traits.”

“Mm.” Dad leads the way outside, so they can retrieve the last few things from Pawel’s car. “Some of us have learned how to ask for help,” he says quietly. “Conor’s made himself at home in Emma’s foster house. He’s spent more than a few nights there, and yes, before you ask, I trust her foster fathers completely. One of them works with me. But that’s something you might want to think about this summer, Pawel.”

Pawel shoulders the backpack with his computer in it, and closes the door to his car. “What’s that, Dad?”

“You don’t have to do everything on your own,” Dad reminds him. “For the summer, you’ve got me. Think about what to do when you get home. The fate of the world doesn’t need to rest on your shoulders alone.”

It seems like everyone’s got something to say about his bad habits. The thing is, Pawel’s got help at home. He’s a single father; he knows he needs assistance sometimes. He’s got Alan’s family next door. Emily’s always willing to help out with Conor. But he’s also got… a lot of responsibility. He’s a professor, and a dean, and he leads Coven and the taekwondo team.

Who the hell else is he going to rely on? Pawel does the things no one else is available to do.

“Don’t worry, Dad,” he says, because he knows it’s what Dad needs to hear. “I’m not going to overwork myself again. I’ll make sure I’ve got help.”

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#welcometophu #welcome to phu #the meaning of home

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chrismho · 4 years

Text

Lakmé

Summary: Is this not the closest I’ve ever been to living? The Kurosaki Family invites Rukia along with them to the Opera. Ichiruki/Rukia-centric one-shot inspired by the opera scene in Moonstruck. Set a little bit after FB arc.

PS: It’s a pretty famous song but if you haven’t heard Flower Duet before, I highly rec you give this rendition a listen, it’s breathtaking! : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M9NK-EbUAao

“ICHIGOOOOOOO! RUKI-CHAAAAAN!”

SMACK!

A day in the Kurosaki household was not complete without at least one collision between Isshin’s face and either Ichigo’s foot or fist.

“I don't know how many times I have to tell you, old man: QUIT DOING THAT!” Ichigo roared, swiftly kicking his father back to the other side of the living room.

Rukia waited patiently for Isshin to complete this strange ritual, a fond smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Oh, Masaki!” Isshin sobbed, throwing himself upon his poster. “H-how cruel, how unloving our son has become! And Rukia at his side, so pure and lovely! W-we truly have here a beauty and the beast!”

“SHUT IT!”

The dark-haired shinigami watched them butt heads and felt a vague sense of nostalgia swirl inside her. I didn’t realize how much I…missed this, she silently admitted to herself. Seventeen months had passed and Rukia kept herself busy with work--very busy. Too busy to stop and realize just how much she missed life in Karakura. But now that she was back, the realization was sudden and overwhelming; she missed late night hollow-hunting, the bustling hallways at Karakura High, she missed Keigo, Mizuiro, Tatsuki, she missed indulging in her schoolgirl act, pretending that she was human and truly one of them. But most of all, she missed him. That was a realization that had set Rukia very much on edge. Ichigo was a comrade, a partner, a friend. A friend she found herself pining for in those seventeen months. She recalled a saying she learned in the human world, something along the lines of “absence makes the heart grow fonder”.

Absence had only made Rukia’s heart confused as hell.

Though almost two years had passed, her relationship with Ichigo picked up almost right where they left off. They bickered, laughed, they understood each other without need for words. But…now there was something new. No, not new; it had always been there. But now....now it was loud. And hard to ignore. It was something that Rukia couldn’t quite name, but its presence was undeniable. It wasn’t uncomfortable...but… but it was there.

“What do you say, Rukia-chan? Oh, please say you’ll be joining us?”

Isshin’s question snapped her out of her thoughts.

“Eh? I-I’m sorry?” she asked, startled.

“THE OPERA! An old buddy and colleague of mine has season tickets to the opera house here in Karakura. He’s away on a business trip so he gave me tickets to tomorrow’s show. We haven’t seen you in so long, the girls would just love if you came! SAY YOU’LL JOIN US!”

“Don’t push her, Dad!” Ichigo said irritably. He turned to Rukia but didn’t meet her gaze. “Seriously, y-you don’t have to go. It’s really boring, the last time I went I wanted to die-”

“OH, BUT THAT’S NOT TRUE,” Isshin cut off gleefully, shoving Ichigo out of the way and putting an arm around Rukia. “The last time we went, Ichigo was but a boy. Though only eight at the time, he was so moved by the performance that he wept and blubbered all night long--”

“HEY! N-NO I DIDN’T!”

“Yes, you did!” Karin called boredly from the kitchen.

Ichigo hunched up his shoulders and scowled, his ears and cheeks an angry shade of red.

“I’d be delighted to attend this...this ‘op-ohr-a’, Mr. Kurosaki!” Rukia declared, a cheerful and sparkly smile on her face. “Excellent! Come tomorrow evening at 7, and dress your very best, my dear! The opera is a most formal event,” Isshin beamed.

“Whatever. And get your arm off her!” Ichigo grumbled, yanking Rukia away from his father and up the stairs to his room.

“Ah, young love,” Isshin sighed after them. “Eager to get her to your bedroom, I see? Yes, yes, I’m sure you have a lot of catching up to do, if you catch my drift--”

“SHUT UP!” Ichigo screamed over his shoulder. He hurried Rukia inside his room and slammed the door shut.

“Nice to see the family dynamic hasn’t changed,” Rukia said, a sly smile on her face. She crossed her arms and leaned against the wall alongside his bed.

“1000 Yen says my dad’s got an ear pressed up to the door right now,” Ichigo replied. He sounded annoyed but there was a humorous glint in his eye. He looked up and met her gaze. They both dissolved into a quiet, gentle chuckle.

“Feel free to sit, you know,” Ichigo said, gesturing towards the bed. “I know it’s been a while but time’s never stopped you from acting like you own this place.”

“No, that’s okay. I’m fine here,” Rukia responded, cursing herself for answering him a little too vehemently. Ichigo looked at her questioningly, and Rukia could have sworn she saw a very, very faint blush creep on his cheeks. A moment of silence passed.

Tension. That’s what it was.

“So what is this opera thing, anyway? I just realized I agreed to something I know nothing about,” Rukia asked, eager to change the subject and genuinely curious about this “most formal event” that moved a young Ichigo to tears.

“It’s, uh, like a play. But with only singing. Really loud, annoying singing. And fancy costumes. And they usually end in tragedy.” Ichigo said, scratching the back of his head.

Her amusement at his fumbling explanation made Rukia forget her discomfort earlier. She smirked and flopped onto his bed. “Sounds like fun. So this loud, annoying play moved you to tears, eh?”

“IT DID NOT-Hmph, *ahem*, It did not move me to tears, I told you already that I found it boring. And I SAID YOU COULD SIT ON MY BED, NOT LIE ON IT!”

“Oh, Daddy, th-they’re on his bed already! They certainly are fast, aren’t they?” a muffled voice that sounded suspiciously like Yuzu’s could be heard saying from the other side of the door.

Ichigo’s left eye twitched.

He swung the door open and Isshin and Yuzu tumbled onto the floor. “SCRAM!” He roared, shaking his fist as they hurriedly fled the scene.

_____

Giant, crystal chandeliers hung over the U-shaped hall, twinkling prettily in the warm, golden light. The house was packed with many well-dressed and well-to-do people. The euphony of various conversations and chatter rang pleasantly in the air. If Ichigo had been moved to tears by the place alone, Rukia would understand; it was truly, truly beautiful. She tilted her head back, taking in the glittering chandeliers and intricate paintings of flowers and stars on the ceiling. She must have looked visibly awestruck, for she turned to her side to find Ichigo looking back at her, an odd, almost tender smile on his face. She gave him a sharp elbow in the ribs. “What? What’s with that dumb look?” She snapped.

“AGH! What the hell, Rukia?” He glared, letting out a sharp exhale before putting on another smile, this one more teasing. “N-nothing, I was just thinking...the last time I was here as a kid, I remember looking up at the paintings on the ceiling and counting all the stars as a way to pass the time. I guess I was just wondering if you were doing the same.”

Rukia blinked. It was rare for Ichigo to divulge….well, really anything about his past and his memories. To share this random little anecdote felt oddly intimate. She felt her cheeks warm slightly and turned away. “Heh, no I wasn’t counting, I was just...admiring. She looked back up and couldn’t help but laugh. “Ichigo, there are hundreds of stars, up there! Did you really count them all?” He looked up too and smiled wryly, shaking his head. “Nah, the show always started and the lights would go off before I ever finished. But...I like that I don’t know. It’s this weird, unfinished mystery that just...stays up there on the ceiling, y’know?”

His amber eyes and fiery-orange hair glowed in the warm light of the hall. He glowed. Does he even know how handsome he looks in that stupid tux? Rukia thought, torn between feeling endeared and annoyed. And spewing out weird, lovely musings like that, too. What an idiot.

She looked down at the program in her lap. In intricate, gold cursive, the words Lakmé: Opera en 3 Actes shone smack dab in the middle. “Is...is this in French?” she asked. “Yeah, but it’s okay; you see those black screens above the curtains up there? They’ll have translations…”

The lights began to dim.

Quickly, stealthily, Ichigo stole one last look at Rukia in full light. She was already a beautiful woman but tonight she practically glowed. With the help of Yuzu and Karin, she had parted her cropped hair to one side and teased it into elegant waves. She had reluctantly let them put makeup on her, too, and Ichigo had a hard time keeping his eyes away from her lips, soft and painted red like a pomegranate. She was wearing a dress that Ishida had surprised her with a few weeks ago, a wine-colored sleeveless piece that gently hugged her form and flowed past her knees. Yeah. She glowed. It was annoying.

Y’know, I bet she knows exactly how good she looks and is only pretending to be oblivious. He thought. What an idiot.

The red velvet curtains pulled back to reveal what looked like a stone courtyard on stage, adorned with all sorts of plants and exotic flowers. But the set was nothing compared to the music that emanated from the pit in front of the stage. She’d never heard anything like this. Not on the streets of Rukongai, nor in the banquets and gatherings in Seireitei. What was it Ichigo had called them? An orchestra. An orchestra, an orchestra, an orchestra. She had to remember that word. How so many voices, so many different strange and wonderful-looking instruments, could come together and create a sound so unified and sweet amazed her.

A procession of people dressed in long, unstitched garments came onto the stage, singing words Rukia could not understand. A big man, clad in a costume beard and yellow robe, opened his mouth and began to sing a solo.

Rukia froze.

It was obvious what he was doing required much skill, but….he sounded...funny? Rukia narrowed her eyes and fought a smile, trying to reason with this deep voice that shook with such a fervent vibrato.

She heard a snicker two chairs away from her, and turned to see Karin in the dim light, her face contorted humorously. Rukia was about to join her before Isshin turned to his daughter with a glare so scary and dangerous that any humor at all in both Karin and Rukia was effectively vanquished.

So entranced was she by the costumes and lights and flutes and cellos that the dark-haired shinigami found herself forgetting to glance up at the translations above the stage. She looked just enough times to gather that this was set in a temple in which rites were being performed. The ritual ended, and as smoothly as they glided in, the singers drifted back off the stage, leaving behind two women.

The women, arm in arm, walked down to the “river” on stage to gather flowers. The one dressed in red turned to her companion and began to sing:

Viens, Mallika, les lianes en fleurs

Jettent déjà leur ombre

Sur le ruisseau sacré

qui coule, calme et sombre,

Eveillé par le chant des oiseaux tapageurs.

Rukia froze once more. This time, there was no urge to laugh. Goosebumps rose on her arms. Her ears tingled. What, Rukia thought shakily. What is this?

The other, dressed in a simpler, sun-colored dress answered her friend in a voice just as haunting and sweet:

Oh! maîtresse, c'est l'heure

où je te vois sourire,

L'heure bénie où je puis lire

Dans le coeur toujours fermé

De Lakmé!

Rukia clenched her teeth, maintaining a stone-cold Kuchiki expression while her soul inside shook and quaked.

What is this?

Dôme épais le jasmin

Sous le dôme épais où le blanc jasmin

Like flowers landing on the surface of a pond, their voices floated, glided, rippled through the hall, lighter than air.

À la rose s'assemble

The melody seemed to follow some invisible wave that drifted down, then up, then down, and down again. It was elegantly unpredictable, like the path a feather takes on the way to the ground.

Rukia’s throat caught. The swelling in her chest bewildered and almost angered her. This...this beauty was almost cruel. Her eyes felt hot. Her face remained expressionless.

Rive en fleurs, frais matin,

Sur la rive en fleurs, riant au matin,

I never did get the chance to understand what it is to live, Rukia thought. She had, in fact, died when she was only a baby.

I....could see traces of what life was in the youth and excitement of Ichigo and his friends...the sound of their laughter, their chatter about the future.

Nous appellent ensemble.

Viens, descendons ensemble.

With each rise and fall of their voices, Rukia felt as though her soul was expanding. The singers’ figures became blurry behind the tears that began to well in her eyes.

But this…this swelling in my chest, and the goosebumps on my skin. My throat...feels tight.

A tear broke free and began to trickle down her cheek.

Is this not the closest I’ve ever been to living?

Ichigo gazed steadily at the stage, letting himself float and drift with the melody. It was no wonder the Flower Duet was such a famous song, even to those unfamiliar with opera. He cleared his throat as quietly as he could and turned to check on Rukia. His jaw clenched.

Ah! glissons en suivant

Doucement glissons; De son flot charmant

She stood absolutely still, upright, her small, pale hands clenched into fists on her lap. She did not look at him. He watched with well-hidden astonishment as a single tear rolled down her cheek. She stared solemnly at the women on stage, blinking slowly. Her amethyst eyes glistened with the water and salt that filled them.

Le courant fuyant

Suivons le courant fuyant

A lump began to form in Ichigo’s throat. He turned away, back to the stage. He couldn’t put into words what she was feeling, but he felt he understood it. He didn’t want to intrude on her moment, but he also wanted to let her know that she was not alone. Even when they were worlds apart, he’d find a way to reach her. Slowly, his hand moved towards hers.

His fingertips lightly brushed her wrist, and traveled up towards the back of her hand.

Rukia kept her eyes fixed on the singers. She gave no indication that she even noticed his hand on hers. A twinge of disappointment and embarrassment stung him. I...probably ruined her moment. I shouldn’t have-

His heart stopped. Silently, suddenly, the slender, cold hand seized his own. She intertwined her fingers with his and squeezed lightly. She did not look at him.

Dans l'onde frémissante,

Dans l’onde frémissante

To this day Ichigo couldn’t say what the hell compelled him to do what he did next. Maybe it was the nearly two years of separation, or the swelling music and stupid, glittering, chandeliers messing with his head, or the way she gripped his fingers with such a quiet and loving intensity, or a mix of all of those things. Slowly, he raised her hand up, off her lap.

D'une main nonchalante,

D’une main nonchalante,

Rukia stirred, tilting her head slightly towards him. He brought her hand up to his face and slowly, gently, firmly, pressed his lips against her knuckles. Rukia’s eyes flashed wide open, and now she turned to look at him. Another tear rolled silently down her otherwise stoic face. Ichigo opened his eyes and looked back at her.

Dôme épais, blanc jasmin,

Sous le dôme épais, Sous le blanc jasmin,

Nothing was said, but a thousand words were exchanged between them. Ichigo lowered her hand but did not let go. They held their gaze for a moment longer, then turned their heads back towards the stage.

Nous appellent ensemble!

Ah! descendons ensemble!

#ichiruki #lakme #sooo sappy hehe opera makes me WEAK #im literally frasier #ichigo kurosaki #rukia kuchiki #ichiruki fanfiction #deathberry

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whereisten · 5 years

Photo

Traces

Summary: Violet is a blossoming filmmaker with her own demons. When man of the night Taeyong comes into her life, she realizes that demons are very much real. She will have to endure the consequences of trusting the one person she should’ve steered clear from.

Genres: Romance, A Pinch of Smut, Fluff for Days, Comedy, Drama, Angst, Thriller, Horror, Fantasy

Cast: Taeyong, Yuta, OC (the bad bitch that you’ll get to know as Vi)

WARNING: Mentions of Death, Language, Alcohol, Addiction, Violence (this writing in no way represents the members mentioned, all events are fake).

________________________________________________

CD 1: Intro - Track 1 - Track 2

Word Count: 7.7k

It was a busy Friday night at BOSS Karaoke Bar, my dad’s place. He was out for the night and entrusted his official manager Hani and assistant manager me for the weekend while he was out of town for a bar owners’ convention in Newark.

BOSS Karaoke Bar was located smack dab in the middle of Sunset, Florida. Sunset was a coastal, metropolitan town with high rises and trains running for hours on end. Celebrities and other prominent figures resided and visited all the time so it was always a pleasant surprise to see a popular basketball player or an international music artist come to BOSS. It definitely helped business boom and thankfully, BOSS was stronger than it had ever been.

Dad built the business from the ground up from the time he immigrated to the States. He worked as a dishwasher, a waiter, and a bartender among other odd jobs until he was able to attain citizenship and attend the Sunset University for Business Administration at the age of 28. He met my mom around that time and after his graduation, mom had me and a year after that, she had Janine. My dad worked his way up in management at bars and restaurants all over Sunset. Then, he discovered karaoke when mom suggested it for one of their date nights. And well, the rest was history.

“Hey, Vi. Do you think you can take over for a bit while I make a few phone calls?” Hani asked me. No doubt Hani was going to juggle her several gentlemen callers for the weekend and she had to iron out some details.

“Sure!” It wasn’t even that crazy at the moment. I checked the upcoming reservations for karaoke for the next hour and saw that there were only two parties I needed to check in. It was 10:30 PM and sometimes there were walk-ins.

A few minutes passed when Hani returned to her post. “What do you think? Should I give Joshua or Hansol a shot?” She asked as she adjusted her sky high boots, earning an admiring look from two girls who were headed to the restroom.

I’d been through this with her several times and while it was humorous, I wanted the best for her. “You know I can’t answer that.”

Hani laughed, music to everyone’s ears. “Sure you can! I’ve been wracking my brain over it for weeks now and they’re both starting to get...on edge.”

“What…”

“Let’s just say the three of us aren’t welcome to Whole Foods for the next month.”

“Really?” I shot her an incredulous look.

“How was I supposed to know that they both liked to buy their orange juice from the same place I do?”

One of the karaoke rooms, although muddled, became significantly louder as the group all sang along to “Sorry Not Sorry” by Demi Lovato.

I thought about Hani’s dilemma. I never understood love triangles. They were fun on TV shows but in real life, I couldn’t imagine being torn between two people. Torn between two snacks at a vending machine? Yes. Torn between two movies? Absolutely. But two different people? No. I think I would just know when I got to meet that certain someone.

“Hani, if you can’t decide between the two of them, then maybe...you don’t like either of them enough to really decide?” I asked.

A group of men and women came into BOSS and approached the front desk. At the forefront was an attractive dark brown haired man with piercing brown eyes and a jawline that could probably slice me up into delicate slices if I rubbed him the wrong way. Something about him had me on edge.

Maybe it was just the jawline.

He smiled at me and my thighs pressed harder against each other. Well, that was new. It had to be a record to turn someone on with just a look.

His smile made me feel like he just ripped off my black top and slacks and he liked what he saw.

Uh oh.

“Hi,” he said. Jesus, his voice was like velvet.

“Welcome to BOSS,” I croaked. Get it together, I told myself.

From the corner of my eye, Hani chimed in, “I think you can handle this, Vi. Toodles!” She sauntered off to the employees’ lounge.

I turned swiftly to Hani. “Think about what I said!” I doubted she heard me.

The man laughed, almost like he was in on what Hani and I were talking about.

“Sorry,” I said as I reluctantly turned back to him. He was so pretty it hurt to stare at him for too long. Not like I had the nerve to do so. I felt like I would turn to stone from maintaining eye contact for too long. Once I let myself meet his eyes...he had a hold on me. I couldn’t explain it. “Do you have a reservation?”

“No, I’m afraid not.” He said as he proceeded to eye me up and down. Shamelessly.

My cheeks, typically flushed because of genetics, were blazing now. Hopefully, my foundation concealed that fact but by the trace of humor in his expression, I knew I wasn’t fooling anyone.

“Do you guys have any EXO songs?!” One of the man’s friends, a bombshell in a wine red skin-tight sleeveless number, asked me. She was buzzed but friendly enough.

I answered. “Yes, we do. Would you guys like to make a walk-in reservation? We have rooms available.”

The man nodded. “Yes, please. We would like the VIP lounge experience if that’s possible.” The VIP lounge experience included unlimited drinks and food platters of their choice. It also included up to 3 hours of the karaoke room.

Of course, they were rich. Or maybe they were just really treating themselves. Dad reminded me that there were people who were willing to pay a lot for the VIP experience and we more than embraced it for the business. “Okay, awesome. How would you like to pay?” Anxiety had me a little less than thrilled that there were 10 people that may want to split checks but the man interrupted my inner reverie.

“Under Taeyong Lee.” He pointed at himself and grinned, possessing a boyish charm in that instant.

I was thankful I had my computer as a distraction because I was about to melt under his stare. He was paying for the whole group? “All right. That will be $1,480. How will you be paying?”

Taeyong handed me his American Express black card. I took it from his hands and incidentally, his fingertips touched mine.

His conspiratorial smile never left his face as he watched me charge his card.

I printed out his receipt so he could sign the merchant copy of it. I handed him his card, the receipt, and pen for him to sign and feared he would touch me again when he handed them back. I was about to get a nosebleed, I could feel it.

He swiped the receipt and pen back across the counter to me. “Thank you.” He smiled more softly.

Well, that was a little better. I was still turned on but I wasn’t about to come in my pants. He was probably a huge flirt at whatever conglomerate he worked at because, getting a better look at him, he wore a well-fitted black suit and tie. He was a little too formal for a karaoke bar. Maybe he was coming from somewhere else? I wondered where-

“Um...Violet?” He read my name tag.

I blinked a few times in succession. “Y-yes?”

“Are we good to go?” He asked.

“Oh, yeah! Let me take you guys to your room.” I got the key to VIP Room 3 out of the secured drawer and stepped out from behind the front desk.

“Follow me, please,” I said, quickly so I wouldn’t keep questioning if Taeyong was eye fucking me.

I could feel him right behind me as we walked through the dark hall, illuminated by a subtle starlight effect and some strobe lights shining from the karaoke rooms’ windows.

We reached the VIP lounge. I unlocked the door for them and motioned for the group to enter. Once Taeyong headed in, I let out a breath of relief as the rest of his friends walked in. They were all attractive, with luminous skin and elegant clothes. They were all from high society and my guess was that they came from some charity function.

“Okay, so you guys are set. There are thirteen mics and there are three song selection tablets on the table by the TV screen. The menus are also available to you. I’ll have ViVi come and take your orders in the next few minutes. So make yourselves comfortable and enjoy!” I went through my awkward spiel, only to realize Taeyong was the only one paying attention.

Some of Taeyong’s friends yelled out “thank you” and “gamsahamnida”. I nodded as I left and shut the door. I sighed as I pressed my back against the wall adjacent to the door. I could finally process what happened. I knew that wasn’t all in my head. Taeyong was flirting.

And it probably meant nothing to him.

I walked back to the front desk where Hani was speaking to a few regulars. They left shortly after.

“He was interested.” Hani said conspiratorially.

“In the drink selections, maybe.” I checked my phone for notifications. I had a countdown app installed in my phone. I was two months away from attending the Thorne Gala. That sent a ping of excitement down my spine.

“Come on, Vi. I could sense the electricity.” Hani placed her hand on my shoulder.

“Some would say my awkwardness is palpable,” I shot back.

Hani rolled her eyes. “I bet he’ll come visit us before his reservation ends.”

“Oh, well that’s not fair. He’ll probably have a question about the-”

“Excuse me,” a third voice interrupted.

Like clockwork. Taeyong was back. I wondered if he meant to look at us like he wanted to hook up or if that was just a default setting for his features.

And then he smiled. I felt a sense of warmth radiating from him that I didn’t expect. I gulped.

“How can I help you?” I asked.

Hani muttered. “Eager to ask, aren’t you?”

I elbowed Hani’s side while Taeyong spoke, “I think this is yours.”

He brought his hand out to show my mood ring. The left half of the ring’s center was shaped like a crescent moon and the right half was shaped like the sun. In between the sun and moon was the gem that changed colors. My maternal grandmother gave it to me before she fell ill and shortly after passed. I rarely took it off.

Then I recalled I was fiddling with the ring in my hands and must have slipped it into my pants pocket. It must have fallen out while I was taking Taeyong and his friends to their room. That was odd. It was second nature for me to always put it back on my right ring finger.

“Oh, wow thank you.” I reached my hand out to take the ring back. He dropped the ring in my hand. I was so relieved to have it back in my grasp, putting it right back on. I glanced up at Taeyong. He blatantly stared. “I have to be more careful.”

He nodded. “You should.”

Hani lifted her eyebrows. “How did you know it was hers?”

Taeyong widened his eyes as I came to that realization.

“Lucky guess.” He shrugged immediately after but there was a trace of mischief in his eyes, if my suspicions were correct. And with that, he returned to his room.

A few hours went by and Taeyong’s group was the loudest of the bunch. It was to be expected. They just wrapped up an awe-inspiring performance of Ring Ding Dong by SHINee.

Hani yawned as she organized some files at the desk. I was tapping my recently done nails against the marble.

I was surprised that Hani didn’t press me about my nerves and how I wanted to see Taeyong again. The look he gave me when we asked him about my ring was an indicator of something. I just couldn’t figure out what that was.

Hani exclaimed. “Holy!”

I yelped. “What is it?!”

“Your little boy toy just showed up on my timeline.”

“My little…” I began skeptically as Hani shoved her phone to my face to show me a picture of Taeyong attached to a Korean news article she found on Tweetness.

“Lee Taeyong is the heir of Seoulmate Entertainment,” Hani explained to me. The article highlighted on Taeyong’s US adventures. Before Sunset, he was in Los Angeles. Before LA, it was Nashville. Before Nashville, it was New York City. He was a busy bee.

I gasped. “Wait, Seoulmate Entertainment? As in South Korea’s number 1 entertainment company? That Seoulmate Entertainment?”

Hani nodded. “I knew he looked familiar. I just didn’t think he would ever come to this part of the States. He and his inner circle usually go to Los Angeles. That’s the American hub for K-pop.”

“Then what brings them to Sunset?” I wondered.

“Sunset is a growing town with a lot to offer. And there was probably some shindig downtown. Did you see that Oscar de la Renta tux?” Hani’s eyes had a glimmer in them. Fashion was everything to her. She knew all of the brands and kept up with all of the latest lines. I knew the difference between a skirt and a skort and that was enough for me.

I had no idea how Hani knew Taeyong’s tux was Oscar de la Renta. I was still processing that he was a prince of the K-Pop kingdom. If not, the prince.

Fantastic. Another intimidation factor.

Just as we were digging deeper into the Taeyong topic, we heard a crash from one of the rooms. I jumped.

Hani huffed. “It better not be one of the champagne glasses.”

We were used to hearing glass break every now and then. I never enjoyed it. In this business, though, we had to be prepared for some drunk and rowdy customers.

I left my post to see what all the fuss was about when I heard glass break again and discovered that it was coming from Taeyong’s group. A wave of dread came over me.

I opened the door carefully, hoping no one else would throw anything.

I got a good look at the room. There were two broken champagne glasses on the floor, alcohol splattered all over. One couple was making out in the corner. One group was arguing while another was singing an OST. And in the left corner of the room, Taeyong was comforting a girl seated beside him. She was completely wasted, slumped over but still breathing. Taeyong looked tense as he ran his hand up and down her back. Once he saw me, his expression darkened. Like he was caught doing something I shouldn’t have seen.

I asked, “Everything okay? I’ll have someone come and clean up the mess. I have to charge the broken glasses to your account. Please step away from the-”

“No, that’s alright. We’re okay for now...We’re leaving soon. I’ll pay before we leave. I’m sorry about this.” He tried to sound casual, shrugging, like it was just one of those days that happened every now and then. How it couldn’t be helped.

And I could tell he wanted me to leave. I could see the pleading in his eyes.

I eyed the group warily. “Alright then…”

His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Thank you.”

I returned to the front desk. “Well, Final Fantasy and his friends are having quite the night,” I said.

“Oh? Do tell,” Hani prodded.

“It’s a party in there all right. One girl, especially, is drunk out of her wits. And there’s some drama. I wouldn’t know what it’s about but if you have the balls to go and check again after Taeyong told me to skedaddle, be my guest.”

“Sounds like Master of the Universe is hiding something,” Hani said.

“If something breaks again, I’m gonna have to do something. I don’t want to charge him for more broken property or call the cops.” I could feel the tension in my jaw from clenching my teeth.

“Trust me, he’s not worried about paying for a couple of champagne glasses. And he can make bail, too,” Hani pointed out.

That didn’t impress me one bit.

After another hour, now 1:30 AM, nothing else had escalated. When I was about to ease up, the group exited the VIP lounge. I could hear some of them arguing in Korean. Taeyong was directing his frustrations at another nicely dressed man who had the supremely drunk woman on his back. The man yelled back at him and nearly lost his balance.

Why would any of them trust a drunk man to carry a drunk woman? It was ridiculous.

Taeyong made an attempt to pull the woman off of the man’s back but the man went ballistic, exclaiming what I would guess were profanities.

The man finally dropped the girl and I was close enough to catch her. Hani was right beside me to help her up. The man was squaring up for a fight with Taeyong as he started throwing punches in the air and finally landed one neatly in Taeyong’s perfect face.

Hani exclaimed in Korean. What she said must have been along the lines of “get the fuck out”.

The man was about to throw another punch when Taeyong grabbed his fist and twisted his arm. Taeyong pulled the man to him and muttered a few things into his ear. The man slouched as Taeyong released him. The man was now silent and oddly enough, compliant. I frowned, more confused and frightened by Taeyong.

Taeyong’s disturbed demeanor shifted as he apologized to us. “I am so sorry about my friend. He had too much to drink tonight so he lost his cool for a moment. He should be fine now. We’re leaving. May I?” He nodded towards the drunk girl.

I eyed him and his friends warily. “Is she safe with you?”

Taeyong nodded. “She was a little in over her head tonight.”

“No kidding,” I replied. I winced when the girl shifted in my grasp. I needed to lift weights more often.

“I’ll drive her home,” Taeyong insisted.

“How do I know you will?” I demanded.

“What do you mean?” His eyes got a little bigger and I was even more confused about his true nature. All I saw was contradiction upon contradiction.

“I don’t know if she’s going home with someone she can trust.” As enticing as Taeyong was, I knew better than to blindly trust a pretty face.

“I’m a man of my word, Violet.” There was no trace of the humor and charm he carried when he walked into the bar.

I didn’t relent. “Why should I believe you?”

He sighed and deliberated for a few seconds. “If it puts your heart at ease, come with me.”

“What?” I asked.

“You can drive with us. Make sure Miri gets back to her apartment and I don’t take her to my sex dungeon.”

I wouldn’t put it past him to have one.

“Taeyong.” I gave him a pointed look.

“Will you?” His eyes were doe-like.

“I-“ I started.

Hani warned, “Vi, you just met the guy.”

My shift doesn’t end for another 15 minutes. And to go with two strangers? Granted, one was drunk. But as for Taeyong...

If I looked up “lethal” in the dictionary, I’d be sure to find his picture.

I wanted to make sure this girl made it home safe, though. And beneath my hostility and nerves, I hoped to get a further glimpse at the enigma before me.

I asked Hani. “Will you guys be okay to close without me?”

Hani was about to protest again but stopped. “Text me, please. Your dad would kill me if anything happened to you.”

I nodded. Hani let Taeyong and me carry Miri. Taeyong was on Miri’s right and I was on her left. She was a little off-balance considering the height difference between Taeyong and me. It was a good thing I wore my wedges today or else we would’ve looked even more ridiculous.

I looked up at Taeyong. “All right, here’s how it’s going to go. We go in my car. You give me the directions to Miri’s place.”

Taeyong raised a slit eyebrow but he accepted. “You got it.”

Hani warned, “Be careful.”

I smiled at her reassuringly, “Nothing is going to happen, except...Taeyong?”

He adjusted Miri on his shoulder. “Yeah?”

“That will be $150 for the broken glasses.”

“It’s bold of you to go out with a stranger, isn’t it?” Taeyong asked from the backseat. I pulled out of my parking spot in the parking garage adjacent to BOSS. He provided me with Miri’s address that I put on Good Maps.

I rolled my eyes. “This is well past my comfort zone, sure.”

“Can I go home now?” Miri asked.

Miri sat in the passenger seat. She was now more tipsy than far gone. She had long thick brown hair that fell way past her shoulders, down to her hips. Her gorgeous bronze skin was adorned by the reflection of the street lights and neon signs.

“Don’t worry. Taeyong and I are taking you home,” I said.

She grinned. “Aren’t I lucky? What happened to Baekhyun?”

I assumed Baekhyun was the drunk guy who punched Taeyong.

Taeyong replied, “Shownu took him home. Baekhyun will text you in the morning.”

Miri nodded. “Sounds good.”

I raised my eyebrows at this exchange.

I could feel Miri stare at me. “I don’t know you but...I like you.”

Taeyong chuckled at that.

My eyes never strayed from the road but I replied. “I’m Violet. I’m just making sure you get home safe.”

“Thanks Violet...Taeyong’s a nice guy...Stuck up but nice…”

Taeyong scoffed at that.

“Well, that’s what you get for wearing that suit,” I muttered after we reached a stoplight and met his stare in the rearview mirror. His eyes were sharp and alert. Like he wouldn’t dare look away from me. It sent pleasant shivers down my spine, I admitted.

Taeyong asked, “What was that?”

I blushed. “Nothing..”

Miri giggled. “Keep your eyes on the road, Violet. Or else Taeyong is gonna land you a ticket.”

I faced the road again. Taeyong cleared his throat. The light turned green again.

“So Violet...how do you know Taeyong? Are you maybe one of his…” She started giggling.

“His…?” I wondered. Was I one of his playthings?

Taeyong cut right in. “No, Miri. She’s not. We met tonight at BOSS. She works there.”

“Oh yeah! You were so nice! And you’re really pretty.” Miri said as she laid her head against the window. She fell asleep not too long after.

One long agonizing minute passed. All the while, I had music quietly playing in the car from my recently played playlist. The song was “Amigos con Derechos” by Reik and Maluma.

Taeyong exhaled like he was just as tense as I was. “So Violet, what’s your story?”

“My story?”

“I’d like to know more about the pretty stranger in the driver’s seat.”

I nearly sputtered. “You don’t mean that.”

“Oh, I do. You caused quite the scene back there. So...I’m intrigued.”

Did he really just say that?

“Oh, I caused a scene?” I asked a little too quietly.

“Yes?” He sounded unsure now that he heard how annoyed I was. It was refreshing to hear him like that. Contrary to how he seemed: confident and owning any space he existed in.

“It was you and your friends that made a mess,” I said pointedly.

“What? I paid for it.” What a response.

“Are you kidding me?” I laughed.

“What?” He was even more confused.

“Why make a mess if you don’t have to? Do you know how much of an inconvenience it is for the staff to clean what you left behind and recover the losses from those champagne glasses?”

“I paid for those and I apologized. I’m so sorry again.” He meant it.

“Your friend was a real jerk. Being so irresponsible. Not looking out for her.” I nodded towards Miri. If I could get that jerk alone, I’d give him a piece of my mind. Even if he didn’t speak a lick of English.

“Violet, calm down.” I dared to think Taeyong was nervous.

“I hate what alcohol does to people who don’t know how to control their intake.”

“Violet.”

“And your other friends? None of them seemed to care. Someone should’ve told her to slow down.”

“Violet, stop. I get it.”

“You guys should be more careful next time.”

“Violet,” he said, emphasizing every syllable, snapping me out of my reverie.

“What?”

“Calm down.”

“I’ll calm down when you wake up!” When those words left my mouth, I remembered something I wanted to shove back into the recesses of my mind.

“I’ll calm down when you wake up!”

“If I’m asleep, Violet, then I never want to wake up!”

I didn’t realize I gripped the steering wheel so hard then.

Miri whined. “Can you keep it down?”

I winced at my outburst and pulled over to breathe.

Taeyong gave me a few moments before he carefully whispered, “Violet?”

In. Out. Dr. Mendes told me to breathe.

“Violet, are you okay?” He asked.

In. Out. I felt the pressure on my chest leaving.

I rubbed my hand over my face. “Yeah. I...got carried away.”

Silence followed. “Someone to Spend Time With” by Los Retros was playing quietly on the stereo now.

Taeyong started, “You’re right, you know...About my friends and me.”

I laughed weakly. “That’s music to my ears.”

“I’m an ass.”

I played with my hands, avoiding his gaze. Embarrassed. Even if Taeyong was an ass, I didn’t think it was right of me to snap at him like that. “Go on.”

“I’m sorry.” His tone was somber. Repentant.

He sounded much closer than he did so I turned around. He leaned on the driver’s seat. My arm bumping into his hand, which he’d placed on the shoulder of my seat. Like he wanted to touch my shoulder but was smart enough not to.

Taeyong’s face was very close to mine. The frustration I felt quickly transformed into a different kind.

“Thank you,” I said, my cheeks aflame.

He smiled warmly. His sharp features softened to show a cuter and more innocent side of him. He didn’t feel the tension I felt, it seemed. And that disappointed me.

I didn’t know what was up with me. Maybe my hormones were just out of control. It was just a few days before my period. Maybe it was because I haven't been with anyone in five years.

I put the car in drive. We were back en route to Miri’s house.

“So...Do you still want to know my story?” I asked, aiming to lighten the mood.

“Absolutely,” his voice was dripping with honey.

“Okay. But in return, you have to tell me about yourself. And what happened with your pal. Baekhyun, was it?”

He went silent when I said “Baekhyun” but then he relented. “Fine.”

I began, “Well, I was born and raised in Sunset. I went away for college in Atlanta before deciding to move back.”

“Why did you come back?”

“I wanted to work on my filmmaking career and earn money on the side.”

“Filmmaking?”

I nodded. “I’ve been into filming and editing since I was thirteen. I put those dreams on the backburner when I went to college. It was my junior year when it hit me. I wanted to film. I wanted to make something I could be proud to call my own. To see my own movies on the silver screen? That’s my dream.”

“That’s great. What are your movies about?”

I answered quickly, “Love.” I was a little too eager on that delivery.

Taeyong hesitated. “Love?”

“As flawed as people are, they deserve love. And there’s just so many kinds of love. Between friends. Family. Lovers. I want to focus on the ups and downs of all kinds of relationships. I want my audience to connect with what I create. If a thirty five year old man wants a love story about him and his podiatrist, I would make it.”

“A foot doctor?” Taeyong laughed.

“Everyone has a story, Taeyong.”

He pondered. “You’re right.”

I realized that I really poured my heart out to him then and proceeded to turn bright red. “Sorry, that was a little much...”

“Nah, it wasn’t. You really lit up when you were talking just now. I like seeing you that way.”

I wanted to turn around and lock lips with him.

He continued, “I’m happy for you. It’s beautiful...Your dream. You know what you want.” He sounded almost melancholic. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say his case was different.

I coughed as Miri tossed and turned in her corner. “Thank you.”

He grinned at me through the rearview mirror. “Now you can ask me some personal questions.”

I laughed at that. “Oh, I will. So...Where did you study? And what’s your biggest dream? It’s only fair you answer these since I exposed myself to you.”

We were both stunned to silence when I realized my choice of words.

I added, “You know what I mean.” My blush was just going to be my best friend tonight. Might as well own it.

“I attended Seoul University, majoring in business administration and music composition.”

I remembered the article Hani showed me. It was no wonder he was studying both if he was going to inherit his father’s company. “That’s awesome. You’re versatile. There’s so much you can do with both majors.”

“Yeah...Honestly, I prefer music composition. My father required I major in Business Administration.”

“I see...So are you expected to take over your father’s business?”

He asked, “How did you know about my father’s business?”

I choked. “Well...Hani and I looked you up...On GoodSearch.”

“Oh?” Why did it sound like he was smiling?

“Hani thought you looked familiar so we looked you up. But don’t worry we didn’t go too deep into it. Who knows what we could uncover?”

“What are you implying?” He asked, suspicious.

“Oh, nothing at all,” I teased.

He laughed. His laugh was rich and warm. Not like the teasing laughter I’ve heard.

He continued, “But yeah, since my parents found out I was a boy in my mother’s womb, my fate was sealed.”

“That’s...intense.”

“You don’t know the half of it…”

And with that, there was another silence. What could I say to that? It wasn’t like I could relate. Plus, he didn’t seem like the type to enjoy pity.

I said, “Alright, next topic…What is your biggest dream?” I cringed. Maybe that question was too cheesy. But what other way was there to say it?

“I don’t have a damn clue.”

I gaped. “Nothing?”

“It feels like I’m on autopilot. Like I’m living by a schedule and I’m just expected to show up wherever the schedule tells me to.”

I hesitated but gave into what I really wanted to know. “You don’t want to inherit your dad’s company...do you?”

He thought about it for a moment. “I’m not sure, Violet.”

We pulled up to a high rise in North Bay Village and parked in the guest area.

Taeyong said, “Alright, Miri, you’re home! Wakey wakey.”

I tapped Miri on the shoulder and she groaned, “Five minutes, Baekhyun.”

Thanks Miri for reminding me of why exactly I couldn’t trust Taeyong in the first place.

Taeyong got out of the backseat and opened the passenger door.

I got out of the driver’s seat and stood beside Taeyong.

I asked. “How are we going to do this?”

Taeyong replied, “Let’s grab her arms and go from there.”

So we did. Miri laughed. “Guys! That tickles!” She finally stood up.

“Can you stand on your own?” I asked.

She attempted to walk and wobbled so Taeyong and I caught her before she face planted against the concrete. “If I lean on something, yeah…”

Taeyong and I gave each other a look.

“You take one side and I’ll take the other,” he said.

“Sounds good.”

We got Miri to put one arm over my shoulders and the other over Taeyong’s. “You guys are amazing. Thank you sooooo much for bringing me home. I promise to invite you guys over soon and make you some lasagna,” Miri said as she nuzzled Taeyong and then me.

I laughed and asked, “Where are we going?”

“Miri, what floor are you on?” Taeyong asked.

“Sixteenth!” She exclaimed.

“And...you have your keys, right?” Taeyong eyebrows furrowed in concern.

“Yeah, they’re in my purse. Can you check for me?” Miri asked me.

I checked her neon pink handbag. Thankfully, the keys were there. “Yup.”

Miri yelled, elated. “To the sixteenth floor, gentlemen!”

We stopped at Miri’s doorstep as she fumbled with her keys. She handed them to me. “Will you be a doll and open my door?”

I unlocked her door and we brought her in.

“Jesus Christ, Miri. I thought you weren’t going to be home for another two hours!” A female voice piped up from one of the rooms.

“Sorry to interrupt your ME time, Barbara! Your solo stage. Your me, myself, and I!” She erupted in laughter. “Do you want to meet my friends?!”

“Fuck, Miriam. You have people over?!” Barbara didn’t sound thrilled.

We helped Miri to her bedroom and she plopped onto her bed.

Miri said, “Thank you guys. I’m sorry for all of the trouble…”

Taeyong shook his head. “As long as you’re okay.”

“Do you need some water or anything?” I asked her.

“Nah, it’s fine. Babs will take care of me. She owes me.”

Taeyong and I walked out of the high rise. As we walked back over to my car, I remembered his interrogation wasn’t over.

“So what happened tonight? Broken glasses. Yelling. A fight that almost made me call the cops on your asses.”

Taeyong met my eyes for a moment before staring off in the distance again. “Baekhyun had too much to drink and lost control. We’re not the best of friends but we run in the same circles.”

“Is he Miri’s boyfriend?”

“I wouldn’t say that. They’re pretty casual. I got pissed because he wasn’t really looking out for her like he should’ve.”

“I see…Well, you did a good thing.” I felt like an ass for thinking he didn’t care about her. He wasn’t perfect but I shouldn’t have written him off the way I did.

He put his hands in his extravagant pockets. “Yeah?”

“You were quite the gentlemen,” I admitted.

He chuckled. “You went out of your way to help a stranger. It was very noble of you.”

“You think so?”

“Now don’t act modest, Violet. You know you did a good but stupid thing tonight.”

I was floored. He was right about that.

Up until this point, Taeyong didn’t show any signs of snapping my neck and leaving me for dead. But I wouldn’t confirm that until he got out of my car when we headed back.

Taeyong continued, “You let two complete strangers into your car. A personal place...” He moved himself closer to me. “And you don’t even know me.”

“That was stupid. But...you don’t seem that dangerous to me. Foolish? Yeah. But dangerous? I don’t think so.” Oh, if my parents could hear me at that moment.

We reached my car. He paused and got a good look at me. “It’s sweet of you to think that.”

Taeyong sat in the passenger seat this time. He gave me his phone. “Play anything you want. Do you like K-Pop?”

“Do I? Oh ho ho let’s see what you’ve got.”

I scrolled through his Berry Music streaming app and was shocked to find SHINee’s upcoming album.

“No fucking way. You have access to SHINee’s new album? It doesn’t come out for another two weeks!”

Taeyong beamed. “Being my father’s son has its perks.”

“God, would it be okay if we listened to it?”

“My library is yours, Violet.”

We drove, heads bobbing to another SHINee triumph. We talked about what SHINee songs were our favorites and talked more about music. We liked a lot of the same artists. And somehow ice cream came up in the conversation and he admitted he had the biggest sweet tooth. It was so contradictory to his persona but I liked it. The ride back was faster, I was disappointed to realize. The traffic, unfortunately, died down real quick.

But when the last song played, the atmosphere shifted. It was a sensual song. I didn’t need to know Korean to know that. It was in Taemin’s voice. And the infamous bedspring sound effects SM was known for. And the English phrase: stay with me tonight.

The head bobbing stopped and I felt like the oxygen was quickly escaping from my car.

We reached a stop light that I knew ran pretty long so I took the chance to look at Taeyong.

I regretted it.

Because he was staring. Hard. His eyes were lustful and he gave me a half smile. He bit his lip and I wondered if we could pull over into the Target parking lot and just be wild animals.

A car beeped me out of the temptation. The stop light was green now. Eyes back on the road.

We arrived back at the parking garage. It was almost empty. BOSS was closed and everyone had gone home. I parked beside Taeyong’s Maserati and shut the engine off.

“So…” I began.

“So…” He mirrored.

“I guess this is...goodbye.”

“Yeah.” He looked sad, defeated even.

I forced a smile because even I was supremely bummed at not seeing this gorgeous specimen again. I felt like tonight was the beginning of something. What that was...I didn’t know. But I wanted to.

“Thanks for the ride back, Violet.” And he just stared at me. Kind of expectantly.

I avoided his stare. “Good night.”

“Good night, Violet.” He opened the passenger door gently. Was I crazy or was he slowly getting out of the car?

He got out of the car and shut the door.

Oh, fuck it.

I pulled my keys out of the ignition, shoved them and my phone in my front jeans pockets, and got out of my car.

“Taeyong!” I yelled. My voice echoed in the garage but I didn’t care. He was about to open his car door but I ran up to him before he could.

“What’s up?” He asked.

I got up on my tiptoes, pulled his face closer, and kissed him.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I just had to know what his lips would feel like. If there was a connection there.

Instantly, he took my face into his hands and deepened the kiss. I allowed his tongue into my mouth and our tongues were fighting it out over who could die from arousal. I ran my hands through his hair and he was caressing my upper body. He cupped my ass and picked me up off the ground. He moaned and so help me, it was the hottest thing I’d ever heard. I could feel his member rising against my pelvis. And I knew he could feel how soaked I was.

I needed air so I relinquished myself and Taeyong groaned.

Traces of my lipstick were on his lips. I giggled as I wiped them off.

Taeyong looked impatient. “Can we-“

My phone vibrated in my pocket. Taeyong, his hands very fond of my ass, glared at my phone as I grabbed it from my pocket.

It was Hani. Crap, I never texted her.

I answered, “Hey.”

Hani almost destroyed my right ear drum. “Hey? HEY?! Are you fucking kidding me? I’ve been worried! Are you okay? Where are you?”

Taeyong watched me, the lust very palpable. Radiating off of his luminous skin. The typically unflattering parking garage lights couldn’t do anything to this man.

I gulped. “Hani, I’m so sorry! I’m okay. I was dropping Taeyong off at his car. We’re in the garage.”

Hani let out a sigh of relief. “Thank God! I could kill you!”

Taeyong adjusted himself and he was getting very needy. Everything about him was.

“I’m going home now, don’t worry.” I said, lying. Half feeling bad and half wanting to hang up.

“Is he still with you?” Hani asked, not hiding her disgust and annoyance.

I froze before I let out, “Y-yes.”

“I’m just gonna take a wild guess. You’re gonna hook up with him. If not, you’re in the process...And I’m interrupting.”

I hesitated.

“So which one is it?”

“It’s the second,” I admitted.

“Oh...Oh!!!!!” Hani laughed. “So...I’m guessing he checks out then?”

I blushed. “Yeah.”

Taeyong gave me a playful annoyed look. He could hear everything Hani was saying.

Hani sighed. “Text me when you get home. Don’t stay out too late.”

“All right. Good night, Hani. And I’m sorry again.”

Hani tsked. “Just don’t leave me hanging. As long as you’re okay, I’m happy.”

“Thanks Hani.”

“Good night, purple moon.” She said suggestively, using one of my nicknames. She hung up.

Taeyong grabbed my phone out of my hands. He stuffed it in my pocket. He pulled me closer and initiated a kiss.

He was so strong and commanding with every movement. He held me tightly and securely. I knew he wouldn’t let me fall. It was like I didn’t weigh much to him. He was stronger than I imagined.

He moved his lips down to my neck, peppering it with kisses and looking up into my eyes with so much affection. And then he sucked at my neck. I moaned so loudly that I could hear the echoes. I took off his jacket and he chucked it back to the hood of his car. I ran my hands all over his abdomen. Rock solid to no one’s shock. I began unbuttoning his dress shirt and could see tufts of his chest hair peek out. I wished my hands could work faster.

And then, once again, we were interrupted. Taeyong’s phone rang. He grabbed it out his pocket while handling me with one hand.

Taeyong spat out something in Korean before he answered.

Answering, he bit out, “What?”

Whatever the other person said on the other line, it annoyed Taeyong.

He responded in Korean, leaving me confused and impatient. Now I knew how he felt when Hani called. Only I felt worse because I didn’t know what he was saying and I didn’t know what was going on.

Taeyong ended the call and he looked bothered.

“You okay?” I asked him.

His features relaxed when he looked at me. “I could kill Shownu.”

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“I have to go,” he said. “Baekhyun’s being a lousy drunk.”

“Oh.” I looked down, not wanting him to see my disappointment.

He tenderly took my chin and lifted my face up to look at him. He kissed my nose. “I’m sorry.”

I sighed. “Me, too.”

He put me down and he walked me back to the driver’s seat of my car. I got in, fastened my seat belt, and turned on the engine. Taeyong hung out right outside the door, lingering.

“I guess it wasn’t meant to be,” I said, “But...it was nice while it lasted.”

“I don’t think nice is the right word,” he said as he gave you the same look he did during that SHINee song.

My throat dried up. “You should go.”

“Not until you give me your number,” he said.

I did a double take. “Really?”

“Yeah.” His sexy smile graced his well-sculpted face.

“O-okay.”

We exchanged numbers. I gave him my phone so he could add my number. He even took a picture of himself for his contact photo, making a goofy face.

I laughed and did the same when he gave me his phone. I looked at my selfie. I cringed. I should’ve just tried doing a cute pose.

Taeyong was very close to me as I carefully analyzed my photo. “Cute.”

I yelped and he laughed.

“Relax. I don’t bite...Unless you want me to,” he said.

“Ooookay! Well, here’s your phone back!” I avoided his glance. “I gotta get going.”

“Okay.” His smile softened. He gently took my hand and kissed it.

“Sweet dreams, Violet.”

;;

Intro: Epilogue

(A/N: the following conversation is in Korean so think of this as a translation)

Taeyong was cursing himself for leaving Violet to go tend to his idiot friends. And Baekhyun wasn’t even a friend and acquaintance was too nice of a title to bestow on such an unworthy person. He parked in the driveway of his beach house in Sunset Shores and entered. He went up the stairs to Baekhyun’s room.

Taeyong knocked. Shownu answered, noticing how Taeyong’s hair looked disheveled and how flushed he looked. He didn’t want to pry. He motioned for Taeyong to come in.

Baekhyun was inside, his arms handcuffed to the headboard of the bed. The handcuffs were made to keep people like Baekhyun from moving too much. “Taeyong, you little shit. Get me out of these.”

Taeyong sneered. “After what you did tonight? Nearly blowing our cover? What were you thinking?”

Baekhyun stammered. “Miri said I could so I went for it! There’s no issue.”

“I had to have someone break into the surveillance room and manipulate the footage, you moron.”

“Taeyong-“ Baekhyun started.

“You need to get it through your thick skull that we can’t afford to let anyone know the truth about us. Not if we hope to claim what we want.”

Baekhyun laughed. “What we want? This isn’t about any of us. This is about your vendetta against your ex.”

Taeyong moved closer to Baekhyun and pressed the cuffs harder against Baekhyun’s skin, causing him to cry out in pain.

“You want my protection? A piece of my wealth? Then do as I say, Hyung.” He spat the last word, knowing it humiliated Baekhyun to be subject to his junior.

Taeyong turned to Shownu, who waited for his instruction.

“Shownu, he’ll be fasting for the next week,” Taeyong said.

Shownu, not really one to display intense emotion, blinked in surprise. Baekhyun yelled, “Do you want to die, Taeyong?”

Taeyong smiled. “You should be asking yourself that.”

Track 1 (Coming Soon)

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zankivich · 5 years

Text

Dad!Shawn x Black Reader x Black Daughter: No One - A Blurb

Warnings: mini smut? Absolutely adorable cuteness?

Shawn was home from tour. And when Shawn was home from tour, Ella tended to lose her mind in the best of ways. She didn’t want shit to do with anyone except for her daddy, and you couldn’t tell her anything because she was gonna be with him twenty-four/seven. So when Shawn came back, you usually took a couple of days off work—a week if you could manage—and it strictly became nothing but family time. And that’s what you had done this time too. But the first day you went back to work, Shawn had assured you that he and Ella just needed one more day of no school or responsibilities.

“Baby, she needs me.” He whined. “I vaguely hinted at going to school last night while she was brushing her teeth and you should’ve seen the look she gave me. It was like I stomped on her poor, precious, tiny heart and then ate it.”

You couldn’t help but snort.

“You are such a sucker. That little girl knows exactly what she’s doing, Shawn. She just knows you’ll say yes.”

You were at your vanity mirror getting ready for work like a normal person while your husband draped himself over your shoulder in sweatpants and pouted. You had vague memories of your mother scolding you for, “being so soft on that white boy.” Maybe she had a point after all.

“I just…when I left for tour she was only five babe.” He mumbled. “And I know we agreed it was time, but I missed so much. I missed baby teeth under pillows, and picture day at school. I had to watch her first dance recital through a phone.”

You noticed the look on his face that he tended to get when he was down on himself. His eyes were downcast and he was chewing on his bottom lip as his mind ran a thousand miles a minute. You were so incredibly soft on him it was ridiculous.

“Baby,” You sighed turning to wrap your arms around his bare torso. “You know better than to beat yourself up about that. We have done so incredibly well together. Ella loves to fly. We made the monthly visits. We facetimed every night before bed. And you did see her recital because you were right there for her. And that’s what Ella knows. That her daddy is always gonna be there for her in anyway that he can. You’re too good of a dad to get down on yourself.”

One of his curls flopped in his eyes and he looked up at you from under long lashes, exactly the way your daughter tended to do. Like father like daughter.

“You really think so?”

“I know so. Now why don’t you go wake her up and maybe we can make French toast before I go to work…since the two of you will be home all day, I gotta make sure my baby gets at least one decent meal.”

He grinned at you and quickly placed an obnoxiously sloppy kiss upon your cheek.

“I love you so much.” He whispered tugging you up from your chair and to wrap his arms around your waist.

“I love you too.”

He pressed his lips a little more urgently against yours, his palm coming to rest along your cheek as he licked inside your mouth. His other hand bunched at the material of your robe only to pull you closer against his chest. Maybe you had missed a little something too while he’d been away.

Your fingers rubbed searchingly along his chest coming to rest at the hem of his sweats as he bit roughly at your bottom lip. Shit.

“Mmm really missed you.” He mumbled against your mouth.

Shawn pulled at the tie of your robe reaching inside to nestle his hands under the meat of your thighs as he pulled you up into his arms. You’d definitely missed that.

“Thought you wanted breakfast.” You sighed as he seamed to refamiliarize himself with the skin of your neck.

“I want something for sure. Can’t really put it on a plate though.” He hummed turning to toss you back down to the sheets.

Long, wonderfully orgasmic, story short, you were late to work.

And so when you came home that day, later than usual, after maybe not the best of days, one could say you needed something good to come home too. And your husband was always one to please.

You could hear the base radiating from within the house before you even put your key in the door. Shawn had had speakers installed in almost every room in the house. When he was writing he liked to hear the music in every way imaginable, tried to see himself in a variety of places, in a variety of ways, to make sure that the song made sense everywhere.

He’d also had this beautiful, black grand piano installed in the living room. Part of it had been for him, but you had a feeling he was gonna try to get Ella on piano and guitar before she even learned multiplication if he could. And so when you entered into the house that day, Alicia Key’s “No One” was blaring from every corner of the house it seemed. And Shawn was playing right along with her from the piano, while he and Ella sang like there was no tomorrow.

“No one! No one! No Onnnnnnnnnnnne! Can get in the way of what I’m feeling!”

Shawn was beaming at their daughter as she sat ontop of the piano kicking her feet and clapping along as her rockstar dad jammed along with her.

“That’s it baby girl, sing it out!” He called pressing down harder on the keys.

He did it with the exact same energy he gave every show. Like it was fifty thousand people instead of a six year old little girl. You loved that about him, that you both mattered that much to him.

“You and me together, through the days and nights! I don’t worry, cause everything’s gonna be alright!”

“Beautiful!”

You pulled your phone out, reaching to record the absolutely precious moment before you. You figured you would wait until the song was over to intervene, but when it immediately picked up again you had a feeling they had maybe been jamming to the same song for hours. If you knew your daughter, which you did, it was definitely a request she would make. And if you knew your husband, which you also did; it was definitely a request he’d fulfill until his fingers started to bleed.

“What is all this beautiful music I’m hearing?!” You smiled immediately scooping you daughter until your arms.

“Mommy!” Ella squeaked squeezing you back just as tight. “Mommy, daddy says I’m gonna be a singer.”

“Is that so?”

Shawn reached for the remote to the stereo system so that you might all be able to hear each other.

“I said she could be a singer if she wanted to. Our baby girl is already ten times as talented as I was when I was on vine.” He explained.

“Remind me to show you what your daddy used to look like when he was a teenager.” You grinned.

“Haha very funny. How was work?” He asked fingers thumbing gently at the keys of the piano again.

You hitched Ella higher up on your hip to get her to smile and peered over at your husband with tired eyes.

“It was okay.”

That was code for, “please let me cuddle up on your chest and complain in bed later tonight.” He nodded.

“Well how about I make dinner tonight? Ella wants pizza. You wanna help daddy make a meal for mommy?” He smiled reaching playfully for her tiny foot.

Ella nodded her head vigorously. “Yea! Please, Mommy, can we make it for you pleaseeeeeeeeee?”

“Please Mommy?” Shawn added in.

“You don’t have to ask me twice, y’all. I will happily sit my tired self down on this couch and not move.”

Shawn stood and quickly transferred Ella from your grip to his. He leaned into your space, towering over you with his obnoxiously perfect face and convinced Ella to attack you with kisses. It had it’s intended affect. Your heart turned to absolute mush as the most important people in your life worked to make you happy. You smiled up at them with ease. They were both so easy to come home to.

“Can I get you a glass of wine maybe, sweetheart?”

That was code for, “how bad of a day was it?”

“Red, please?”

You hated the taste of red wine. It was absolutely terrible. But it got you tipsy quicker than white for some reason. Red please was code for, “not fucking good at all.”

“Coming right up. Sit down and relax, aye?”

He brings you a glass of red that was still cold from the fridge, because there was no way in hell you could drink that shit warm, and pressed a kiss smack dab in the middle of your forehead.

“We’ll talk about it after Ella goes to bed, yea?” He whispered.

You nodded softly leaning up off the couch to kiss him.

“Okay. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Dinner is served to you on the couch with Ella sitting on your lap while you all ate slices of pizza and watched whatever animated film made her absolutely quiet at the time. When the food was gone Shawn lied back against the couch letting you slide snugly between his thighs, Ella following suit between yours. You pulled her hair from her ponytail and scratched soothingly at her scalp. By the time she fell asleep in your arms, and with the way Shawn was wrapped around you you almost forgot about the day you had. That was why you loved your family, because coming home always felt like home and not work. Well, at least most of the time.

“She out?” Shawn hummed nuzzling his head against yours.

“Yea.”

“Let’s tuck her in and go to bed, baby.”

You’d never heard a better idea. Going to bed before ten o’clock was truly the concept of a life time when you were an adult.

“Can we take a shower?”

“We can do whatever you want.”

You send him a smirk over your shoulder as you headed towards the bedroom, pulling your braids up atop your head.

“Don’t tell me that!”

In the shower, getting clean in the least of your worries. The way his hands grip your hips from behind is everything to you. The way he pins you against the wall and grabs your chin in his too big hand to kiss you absolutely silly, till you couldn’t remember your name let alone what the hell had upset you at work that day. Every time he pressed his hips against yours, or dug his palms into your thighs, you practically melted. Ugh.

“You’re so tense.” He mumbled pressing his wet curls against your neck. “Let me help.”

For Shawn, helping means falling to his knees and snuggling his head between your thighs, oversized hands mapping the curvature of your breasts with ever flick of his pointed tongue.

“Damn baby.” You whined hips pulsing closer to his mouth.

He peered up at you with a wicked glint in his eye as he slurped from your being till you couldn’t help but squirm and whine and gasp. His fingers grabbed at the back of your thighs, digging deeply into the skin. And as his lips wrapped firmly around your clit he had the audacity to slap your ass the way only he’d ever been allowed to. It has you digging deep into his curls and grinding desperately against his mouth as your orgasm rushes through you.

You’re still panting against the side of the shower wall like a wet cat when he sidled back up against you and kissed you silly.

“Go get into bed.” He mumbled nipping at your jaw playfully. “I’m gonna make you do that at least two more times before you even think about sleep.”

You whined up at him as your hands mapped his body. How was it possible for someone to be so perfect and so loving and so…everything. How could he be everything, always?

“I love you.” You whispered

“I love you too baby. Come let me show you how much.”

And show you he did.

#Shawn mendes #shawn mendes fic #Shawn mendes fanfic #Shawn mendes fan fic #Shawn mendes fanfiction #Shawn mendes fluff #Shawn mendes smut #shawn mendes angst #Shawn mendes au #Shawn mendes x y/n #Shawn mendes x you #Shawn mendes x female reader #Shawn mendes x black reader #dad!shawn #Shawn mendes one shot #Shawn mendes x black woman #Shawn mendes blurb

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vincent-frankenstein · 5 years

Note

"Trick-or-treating is for children. Let's go cause some trouble" with some Highschool AU Remile please-

me? combining my longest-running hyperfixation with my oldest hyperfixation in a 4k unedited mess? it’s more likely than you’d think

listen hocus pocus’ protagonists are both in high school. it works.

Title: I Put A Spell On You

Summary: Remy doesn’t like Halloween. What he does like is impressing his crush, Emile Picani, Salem’s resident witch fanatic. When a night out trick-or-treating with his brother Roman turns into a quest to explore the old Sanderson Museum, with Emile by his side, it’s like a dream come true — even if Roman thinks it’s more like a nightmare.

It’s not like there’s anything to be scared of, right? Those old superstitions, all that shit about the Sanderson Brothers — it’s not like any of it is real.

After all, it’s just a bunch of hocus pocus.

Pairings: romantic remile and brotherly remy & roman

Warnings: mentions of death, hangings, witchcraft, etc + bullies + some Brotherly Angst + unsympathetic virgil (but like. only implied)

Remy wasn’t the biggest fan of Halloween.

He’d liked it enough back home in L.A., where it was more about parties and stupid horror movies and seeing how much pumpkin-spiced garbage you could shove down your throat in one night. But he’d been dragged away from his home and dropped smack-dab in the middle of Lametown, U.S.A. — a.k.a., Salem. Salem, where everyone from toddlers to teachers believed in witches and ghouls and other such things that go bump in the night, where the best “parties” were boring masquerade balls thrown by old rich dumbasses for old rich dumbasses.

Salem, where trick-or-treating was a cultural must.

Salem, where the only thing lamer than going trick-or-treating was being forced to take your dorky-ass brother out trick-or-treating.

He hunched his shoulders, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his leather jacket, and hoped his dark shades were enough to keep anyone from recognizing him. Roman pranced ahead of him with a spring in his step and a song on his tongue, his prince costume — hand-sewn by Mom, of course, anything for the golden child — sparkling orange-purple-green in the lights from the houses they passed.

“Girl,” he hissed, falling into step beside his brother, “you’ve got enough candy to feed a small army. Can we go home now?”

“Nope!” Roman beamed, showing off his gap-toothed, sugar-coated smile. “We haven’t even hit the best houses yet! Miss Valerie told us at school that there’s a lady on this street who gives out freshly-baked cookies!”

“Isn’t that just Gucci,” he muttered, rolling his eyes. Roman didn’t hear him — or, more likely, he did, and he just didn’t care. He skipped merrily up the steps to a tall, brightly-lit house, and bounced on the balls of his feet as he rang the doorbell. Remy leaned heavily against a post at the bottom of the stairs and glared at the ground, arms crossed tightly.

“Woah-hoh! If it isn’t Hollywood!”

Remy’s blood ran cold. Of course. Of all the people to catch him trick-or-treating, it had to be the two biggest dumbshits in the world! He lifted his gaze, trying to remain as nonchalant as possible as his heart pounded in his throat.

Two goons stood at the front gate of the house, with a small gaggle of other goons gathered behind them. Nate — the leader, and the dumbest of all the dumbshits — leaned languidly against the gate, a cruel, slow smile etched across his face. He pushed off the gate and stalked towards Remy, slow as syrup and twice as sickly-sweet.

“Sorry to break it to you, girl, but I think you’re lost,” Remy sneered, standing to meet him. “The dumbass convention is that way.”

His goons burst out laughing, and Nate shot them a glare, hands curling into fists. His second goon-in-command, a tall, lanky kid with sunglasses and a woven black scarf, stepped up beside him, still laughing. Nate jabbed an elbow into his side. “Shut up, Derek,” he hissed.

“I told you, it’s Dice now!” the goon said, clutching his chest in offense. Remy snorted, raising an eyebrow, and Dice whirled on him with all the fury of a thousand suns. “You got a problem with my name?”

“Remy?” Roman appeared beside him, holding his bag of candy to his chest. “What’s going on?”

“Roman, go home,” Remy said, shoving him away. “It’s nothing.”

“Ohoh, nothing?” Dice snickered, turning to block Roman’s escape path. “You didn’t tell us you had a brother, Hollywood! What’s your name, darling?”

Roman lifted his chin, his hand going to the plastic sword hanging by his side, and Remy dropped his head into his hands, wishing, praying for death. “I am Prince Roman!” Roman declared, drawing his sword. “Who are you villains to accost my big brother is such a heinous way?”

Oh. Oh great, he was using the Prince Voice™ and everything. Remy’s soul ascended to another plane of existence solely to curse out whatever cruel god had decided to drop him in this situation, and when he came back to Earth, he found Roman holding the edge of his sword alight at Dice’s throat.

“Ooh, so scary!” Nate taunted, laughing. “Tell you what, Princey. Give us your candy, and we’ll let you off easy.”

“No way!” Roman cried — and he swung his plastic sword with all the might a 9-year-old could muster, and it cracked into the side of Dice’s head with a dull whap. Remy grabbed his brother’s shoulder and yanked him behind him, eyes widening.

“Oh, you’re dead, Hollywood,” Dice growled, rubbing the side of his head. In a blind panic, Remy grabbed Roman’s candy and yanked it out of his hands, shoving it into Nate’s arms. Then he grabbed Roman, swung him into his arms, and ran, vaulting over the gate.

“No!” Roman cried, thrashing, desperate to be put down. “What are you doing? Go back! Lemme — lemme fight!”

He didn’t stop until the goons’ yelling faded behind them, until he’d twisted down so many side streets that there was no chance of being found. He set Roman down and doubled over, panting heavily.

“You jerk!” Roman growled. “We could’ve taken them!”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Remy hissed, eyes narrowed. He’d never wanted to strangle his brother more. “They would’ve killed us. I just saved our lives.”

“No, you lost me my candy, and you proved yourself to be a coward!” Roman took a step back, his tiny hands curled into tight, shaking fists.

“Shut up,” Remy growled. “I don’t care about your candy. Just use your little golden-child puppy-dog-eyes on Dad, he’ll buy you all the candy you want! What I care about is the fact that you almost just got us killed! And, worse, you made me look stupid in front of, like, half my grade. So please, just shut up, go home, and — and get the hell out of my life!”

Roman froze. His face — which had been burning with anger just a moment ago, eyes narrowed, teeth bared in a snarl — fell horribly empty. Remy’s outburst hung in the air between them, thick and heavy and barbed with a thousand thorns, and he only had a moment to feel regret before Roman burst into tears and ran off.

“Roman, no!” Remy cried, but Roman didn’t go very far. He fell dramatically against a hay-bale out in front of one of the houses around them and sobbed into his arms, and Remy slowed to a stop behind him, cold regret eating away at his lungs. God, why did he speak? Why did God curse him with vocal chords?

“I — I — I know you’re sad we left home, and I — I know you’re an angsty teen now — but —” Roman curled in on himself, his face buried in the crook of his arm. “That doesn’t mean you get to be so mean all the time!”

“Oh, hun,” Remy whispered, kneeling down beside him. “I’m sorry, I… I didn’t mean to say that. I don’t want you out of my life. You make my life, like… at least 60% better.”

“75,” Roman mumbled into his arm. Remy laughed.

“Alright, alright. 75% better.” He leaned against the hay-bale and slid down until he was sitting at Roman’s level, and leaned into his side. “I just, like — I really miss home. And being out tonight just... reminded me of how much I’ve lost, yknow?”

“This is your home now,” Roman said, swiping at his face with his sleeves, “so get used to it.”

Remy sighed. “You’re right, girl,” he said, rubbing his eyes behind his shades. “C’mon. The night’s still young. Let’s get your candy back.”

Roman lifted his head, hope sparkling in his eyes. “Are we going to launch a campaign against those foul villains to steal back our candy?”

“No?” Remy snorted. “We’re just gonna trick-or-treat more.”

“Oh.” Roman pushed himself to his feet. “That’s cool too.”

“Glad you approve,” Remy shoved himself to his feet too, the corners of his mouth twitching. He allowed a fond smile to slip onto his face for a split second — only once Roman’s back was turned, of course — and then he shook it away and stepped up beside his brother. “You ready — wait, what was that?”

“What?” Roman asked quickly, head swiveling every-which-way. “What is it?”

“I saw something,” Remy said, voice slow, suspicious. He glared up at the sky, eyebrows furrowed. “Something flew across the moon.”

“Really?” Roman’s eyes grew wide as saucers. He craned his neck and stared at the sky. “Where? I wanna see! I —”

Remy pounced, scooping Roman up in his arms and spinning him around with a feral growl. Roman’s scream echoed around the street, quickly dissolving into giggles as Remy wiggled his fingers into Roman’s stomach. “Lemme go!” Roman cried between laughter. “You — you pumpkin-spiced dork!”

With one last twirl, Remy set him back down, and straightened his jacket. “Here,” he said, drawing a bag from his pocket. His mother had made him take it, as though he’d ever trick-or-treat — but now he was thankful he had it. At least Roman could make good use of it. “Shall we, hun?”

“We shall!” Roman took the offered bag with a toothy grin, and skipped down towards the nearest house. He slowed to a stop at the front gate, eyes widening, and Remy couldn’t blame him. It was massive.

“Rich people,” they said at the same time, raising their eyebrows in identical expressions of part awe, part disdain. Roman laughed.

“They’ll probably make us drink apple cider.”

“Cider’s delish, hun,” Remy said. “Besides, they’ve probably got the best candy. This whole neighborhood reeks of Gucci.”

Roman thought for a moment, and then nodded, his eyes lighting up. He marched down the driveway with all the conviction and excitement a nine-year-old on a sugar-high could muster, and ducked in through the open door.

“Woah,” Remy said softly as he stepped inside. It was like stepping straight (gay) into a Victorian painting or something. Marble floors, crystal chandeliers, and rich people galore, each dressed in flowing, ornate gowns or sharp tuxedos. A long, velvet-carpeted staircase spiraled up to the second floor, where a few lone figures stood, looking down at the party below.

He found Roman at a table in the main room, shoving handfuls of candy into his bag. There were three lollipop sticks sticking out of his mouth already. “Slow down, hun,” Remy said with a laugh, taking a witch-shaped chocolate pop and popping it in his mouth.

“Remy Sanders?”

He turned at the voice, halfway through biting the head off the chocolate witch, and froze. “Em —” He yanked the witch from his mouth and swallowed hard, pushing down the panicked laughter that threatened to spill from his mouth. “Emile?”

Emile — a vision, an angel, dressed in a long, cream-colored dress, laced with hints of the softest pink — laughed. “It is you! Do you how do?” he asked. “I thought you didn’t like Halloween?”

“Oh, I — I don’t,” Remy said, shoving his free hand into his pocket and trying to look as cool as possible. “I’m just taking my younger brother trick-or-treating.”

“Aw, that’s so sweet of you!” Emile gushed, placing a hand over his chest. Remy smirked.

“Yeah, I do it every year!”

“Our parents made him,” Roman said, voice flat. He pushed around Remy and smiled up at Emile, casting Remy a split-second look over his shoulder. The devious look in his eyes made Remy’s heart skip several beats. “I’m Roman! And you must be Emile. I’ve heard so much about you.”

The moment of brotherly love had passed; Remy once again wanted to strangle him. Emile raised an eyebrow. “And what have you heard, sweetheart?”

“Oh, you know.” Roman waved a hand dismissively, ignoring Remy’s pointed glare. “He likes your eyes, thinks he could drown in them. And your hair! He thinks it’s… what’s the word you used, Remy? Sexy?”

With a loud burst of panicked, pitchy laughter, Remy grabbed Roman and yeeted him behind him. “That’s! Enough sugar for you!” he managed, face burning bright red. “Kids and their imaginations, right?”

Emile hid his giggles behind his hand, his cheeks wonderfully pink. “Do you really like my hair?” he asked, a hint of mischief sparkling in his eyes, and wow, Remy was gay — and wow, he really wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole right then and there, anything to get out of that situation.

“I — uh — h —”

Emile giggled again, and Roman shot him the most chaotic smile he’d ever seen, a witch-pop shoved halfway in his mouth. “It’s okay,” Emile whispered to Remy, and he winked, he actually fucking winked, and if God was merciful at all She would have killed him right then and there. “Do you like witches, Roman?”

Roman’s eyes lit up. “I loff ‘em!” he said around a mouthful of witch-chocolate. “We jus’ learned ‘bout those brothers in school —”

“The Sanderson brothers?” Emile said in a rush, bouncing up and down excitedly. “I know all about them! I hyperfixated on ‘em for three years when I was younger!”

“That’s so cool!” Roman said, grinning.

“Have you seen the old Sanderson museum? My mom used to work there!”

“Isn’t it closed?” Remy asked, crossing his arms. He was just barely following the conversation; Emile was just as much of a dork as Roman was, and Remy only understood Roman’s rambles on weekends and holidays and all throughout May.

“Well…” Emile turned, drawing out the word slowly for dramatic effect. “I just might so happen to have a key.”

Remy and Roman shared a look. There was a hint of fear in Roman’s round eyes, a bit of apprehension as well — but Remy saw nothing but opportunity. “Why don’t we head over there?” he asked, and Emile’s face lit up.

“Oh! Oh, I’d love to!” He shimmied back and forth excitedly, his skirt swishing around him. “Lemme just go get changed!”

“Remy,” Roman hissed as soon as Emile was out of earshot. “I am not going to that spooky old museum. What about trick-or-treating?”

“Trick-or-treating is for children,” Remy sighed. “C’mon, girl. Let’s go cause some trouble.”

Roman narrowed his eyes. “You don’t wanna cause trouble,” he said. “You just wanna impress Mr. Sexy-Hair —”

“Stop calling him sexy!” Remy whispered, glancing around to make sure no one had heard. “I thought you were a Prince. Aren’t Princes supposed to be brave?”

Roman hesitated. “I…”

“Listen. I’ll do anything you want, okay? Just — let me have this.”

That got his attention. Roman smirked, his apprehension giving way to a truly evil delight. “Anything?” he repeated slowly, and Remy nodded, even as cold regret seeped into his lungs. “Perfect. Next year, I’m going as Peter Pan. You’re going to be my Tinker-bell.”

“What?”

“Or I could just refuse to go,” Roman said with a nonchalant shrug. “I could just make you take me home.”

“You’re, like, evil. You know that, right?”

Emile bounced back down the stairs, pushing the sleeves of his oversized sweater up. Forearms forearms forearms — Remy tore his eyes from Emile and glanced at Roman, who was gathering his things.

“Fine!” he growled, and Roman beamed, his bag swinging by his side. “I hate you.”

“Love you too,” Roman whispered. “Alright! Let’s go!”

“Wow, someone’s eager!” Emile said with a bright smile, twirling the keys around his finger again and again. “You ready, Remy?” he asked, catching Remy’s eyes.

“I —” Remy cleared his throat, forcing his voice at least three octaves deeper. “Witch, please. Of course I’m ready.”

It wasn’t much of a walk to the old Sanderson place, though Emile took his time, pointing out everything he loved about their little town along the way. Remy would never admit it, but… through Emile’s eyes, he started to almost — almost — like Salem.

The Sanderson Museum was a small, dilapidated cottage on the edge of town, hidden by a thick copse of trees. Remy wouldn’t have even noticed it, had it not been for the sign, hanging lopsidedly off one chain and displaying, through a layer of dust and disrepair, the Sanderson Brothers’ names.

“So this is where they used to live?” Roman asked, peering at the house. Uncertainty shook beneath his words, beneath the false layer of bravado he’d put on. Emile nodded, eyes alight with excitement as he unlocked the door.

“Yeppers! They would lure young children to this house and suck the life outta them to stay young forever. No one ever caught them in the act, until…”

“Logan Binx,” Remy said. “Right?”

“Yeah,” Emile said. As they stepped into the house, his voice became more subdued, more reverent. “They took his younger brother, Patton. Logan tried to get him back, but… he was too late. The Brothers cursed him to live forever as a cat, trapped with his guilt.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” Roman said, arms wrapped tightly around himself. He lingered in the doorway, eyebrows furrowed. “Can we go home now?”

Remy pretended not to hear him. He stepped up to a glass display case in the center of the shop and wiped away a thick layer of dust with his sleeves, eyes narrowed as he peered through the dirty glass.

“That’s their spellbook,” Emile whispered, leaning over his shoulder, his chest pressed into Remy’s side. Remy bit his tongue to keep from screaming. “Legend says it was given to them by Satan himself.”

“It looks like it’s bound in flesh,” Roman said, nose wrinkling in disgust.

“That’s because it is,” Emile said, and Roman took several steps back, shaking his head. He bumped into another display — an off-beige candle, held high atop a wrought-iron candelabra. He yelped, jerking away, and Remy caught him.

“I wanna go home,” Roman whispered.

Remy shook his head. “Not yet.”

“Peter Pan is not worth this,” Roman muttered to himself as Remy approached the candle, raising an eyebrow.

“The Black-Flame Candle,” Emile said. “The Brothers’ final spell. As they were about to be hanged, the eldest enacted a curse, tying their souls to this candle. On a Halloween night, when the moon is full... someone will light the candle, and summon the witches back to life.”

Roman glanced at the full moon outside. “Great. Wonderful.”

Remy smirked, quirking an eyebrow. It was all bullshit anyway — but it was bullshit he could have fun with. Bullshit he could use to get back at Roman for his sexy hair comments earlier, at least. He swiped a lighter from the counter and leaned against the post beside the candle, pulling his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose. “Well, then,” he said. “Why don’t we light it and meet ‘em?”

“Very funny, Remy,” Roman said. He wasn’t laughing.

“Come on, girl, where’s your sense of adventure?” Remy flicked open the lighter; the flame danced, though there wasn’t any wind. “Let’s —”

A blur of black and a hideous yowl, and suddenly he was on the ground. He shoved blindly with a cry of fright and scrambled to his feet just in time to see a black cat slink back into the shadows.

“Are you okay?” Emile asked, rushing to his side. “Great Googly Moogly, that was spooky… we should go, Remy.”

“No, come on!” Remy brushed off his jacket and reopened the lighter. He wasn’t about to let some stupid superstitions keep him from wreaking a little havoc. He lifted the lighter to the candle —

“Remy, no!” Roman cried —

And the whole house began to shake.

Darkness crawled up the flame, staining it deeply, impossibly black — and one by one, each light in the house burst, sending shards of glass flying. Remy leaped across the room and wrapped his arms around Roman, squeezing his eyes shut as flames burst to life to replace the broken bulbs. He reached across the room and Emile took his hand and held tight as the floor began to break beneath them, poisonous green light spilling out beneath the cracks. Laughter echoed around them — inside them, spinning through Remy’s head in maddening whirl —

The door burst off its hinges and landed with a crash at their feet. Remy yanked them behind the counter in a blind panic, his heart pounding. Holy shit, he thought, as the laughter solidified, as three shadows stretched across the floor.

He peeked around the corner of the counter. Three figures stood in the doorway, framed by smoke and moonlight — one in robes of deep, emerald green, with a thick mustache curled across his face; another in a long, patched purple dress, a cloak wrapped around his shoulders and drawn up over his face, so only his glowing purple eyes were visible —

And the leader. A man in yellow and black, with one glowing golden eye and a face covered in yellow-green scales. He took a deep breath, eyes slipping shut, a venomous smile growing on his face.

“Brothers,” he whispered, in a voice like a thousand hissing snakes. “We’re home.”

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scribeofmorpheus · 5 years

Text

Robin’s Girl [3/4]

Pairing: Robin x (OC) Clara | Steve Harrington x Reader

Sequel to: Meet Cute | Chapter List

Chapter Title: Bad Reputation | Words: 1.8k

Note: I know this chapter is short, sorry for that, I just lost my writing mojo these past few days and I’m hoping to get it back for a long and fluffy finale. And who knows, I may just do another Christmas Special for this series too, somewhere down the line.

If you enjoyed this story don’t be afraid to like, reblog or comment. I don’t bite. Taglist is open just send an ask.

Playlist by Ari ♥

Clara rubbed circles onto her best friends back while they sat in her empty bathtub, legs dangling out of the tub just like when they were kids.

A box of tissues placed between her folded legs so she could easily reach down and hand Y/N a new tissue when she needed it. The room was filled with sounds of soft hiccups and stuttering breaths between silent sobs.

Y/N had always been a silent crier, it panged at Clara's heart to see her so conflicted.

Robin had stayed with Steve to carry out her own respective best-friend duties that consisted of throwing things at Steve while asking him "Hey dingus, what the fuck did you do?" repeatedly. At least that's what Clara kept picturing after she left Steve's big, empty house with Y/N tucked under her arm.

"I- I… just, ugh! I hate this!" Y/N grumbled. "We've never fought like this before!"

"I don't get the big problem here," Clara handed her a tissue. "I thought you wanted to have the whole small town family, white picket fence and four-bedroom house aesthetic. Not to mention, raise the perfect two and a half ratio of kids with Mr Perfect Hair?"

Y/N laughed feebly, before sniffling. "Yeah, eventually. When I'm like thirty-five and have already started working on my crow’s feet after having spent my twenties doing dumb shit like getting a terrible tattoo and renting a shitty apartment with no heating!"

"I take it he isn't planning on leaving Hawkins anytime soon?"

Y/N shook her head, her hair bouncing about. A stray strand hit Clara in the eye, making her recoil and blink agitated tears away.

"And to think, if we'd been popular, we'd probably be in the same situation as him," Clara tried to cheer her up, but Y/N just kept her chin tucked under her neck.

"Don't joke, you're bad at it," She said flatly. "Besides, it’s not just about him being reluctant to send out college applications. There’s something else... He's got a secret, I can feel it. I was fine with it at first, I mean everyone is entitled to their secrets. I just always figured he'd tell me, you know... when he was ready, too. But..."

"But it's been a year and he still hasn't told you," Clara finished.

"Yeah..." Y/N sighed. "Whatever his secret is… It's part of the reason why he won't leave."

"Okay, that's it!" Clara sat up from the tub and yanked Y/N with her.

"Wha--"

"We aren't going to sit in here and mope about like those women in that shitty TV drama my mother lives and breathes by!” Clara’s face assured Y/N that she wasn’t having any of this mopey bullshit. “We're young and deserving of a good weekend! Now wipe those tears away, put on some tacky makeup and dust off the most questionable outfit in my wardrobe. We're long overdue for a girl’s night."

Clara marched Y/N into her bedroom and pried the untidy closet doors apart, clothes falling out in the process.

"Where are you going?" Y/N asked when Clara turned to leave.

"To hotwire my dad’s convertible!" She flashed her pearly whites mischievously.

"Can't you just look for the keys?"

“Don’t want to waste any time!”

***

Robin lifted her hands in hopeless prayer that Steve would see reason.

"Why won’t you just tell her why you're so afraid to leave?" She threw a pillow at Steve's head for the umpteenth time in a row.

Steve deflected the pillow easily, using it to lean his chin on instead.

"Yeah, because that would go just swimmingly," Steve rolled his eyes before rambling in a fake voice: "Oh, uh, hey Y/N I have to tell you something. The reason I don't want to leave is... well, believe it or not, Hawkins is smack-dab in the middle of some sort of hot spot for a creepy mind-flaying creature from a dark dimension known as the Upside Down and no matter how hard I try to move on from that act, every time I close my eyes I'm reminded of all the very real things that go bump in the night!"

Steve's hands shook subtly as he ran them through his hair, clearing away long stray hairs.

"Okay, but Steve, you do realise if most people knew what we knew they'd want to leave Hawkins because of the fact it was a hotspot for weird shit!" Robin tried to reason with him.

"And if everyone who knows about this shit leaves, what happens then? What happens if that thing returns and there's no one to stop it?"

Robin slammed her hands on the table, "You're one guy Steve. You're not Eleven or Hopper, you don't have superpowers or a badge and gun. What could you do all by yourself? Yeah, you managed to knock out one Russian, but that was once. What would you do if it was an army or... that creepy flesh monster? Throw a firework at it and hope for the best?"

"I've got my trusty bat!" Steve said defensively as he looked away from his best friend.

Robin groaned, "That bat isn't even yours, it's Nancy's!"

"Hey, don't shit talk the bat," Steve pointed at Robin.

"Whatever," she shook her head before plopping down next to him on the couch. "I just don't get why you'd risk letting this amazing girl slip away from you just for a hypothetical. You love her Steve! I know you do. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have nearly crashed your car twice in one day when we went to pick her up from the bus station."

Steve rested his head on Robin's shoulder, eyes turning glassy, "It's just… what if something happens and he needs me and I'm not around to be there for him?"

Robin lowered her voice when she saw how conflicted Steve appeared, "You mean Dustin?"

"Yeah..."

A small smile crept onto her face, "You mean the kid who was able to build a super radio tower just so he could talk to his girlfriend from camp, that kid?”

“When you put it like that...”

”Trust me, if he needed you and you weren't around, you best be damn sure he'd find a way to get a hold of you."

Steve chuckled before he sat up, the phone's high pitched ringing disturbing their moment.

"I'll get it," Robin offered.

Steve tucked himself into the couch with a blanket as he stared blankly at the muted TV screen.

"Hello," Robin's voice barely a whisper from across the room. "Yeah? Oh- uh… I'll see how Steve feels about it first, he's kinda down. Yeah, sure. I'll call you back in a sec."

Robin set the phone down and stood in front of the TV screen to get Steve's full attention.

“Hey, can’t you see I’m pretending to watch that?”

"So… Clara called. Said she's got something planned and asked if I could make it. Just say the word and I’ll call her back and cancel."

Steve took a moment before he pulled the blanket closer to his chin, "Nah, go. I'll be fine. I think some time alone with my thoughts is just what I need."

Robin bent down to look him in the eye, "You sure?"

"Yeah, no point in both of us being miserable. Go, salvage what's left of the day."

“Fine,” Robin gave in. “But I’m going to call you a babysitter.”

“A babsitter?” Steve sounded confused.

“Right after I call Clara back.”

Robin ruffled his hair affectionately before making her way to the phone to dial Clara's number.

"Just make sure to write down the address of where you're going in case you guys need me for anything!" Steve shouted as he unmuted the TV.

***

Clara honked the horn of her dad's convertible, the top rolled down, night lights beaming brightly against the pitch-black road with no working street lights.

Her best friend was laying across the seats in the back, forearm draped over her eyes as she let out less than eager noises.

Robin rushed from Steve's house still in the clothes she borrowed from Clara earlier.

Robin motioned to open the passenger door but child lock was still on, Clara reached across her seat and opened the door from the passenger side.

"All set?" Clara asked with a large smile on her face.

"I think so," Robin shrugged.

Clara reached into the glove compartment, her hand grazing Robin's knee making them both exchange heated looks. After an awkward laugh, Clara grabbed a handful of cassette tapes and placed them on Robin's thighs.

"You're designated DJ! Y/N is in no state to operate the radio unless you want to listen to sad romance ballads by Heart!" Clara joked.

"Ugh, love is deeeaaaaad!" Y/N said bitterly.

Robin's eyes went wide, her lips pressed closed to keep a laugh from escaping. "What do we want to listen to?"

"Dealers choice," Clara winked before shifting gears and driving away from Hawkins for the night.

Robin read all the song titles written in different colour pen or marker and finally made a decision. She popped open the plastic case, took out the tape and jammed it into the radio. After rewinding the tape she pressed play on the clunky button and Bad Reputation by Joan Jett blared out of the cars static fizzling speakers.

***

The queue to get into the club was long. Clara, Robin and Y/N had been standing out in the cold in less than warm apparel for about twenty minutes.

"Ugh, Clara it's been forever! Let's just go back home so I can drown in a tub of chocolate chip ice-cream and watch re-runs of Baywatch!" Y/N groaned childishly, tugging on Clara's leather jacket.

Clara sighed, "Not a chance. Those two things are ingredients for disaster. Gimmie a sec."

Clara excused herself from Robin and Y/N and made her way to the bouncer at the door. After a few minutes of conversing and pointing to the back of the line, Clara wore the bouncer down -they seemed quite chummy with one another- before she flagged Robin and a moody looking Y/N over.

Robin ducked her head to try and block out the glaring looks from the people still stuck in the line while Y/N apologised to each person her eyes landed on.

Once through the heavy steel doors and down a corridor that was so tight it felt like the walls would cave around them, Clara opened her arms with a smug smile on her face and a slight nod to the beat of the loud music coming from the live band.

"Alas, ladies… Welcome to my mecca!" Clara said excitedly as she turned to look at the bewildered Robin and droopy faced Y/N. "Now, let’s get us some drinks!"

"Uhhh, finally, a good idea!" Y/N cheered as she led the charge to the cramped bar.

Clara bit back a laugh as she leaned in to whisper in Robin's ear, "Something tells me I’ll have my work cut out for me babysitting Mrs Perfect Hair!"

Robin chuckled, "Sometimes I think we are practically their guardian angels!"

Clara cocked her head to the side, a sneaky grin toying with her facial muscles, "Did you just call me an angel?"

Robin blushed, "Wha- No, no… I- I didn't mean it in that way."

Clara laughed as they tried not to get separated in the large crowd, "No, I think that's exactly what you meant."

Clara winked just as she heard her best friend shout without any reservation, "Give me whatever has the highest alcohol to sugar ratio! In fact, make that two!"

"That's my cue to make sure she doesn't give herself alcohol poisoning," Clara yelped with wide eyes as she raced passed the still blushing Robin.

***

Tags:@theconscientiouswriter @chims-kookies @electroma89 @thechickvic @mochminnie @timeladygallifrey

Permatags: @gruffle1 @thechickvic @notawarriorjustyet @savethehoneeybees

#stranger things #steve harrington x reader #robin stranger things #stranger things imagine #robin x oc #robin x clara #meet cute sequel #robin's girl #st3 #robin buckley imagine #robin buckley

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this-do-be-therapeutic · 5 years

Text

Meet Cute Ideas

So they’re all like, 3 paragraphs long because context. But I refused to separate them into their respective paragraphs, it’s easier this way. I hope y’all enjoy!

You meet the person in a flower shop and order flowers from them. After that, you start getting anonymous flower arrangements and letters. You confront them about it but they are too nervous to admit it was them, until y’all grow to know each other and they finally admit it. (Best friend’s idea)

You get stood up by a date and you see your ex while waiting for the date and the person comes along to pretend to be your date for that morning/ afternoon/ evening.

You’re leaving work after a long day and just are not having it. Your boss was being a complete jerk and, surprise surprise, bossing you around. Today was worse though because their fiance just broke it off with them. On your way out, you run into someone and drop all your papers and they spill their coffee all over you, apologizing profusely. You say it’s fine and just brush them off until you see their face? Haven’t you seen them around? *insert their name* from accounting? They’ve always been cute. They help you pick up your papers and offer to buy you a new outfit.

You’re out at the drugstore, buying stuff for your period, grumbling about how stupid your boyfriend is, he’s not man enough to buy your tampons and pads. When you’re at the self checkout a man comes up with 10 different types of chocolate bars and offers to buy your tampons, telling you he noticed you looked upset. After the transaction takes place, you reach into your pocket because it’s cold out and find some paper. You pull out a paper with a phone number and a name, a $100 bill accompanying it.

You’re a sales clerk at a clothing store. You greet people as they come in and help them as they need. You’re walking past a changing room with someone waiting outside right as the person inside walks out in an outfit. They look HAWT. They say to their friend that they’re not sure how they look, giving their friend a spin as you just stand there. When they look up they see you staring and ask you what you think. You’re at a loss for words and they immediately think you’re trying to find out a way to tell them it sucks but you finally squeak out a “great” at them, making them give you a big genuine smile.

You’re at a school dance. You came with a group of friends, all of them having a date except for you. They promised they’d give you as much attention as they give their dates, it’s a lie. So you just sit off to the side watching everyone have fun before a someone wanders up. “You all alone too?” they ask you. You simply nod, just frustrated and honestly ready to break down. It doesn’t matter how much you say you’re fine you don’t have anyone with you, it hurts a little. “Well how about we change that and you come and dance with me.” You look at them and just stare for a moment until a slow song comes on and they hold out their hand. You take their hand with a smile as you have the best night of your life.

You are 5 years old. You go to a daycare with this other cute kid. (It’s never too early to start thinking other people are cute, I started in kindergarten, back off.) Y’all are absolute besties, nothing can ever separate you. You play everything together. You even play “House” with the other kids. You two are always the mom and dad (or whatever the genders) of the group. That is until you get old enough to not need to go to daycare anymore. You simply move on with your life after complaining to your mom for a year straight about no getting to see them anymore. 20 years later you’re sitting in a coffee shop and are just sitting there drink your coffee working on your next book when this person comes and stands next to your table. “May I sit here? All the other seats are taken.” You motion to the seat in front of you without looking up. After a while they introduce themselves to you and your head shoots up. You’ve heard that name somewhere before...

It’s Christmas Eve and your professor is making you turn in a paper the next day because they are the actual devil. You’re sitting in your house one night, it’s late. You put off your homework until this moment because you enjoy torturing yourself, it’s fun sometimes. Suddenly, you hear a knock at your door. You look at the clock. Who on earth could be knocking at your door at 3 in the morning? You go downstairs to wake up your dad, because you go to a school near home and decided it was more cost efficient to stay with your parents, and make him answer the door in case it’s a murderer. Right as you open the door you see the back of some person’s head as they walk away from your door. They turn around and come running back. “Oh thank gosh,” they say. “My car is stuck in the snow, can you help me get it out?” Your dad sends you out and you and the person go out to get their car out, it’s just impossible. The snow is way too high. You invite the person inside, fears of them being a mass murderer pushed to the side as you bring them in, making some hot chocolate for the both of you so you can just sit in your living room. You end up turning a movie on because what else are you supposed to do, actually help them leave? That’s when your heaters go out. You grab a pile of blankets. none of them are super effective so you end up cuddling with them, falling asleep with your head on their shoulder. When you wake up and they explain to you they have no family in the area and you end up letting them celebrate Christmas with you, even finding something you can give them.

You are at a movie theater by yourself and you’re wearing a Spider Man hoodie because you’re going to see Spider Man: Far From Home. None of your friends were available, but you wanted to see it that night. It was the opening night, duh you had to go. You are seated smack-dab in the middle. You were the first person to purchase tickets, suck it other people. When you were waiting for the previews to end someone comes and sits on your right, the side that you usually lean onto when watching a movie. Someone is already sitting on your left so you try your best to stay in the middle of your seat, but you keep leaning to the right at the movie goes on. And as the movie goes on when you’re eating the popcorn you ordered beforehand, obviously a large, you notice that the person next to you is casually reaching over and stealing the popcorn. You adjust to try to tell them to knock it off, but they just keep eating your hecking food. After a few times trying again you just give up and let it happen. After all of the glorious movie is over, the lights turn on. You waited the entire movie for the end scenes because, ya know, Marvel. The person next to you also waited the entire time and you turn to ask them why on earth they thought they were allowed to eat your popcorn. You turn to look at them and notice they’re already staring at you. And you freeze. “Hi,” they say. “Thanks for letting me eat your popcorn.” They give you an absolutely gorgeous smile and you’re just frozen there. HOLY CRAP, TOM HOLLAND SAT NEXT TO ME WHILE WATCHING HIS MOVIE AND WAS EATING MY POPCORN.

You’re a student at university, one of the smart ones. You are a major in music therapy and intend on making that your career in a few years. You head to class on your first day and the entire time the professor is just introducing himself. With about 20 minutes left of the 2 hour lecture, someone walks in and sits in the seat next to you. You’re about to make some sort of noise to bring the attention to your area to alert your professor of the new comer because he stated that he hates when people come in late and wishes to know when someone is late so he can dock points off of important assignments, and you are not a rule breaker. Before you can do that however, the person slides you a note and it says “Stay quiet and I’ll take you on a date.” You pass the note back after writing on it “And why would that encourage me to save you?” “Because I think you’re cute and you obviously will think I’m cute as soon as you look at me.” Cocky. You glance in their direction and they’re already looking at you with a smile on their face. You slide them the note back with your number on it.

#meet cute #story idea #cute meeting #cute ideas #writing inspiration #meet cute ideas

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xunicorngoddessx · 6 years

Text

Love And Other Drugs 1.1

“Yazzzzz bitch Let me see you get it no no no Flexin I know that you with it

Pose bitch Take a photo, flick, flick, flick, for fucking sho doe All you lame ass bitches is a no go And if you with it go fuckin loco, loco”

The crew and I sang along to the Rihanna song as we stood on the couch with our drinks enjoying the night. This was a night full of celebration. My twin sister Amia and I had finally got our store up and running. Even though we came from money, the shit was not easy. Picking out our target client, the style, fabrics, seamstress. I swear if I saw another button or sketch I was going to go the hell crazy. Then to top it off, getting the store open. This all was a dream come true, simply why I was in this club showing my ass. I’m usually low key but tonight I was lit.

Let me formally introduce myself. My name is Josefina Sabella but everyone calls me Josie. I wasn’t bought into this cold world alone, because ten minutes came the princesses of all princesses, Amia Marie Sabella. Uh-my-yah, pronounce it wrong and she’ll go apeshit. Anywho, life was great for both of us growing up. We lived in a mansion that was so big our Dad would tell us it was a castle, shit at the tender age of 6, I believed him. My sister and I wanted for nothing. All the Barbie’s, tea sets and toy drop top convertibles we wanted. Every month my mother would let us have some type of theme slumber party. It was great to be surrounded by all our friends, I only wished we could do the same at their place. Even though we could have whatever our little hearts desired, under no circumstances were we allowed to stay over anyone else house. All that changed when we turned, 12.

I could remember it like it was yesterday, I begged mommy to let us stay over my friend Aisha house. Then Amia gave her award-winning performances and our mother gave in. If it wasn’t for Papi being in Italy, that would’ve never happened. We stayed for one night and had a fucking blast. Painting our little nails and playing in fake makeup. Then talking about what boys weren’t annoying in school. I remember being dared by Bailey to kiss Aisha’s twin brother Asher. I wanted to kill her at only 12. I thought it was disgusting but of course Amia, so love struck couldn’t wait to give him her cooties. We never got a chance to fulfill that dare because Aisha mom told us it was lights out.

The next day came and it felt like the longest day ever. My mom specifically called us and told us that she would be at the house at 3 pm because she knew our father would be back in the states at 5 pm. When an hour passed I knew something wasn’t right, I knew my mother wouldn’t forget us. Nothing was like the wrath of our father and if we feared it, our mother feared it too. I called the house phone and received nothing. About 4:30 I had convinced, Aisha’s mom to take us home, but before we could leave out the door, her father rushed in bearing the worst news ever.

On his way home, he noticed the ambulance, fire trucks, and policeman. The road was somewhat blocked off, and that’s when he said he saw the car smashed, and it was definite that our mother did not survive. I wasn’t supposed to be listening because he did pull her into the kitchen but I couldn’t help it. I knew something was not right.

As I went to storm off, I ran smack dab into Asher. My teary eyes looked into his realizing that we both were eavesdropping. He wrapped his scrawny 13-year-old arms around me and I actually fell into them. I held onto him so tight. Something in me felt so weak that a minute later I shoved him off and ran.

Things weren’t ever the same. After the freak accident, my father ran back and forth from Italy to The States. At one point we were living in Italy right after middle school ended. Then we came back. We didn’t live in the “Castle”. It didn’t bother me because it held too many memories. It sure as hell bothered Amia though. She didn’t know how she would break it off to her so-called friends that she didn’t live in the lap of luxury. Blah. We downgraded our home, but Papi hired security from the family. Only people allowed access was our maid and butler. The parties were over with. We were strictly bound to school and back. If we went anywhere we had to bring a watchdog with us. Even to get my personals.

“Quiet down everyone.” Amia stood up grabbing everyone's attention, “I just want to thank you all for coming out and celebrating with us, this wonderful moment. Josie and I worked hard as hell man. We have only been here for what 6 months and we got things up and rolling. So I thank you for being our support system. Now it’s time to turn up for the real celebration!” She smiled and reached over to give Aisha a hug.

“You already know I don’t say too much. I’m just happy to be back with you guys. On great terms. Let’s do a toast.” we raised our glasses, ”To friends and family. To getting this money. And to Love, Love and Other Drugs.” Just as the words left my mouth, he walked in, Asher

Beginning / Next

#ts4 #LAOD #ts4 story #urban sims #blacksims #ts4 gameplay #ts4 simblr

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sagittariusboyfriend · 5 years

Note

What have been some creepy encounters you've experienced? Story please?

ive waited quite some time to respond to this message, like literally a long ass time lol, probably more than a year, sorry. i feel like i have several encounters to tell you about, but what im going to relay to whomever might be reading this right now is a thing that went on over the course of an entire year.

quick backstory: during the better part of 2017 i lived with my then boyfriend (who now is just my best friend since we broke up in october this year) in the old parts of the city center. all buildings in that area are from around 1870, and the building where we lived is one of the first ones to have been erected. his aparment was on ground level and it has all the features of turn of the century housing with the fireplace, original floors, weird nooks and crannies etc, and looks as if it was meant to be lived in by service people/kitchen personnel. it also had its original door (i suppose) with the kind of springy locking mechanism where you have to turn the key and pull down the handle real hard simultaneously to open from the outside, the knob is very tough to turn from the inside, and it locks itself instantly once you close it (so if you forget your keys youre basically screwed). it makes a loud brassy springy clicking noise when the lock shuts or opens. takes a lot of effort to open this old door and its loud, is what im saying. the entire apartment is all original details, the flooring in the corridor has its original wood planks, original ventilation, weird but beautiful glass panels on the door etc.

the key and the door unlocking from inside

first off, when he moved in, the landlord was missing a key in the set of four. my then boyfriend, lets call him C, didnt really think about it. he moved in, gave his dad one of the extra keys. the first weird thing that happened was when C got back from work in the afternoon maybe two weeks after moving in. in the middle of the corridor, on the floor, he sees the missing key. like smack dab in the middle of the narrow corridor leading from hallway to the bathroom, next to his boots. its too far in to have been thrown in by someone through the letter slot in the door, and could not have been dropped there by neither him nor his father since they had all of their keys. so he’s like, weird, but doesnt really think about it. he also told me that around that time he heard coughing from the corridor when inside his bedroom (it opens up to the right from the corridor once you step inside the apartment), but also waved it off since it might as well have been neighbours just outside in the hall.

next weird thing that happens is after we had started dating and i pretty much lived there with him, and this time i experienced it. i started work around noon whereas C left around 6 in the morning. so im in bed and its maybe 10 o’clock, and i wake up to that loud, springy clicking noise of the locking mechanism in the door. and im like, what is he doing home at this time? so i get up, but no one is there. the door is also juuust a little bit askew, as if someone was going outside but then decided not to, like its just shoved open enough for the lock to click open, but the door isnt opened, its still within the width of the doorframe if you get what i mean. so i look outside and the hall is empty. i should have been able to hear steps in the very echo-y stairwell (which is also old and the acoustics are fantastic because we hear everytime a neighbour passes by, and subsequently opens the building entrance door which is also a loud, heavy door), but heard neither steps, up or down the stairs in the hall, nor anyone opening the heavy entrance door, or any evidence of human activity. all is quiet. i get a bit freaked out, because that means that unless someone else had a key, our door was unlocked from inside.

i tell C when he gets back, and after this is where shit starts to ACTUALLY go down.

im going to try to remember all of this in the correct order, but i know it started in january 2017, and went on until he moved out in december.

the song in the hallway

C talks a lot in his sleep. sometimes he even sings, he speaks in english (we’re swedish) and he has been known to get up and take a shower at one in the morning while still asleep thinking hes late for work. for those who are on heavy sleeping medication, u get it. its not weird, mostly its funny, and its just because of the medication. these things go on literally every night and it was a bit hard to fall asleep to loud talking and incoherent words sometimes because he used to go to bed three-four hours earlier than me, but i managed just fine. one night we were in bed, it wasnt that late but C was asleep, i was on my phone next to him. i hear this weird melody being hummed, thinking its coming from C i take out my earplugs and check, but its coming from the fucking hallway. again, no one outside in the stairs, just someone or something humming a melody in the hallway. i remember my hair standing up all over my body and i was glad i slept closest to the wall, C shielding me from being viewed directly from the hallway. somehow i manage to fall asleep. and this part is going to sound weird and like its made up, im very aware, but having been through this crap i dont really care because i know it happened: the morning after C was off from work, and i for once woke up before he did. if i wake him up and his medication hasnt ‘wore off’ yet i guess (dont really know how that works) he’ll be disoriented and it takes a few minutes for his brain to register that hes awake and he can speak coherently. i did not poke him, i did not try to wake him up, but all of a sudden i hear him humming that same melody, very much deep asleep. that freaked me out.

the mimicking begins

another night around that time, i was up at around 2-3 am to go to the bathroom. i wiggle out of bed, out into the corridor, at the end of the corridor is the bathroom. when im done, i scurry back into the bedroom, information of value here i guess is i always sleep with my socks on so im wearing socks, aka i dont make a lot of noise when i get up. when im back in bed, looking at my phone, i hear footsteps - from the corridor. the freakiest thing is its like they are imitating the way i walked back from the bathroom, i can so CLEARLY hear sockless, BARE feet on the creaky floor of the hallway, literally stepping at the same pace i did. that was my first thought; someone is imitating my footsteps. i can hear them from behind the wall in the hallway, coming to a stop at the opening into the bedroom. like someone is standing there, watching. i get so scared i hide under the covers and press myself close to C and cant stop feeling icy shivers down my spine. i also cant stop thinking that someone or something waited for me in the kitchen, then walked behind me, mimicking me, and is now standing at the beedroom threshold, watching me. somehow i fall asleep, or i dont, i cant remember.at this point, im thinking somethings up with that hallway.

the poorly covered hole

this part isnt anything scary/supernatural really, just uncomfortable and kinda sets the tone for living in this apartment at the time: in the bedroom, C had placed a clothing rack next to the old 1900s floor-to-ceiling ventilation pipe that is plastered into the wall in the corner. literally just a wide ass pipe in the corner of the room that isnt in use anymore. behind the rack, leaning against the pipe, he had put a rarely used pink neon tube light and i decided it would look cool to try it out, but it was dusty in that little nook thing where it was so i had to clean it up a bit. while moving the clothing rack to vacuum, i realize there is a hole at least as big as my hand in the side of the pipe. i was like ??the frick is this? and i poke into it and there is just this thin paper membrane covering it. you could almost fit an entire head through there, and i can literally feel wafts of cold wind moving through it. there probably used to be an attached pipe of some sort to allow smoke from the kitchen to go up into the ventilation like a hundred years ago, but the thought that this at least 1 meter wide pipe, wide enough to fit a person, goes up through probably all apartments above us, up through the attic, ending as an open chimney in the roof, has this big hole in it is just… unsettling to me. obviously the pipe is not in use anymore, but that kind of only made it scarier. ive seen enough scary movies for that to make me feel a bit paranoid lol. i was almost expecting a hand to push through that paper when i touched it. but i covered it back up with the clothing rack and nothing really happened with that.

the mirror incident

one night, me and C were getting ready to go out. im getting ready in the hallway, because thats where the big wall-sized full figure mirrors are (of course). C comes out of the bathroom, runs past me infront of me, veering off to the left into the bedroom, wearing only underwear. i look after him in the mirror, i can see him in the bedroom, in front of his clothing rack. im fixing my hair at the time, both hands on my head. to my direct left is the front door and the space with our shoes and jackets. right in front of the door, for a split moment while im turning back to keep looking at myself in the mirror, i see what looks exactly like C but paler, wearing only underwear, standing in the same position as me, turned away from me as if the thing is also looking in a mirror. heads on its head like its fixing its hair, just like me. imitating me. i get shivers just typing this down. i tell C what i just saw, i literally went: ”uh C? i just saw a man infront of the door”, dumbfounded, and we both got a bit freaked out, and got out of there pretty quickly.

learning about demons

a few weeks later, C invites his friend to comes to visit. im not there at that time so i never met her, but she apparently had a knack for sensing ghosts and picking up on energies etc. he told me that when he got up to get them more wine from the kitchen and left her alone in the couch in the bedroom, she said she really felt very uncomfortable sitting with her back to the hallway corridor. she also told him that ghosts and spirits are usually not malevolent and you can get by fine living in a ‘haunted’ house. but when he told her what we had experienced so far, she told him that ghosts usually dont behave that way, and that a rule is that if something is imitating or mimicking you, its probably not a ghost, but might be signs of fucking DEMONIC ACTIVITY. apparently demons like to mock and impersonate people. friendly caspers dont do that. fun.

realizing the triangle/cursed ground

so, yeah. weird things kept happening. but we had jobs, sometimes you just gotta ignore that shit and try not to live your life terrified of demons. which we still were for the record; i dont think we ever left each other alone in that apartment for any longer than necessary after that, i remember C actually staying at his dads during the time i went away to see my family.

anyway, when we had started dating C had introduced this podcast to me. its a swedish one where a guy called jack reads creepypastas, analyzes spooky stuff, old folklore, all that stuff, and also reads original content and real stories written by listeners. its really good and really creepy. so that podcast had been going for maybe two years by then so i had a LOT to catch up with, wich wasnt a bad thing at all. i remember by this time is was summer and i was out on the street smoking a cigarette after doing dishes, and the episode i was listening to was about the last of the execution spots/gallow hills (?? i guess is the correct term? not sure) in sweden. remember, we lived in the old part of the city center, in the northern part of the city. very old buildings, very old everything. so jack commences to talk about the famous last gallow hill in [our city] and where it was located, when the final execution took place and for what, how many people had been killed there and its entire bloody history. i almost drop my cigarette, because he says it was located on zenithgatan (”zenith street”), and where the gallows used to be there is now a kindergarten. so im on our street, just outside our kitchen windows, looking right at that specific kindergarten. just across the main road. i will provide a screenshot of a map and a street view of what i was looking at to let you know i am not making this up:

so the street we lived on is called döbelnsgatan (”döbeln street”, döbeln is apparently a city in germany, i just googled that), at the very end of the street, our citys main old cemetary is juuust beyond our line of sight to the right from the kitchen windows and where i was standing. however, across from us: zenithgatan, with all of its bloody history. i couldnt help but to wonder how far the blood could had flown from there and where the bodies had been thrown, if this entire part of town is built on bloody ground etc. it really gave me massive creeps.

a few years later (which would be a few months ago, when i moved in to the room where i live presently) i happened to land a conversation about ghosts with my new flatmate. turns out she also used to live in those neighbourhoods, in an apartment on the third floor literally overlooking the cemetary, but on celciusgatan, which would be the next street over from döbelnsgatan (see map). and she told me, without me having said anything at all about all of this, that that part of town including her apartment has always been haunted. she used to see a shadow of a man through frosted glass doors, moving around in rooms that were closed when both she and her son and her sister were in the kitchen. she didnt experience any malice however, and also had someone come check it out for her, but apparently she just had nice ghosts. but we agreed that yeah, these buildings are literallty inbetween a cemetary and the gallows; there are probably bound to be a lot of lost souls wandering around.

this could also be over-analyzing it, but if you draw lines from the cemetary to the site of the executions to döbelnsgatan/celciusgatan, it makes a perfect triangle. while googling the translation of ‘döbeln’ just now it says right in the wikipedia description that it is located ‘somewhat in the middle of a triangle, made up by three cities’. coincidence, perhaps. probably. but still. by now im pretty conviced of anything that could hold any significance about all of this.

the painting

later on, maybe by a few months, and C tells me when i get home from work that he had woken up that day, after i went to work, from the painting atop of his big secretaire/chiffonier/bookcase (its really a big piece of heavy furtinure, but lets call it bookcase just to be simple) coming crashing down behind it. that painting had stood there since january, at least 9-10 months, and had not fallen down ONCE. it was leaning against the wall, perched safely and steady on the bookcase, with at least a centimeter bookcase until the gap between wall and furniture. i remember thinking last time i looked it was covered in dust because no one even as much as dusted that thing off, and there had been no weird vibrations in the walls that would have shook it either. by this point we’re both very, very uncomfortable in this apartment.

the painting and the hollow in the wall

and here comes the final thing that happened before he moved out, the part that we have on film. ill have to ask my ex for the footage if anyones interested in it, which is fine.

C was doing a collaboration with some people on instagram, an educational account about depression, self-harm, anxiety and such. they gave him the assignment to film himself talking about personal experiences, i think they wanted maybe 13 videos or something like that, the theme being ‘death’ (those videos are still up, im unsure if they posted this one as it kind of strayed from the mental health stuff a bit, but i know C has it still). so at this time - maybe september or october? i really dont know exactly when this was, i could probably scroll on their instagram account but im too lazy - he was filming himself a lot. so, he brought up the painting crashing, and filmed us both while demonstrating how it physically could not have moved and crashed down behind the bookcase because of the way it stood on top of it. it would have been one thing if it fell forward, but then it would have landed on its front and fallen in front of the bookcase, probably shattered the glass. but it fell BEHIND it. on camera, you can see my hands pushing on it to demonstrate the way it went down into that snug space inbetween. you would have had to physically push on it, at least a centimeter back, from the front. so for some reason, i get the very random idea to knock on the wall behind it. which means, i stand in the corridor and knock on the corridor wall that divides the bedroom from the hallway. and i swear to god, this is ON FILM. i knock all over the wall and its all concrete - except for THE SPOT EXACTLY BEHIND THE FUCKING PAINTING. the wall is hollow. right behind the painting. where it stood leaned against on the other side. i cant explain why i all of a sudden tried knocking all over the wall, or why the actual fuck there is a hollow square in the middle of the corridor wall, but that really fucked us up. there were just too many weird coincidences, you know.

like, all of this happened, or seemed to be centered around, the corridor. as if our hallway was some nexus for supernatural activity. and with that hollow thing, it was like it was starting to make its way into the bedroom, you know? unsettling.

thankfully, C moved out of there in december and we didnt have to stay there anymore, but i sometimes pass by and think about asking the current tenant or the neighbours if they experienced anything strange. its just so eerie. the mimicking parts were the scariest to me, and i get chills thinking about them and reading it even now.

so, thats my long, long overdue creepy encounter. i am VERY aware i sound insane but, hey. what can i do. i am not one for lying and i know that so thats all that matters tbh. i have other encounters as well, but living in that apartment takes the fucking cake.

#creepy #creepypasta #creepypodden #haunting #jesus what do i even tag this with #horror story #also sorry im too tired to double check my english so there are probably some errors in there

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amassingeffect · 6 years

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Ficlet Prompt Friday - Double Down - mReyder

@trajektoria: Could you write something with Reyes singing something for Scott? I have this headcanon that Reyes is a really amazing singer ^^

My brain initially went lounge singer!Reyes and cop!Scott and then I realised that sorta the set up to Sister Act to some degree. But my stupid brain was like, “They never went to Andromeda! Stick ‘em on Omega!” and I legit do not know what to do with the mass of jelly in my skull sometimes. So Scott’s now a private contractor… and I meant to make this quick and short but Scott had other ideas and Reyes stepped in. I’m a little afraid this may turn into an actual big sprawling verse.

This was insanity. The literal actual definition of it. Well, one of them. Extreme foolishness or irrationality. That was the only possible explanation for his actions. He had no business coming to Double Down. Too many spoiled deals, too many irate assholes who felt cheated… this was Omega. There were any other number of places he could have gone to. Hell, even Afterlife would have been better, even if Aria’s goons watched him a little too closely.

But Double Down was the only place where Reyes Vidal was singing. The man had made himself known for singing old Earth songs and people flocked to this bar for his Friday night act.

Scott always made sure to come early so he could get a decent spot. He was sure he was spending too many creds on drinks in a month, but he didn’t care. Ever since the AI scandal with his dad, Scott had to claw and bleed even for any work, just to survive. Sara was gone in the wind, their mother dead from AEND and Alec Ryder had died penniless and disgraced.

But not before the asshole had managed to send his legacy to Scott. The only thing that saved Scott from the fucking AI that downloaded into his brain was his next door neighbour. They were a medic and found him convulsing on his apartment floor. They figured shit out quick and hardlined him into the little black box he received.

Thirty six hours later, Scott had a permanent passenger in his brain and and endlessly fascinated neighbour by the name of T’Perro who said she’d help out when necessary.

He shook his head, studying his overpriced drink. Asari brandy always made him too damn thoughtful. What he needed to be doing was paying attention to the room. Already he was getting a few looks. All his usual spots at the back were taken and so here he was with a table smack dab in the middle of the room. Worst spot ever. Scott really hoped no one came over and started shit. Last thing he needed was to wind up in a brawl at one of his favourite place. Not to mention brawling was expensive if you didn’t clear out fast enough.

The lights dimmed and Scott took a hasty sip before settling in his chair and getting comfortable by slinging his free arm along the back. A spotlight hit the front stage, an asari sitting at the worn looking piano. But the notes that came out sounded like something from a baby grand. And perched right there on a stool in a the neatest black slim cut suit, bowtie perfectly placed was Reyes Vidal.

He looked like something from a different time altogether and far too damn good for the likes of Omega. Then the piano started a peppy little number and Reyes was singing.

It was magic when Reyes Vidal sang. That smooth baritone always made the harshness of life disappear. It was just this small room, Reyes and the piano player. This was why Scott came, pissed away so many credits on drinks. He’d probably be back next Friday too if he could be, like some crazed sailor dashing himself on the rocky shoals of Double Down, drawn in by Reyes.

The piano notes changed, sounding a bit melancholic and then Reyes was singing about a young man, who had a song and style. How he came to see him, and listened for a bit to the person who was a stranger to his eyes.

What was new was how he slowly walked out into the audience, singing all the while. Heads turned and followed him just like the spotlight did. Scott absently took another sip of his drink but he damned near choked when Reyes turned and looked right at him. Those hazel eyes gleamed as he wove around a table, making straight for Scott. Sure enough the spotlight settled right on them as Reyes paused right in front of him.

“He sang as if he knew me, in all my dark despair, then he looked right through me as if I wasn’t there,” Reyes settled down on Scott’s lap, his free hand sliding over Scott’s shoulder to the nape of his neck to delicately draw his fingertips against the skin there. “But he just came to singing, singing loud and clear.”

Scott couldn’t look away even if he wanted to. He was mesmerized by Reyes freaking Vidal sitting in his lap and singing but then he was sliding away, still singing. His hand almost moved, anything to keep Reyes there. He settled for gripping his glass tighter and leaving his arm along the back of his chair.

But then Reyes winked and Scott was now absolutely sure of a few things. His face was redder than red, and judging from the daggers he could feel being stared into his back he needed to be very careful walking back home tonight. He shifted, pulling his chair in to his table more. There was no way he was surviving if Reyes pulled that stunt again. If he didn’t die from all the blood rushing to his dick, it was gonna be a knife in the back.

As much as the tension had him itching to leave, he was not getting out of his chair until his drink was done and Reyes was finished singing.

It would be rude to do anything less, after all.

__________________________________________

If Sara were here, she’d call him any number of things. Idiotic. Insane. Glutton for punishment. But here he was back at Double Down, just like he’d been for the past month. The bouncer always eyed him suspiciously now but let him in.

When Reyes Vidal decided to tease you in the spotlight, people took notice. They really didn’t like it, but they definitely took notice.

Scott was pretty sure his sole saving grace was that the fights happened outside the bar. He always managed to wipe the floor with them and once left two limping home from shot-out kneecaps. Then there was the time his buddy Liam Kosta was passing by and jumped in to save his skin. All he came away with that time was a a busted lip and slash across his arm. Liam’s black eye was eclipsed by his smug grin and very prying questions. It was nothing serious, but T’Perro had tutted and patched them up.

“I do not understand why you are returning to this place,” SAM confused tone came through their private link. “The probability of you being attacked again is in the 90th percentile.”

“You factor in Reyes putting me on display again?” Scott muttered into his drink.

A pause from SAM and then, “In the 99th percentile range.”

“Call me selfish.” Scott shrugged as he took a sip. “Even with all the fights, this is the one bright spot in my life okay? Don’t ruin it.”

SAM didn’t have a response to that and Scott sighed in relief. It always felt risky talking to SAM in public, he preferred to avoid if he could. Not much he could do about it now. T’Perro had made it clear that trying to extract SAM would kill him. Alec Ryder, still messing up his life, even from beyond the grave. He downed his drink and signalled to the waitress for a new one. They brought it over promptly and Scott was surprised when they delicately slid a folded square of paper their way along with the drink.

“With Mr Vidal’s compliments.”

He stared at his brandy as the bartender hurried off. Now Reyes Vidal was buying him a drink? He picked it up, swirling the glass around before taking a sniff. Nothing smelled off, as far as he could tell from the scent. A quick dunk of a fingertip and a drop of liquid on his tongue told him that it tasted fine. Hell, he didn’t care how rude it was, he quickly scanned the glass, really hoping this wasn’t the worst poisoning attempt known to any species.

“I detect no foreign substances in the drink.”

Scott picked up the glass, tilting it as he contemplated the greenish tinted blue liquour. With the compliments of Mr Vidal, huh? He took a sip before he studied the glass once more. No denying it, Reyes had some excellent taste. He looked at the folded square in front of him, tapping a finger thoughtfully against it. One thing he definitely wasn’t gonna do was look at it here. Too many prying and jealous eyes. He tucked it away just as the lights dimmed and the pianist came on. Thank god he got a seat in the back. He blended into the shadows and there was no way Reyes could find him tonight.

Certainly didn’t stop the man from being bewitching everyone with nothing more than the spotlight and a microphone.

And it certainly didn’t stop three morons from trying to jump him on the way home. Jealousy was an ugly thing. A busted arm, a few busted noses and a thorough beat-down hopefully got that message across.

__________________________________________

“So, let me see if I’ve got this straight. You’ve been going to some club for a few weeks now to listen to some guy sing. You get a piece of paper, actual paper from him, and you don’t look at it?”

Scott knew that caving and asking Liam for advice was probably gonna be like shooting himself in the foot. “Look, I just need an objective ear is all. I’m just…” he made a vague gesture around his face before making a sound of frustration.

“I think you’re an idiot for passing up a booty call. Every one’s talking about Vidal. Surprised Aria hasn’t offered him employment. Or blackmailed him into it.” Liam shook his head. “Why are you so chickenshit to look at the paper anyhow?”

Scott just shrugged as he loaded another heat sink into his rifle. Maybe because unopened the paper couldn’t disappoint him. Maybe he wanted the world from a tiny piece of paper when it was probably just gonna be another kick from life. Their target entrance exploded with their timed charges and they rushed in, easily taking down the guards in the room.

Working a job with Liam was always a good time. They got along and even more surprisingly, Liam usually kept his words barring extenuating circumstances. The guy had enough tricks up his sleeve, it would give STG pause. Like looping the security feeds with spliced video with correct timestamps. Like… who thought of that, much less cobbled it together on the fly?

All Liam ever said was he knew a turian once with the biggest drive ever for vengeance and justice. When Scott asked who it was, all Liam had answered with was a shrug and, “They’re dead.”

But Liam was cut a bit from that same cloth but left tattered by Omega. Not that Scott should be complaining, they were in the building, no alarm was raised and Liam was busy with something at a console.

“All right, we have ten minutes to get in, grab it and get the hell out. Not a second later because God knows we’ll have Blood Pack on our tails soon enough if we dawdle.”

“Well then.” Scott made sure he set his ammo to incendiary. “Chop chop.”

They silently swept in, guns at the ready and even more so when they found their target and managed to get out quietly. Not that Scott was taking any chances. They hightailed it out through the service ducts and into the dangerous rabbit warren of the fans. If you knew the timing sequence, there was a very low probability of being chopped up or accidentally sucked out into space or into raw eezo dust down in the mines. Something SAM was actually useful for. They made it to an abandoned service tunnel, the whirr of the fans starting up behind them a few minutes later and only then Scott breathed a sigh of relief. The fans also helped to disperse their scent because vorcha might as well be damned bloodhounds. A silent alert from his omni-tool made him look up to see Liam grinning.

“BLOODY WELL LOOK AT IT!!” was the sole message. And apparently Liam never ever bothered to turn off his capslock.

Scott rolled his eyes, getting comfortable on one of the storage crates and digging out a ration bar from a pocket before quickly wolfing it down. Liam was doing the same, all the while giving pointed looks. In a way Scott was glad they couldn’t talk here. The massive fans tended to carry sound so silence was required. But hell, Liam could be like a dog with a bone some times. He dug into his pocket, pulling out the square of paper. He unfolded it, while Liam at least pretended to give him privacy.

It was a single line. An extranet address. Reyes Vidal’s extranet address.

Suddenly, that little paper was a wide, terrifying possibility. Terrifying because Scott couldn’t see any scenario where this ended well.

And now he was stuck here with a terrifying piece of paper that he couldn’t even burn to completely destroy the evidence. The smoke would be a dead give away. And that just left him feeling more frustrated.

Liam was definitely looking at him a few seconds later when he stuffed the piece of paper into his mouth, chewing furiously until he swallowed it. There evidence definitely destroyed. Liam pulled up his omni-tool, typing furiously.

WHAT THE HELL DID YOU JUST EAT IT??!?!!!

No evidence now.

Liam was staring at him like he couldn’t believe what he’d just seen. RYDER, I VERY RARELY SAY THIS, SO LISTEN CLOSE, YEAH? YOU’RE A FUCKING TWAT.

Scott simply shrugged. There was no way he could reply to Reyes now. He had to keep low for at least two weeks to ensure the Blood Pack stayed off his tail. The last thing he wanted to do was drawn Reyes into the messy complication of his life.

After a moment of thought, all Scott could do was sigh. He was gonna miss Double Down.

__________________________________________

Not going to Double Down made the days stretch out too damn long. Their client was happy and paid out their fee, even with the hefty “24 hour guarantee” addendum. What Scott was more concerned with at that point was staying alive to enjoy his big payout. He’d spent the past two weeks crashing at flophouses, going to boltholes and just keeping on the move through the myriad of tunnels, service corridor and ever dangerous fan system. It had worked and he was sure the enraged Blood Pack leader wouldn’t find him, much less connect him and Liam to the theft. He’d gotten reports that the Blood Pack leader complained that hunting down a wraith was damned impossible.

At least walking through the Kumi District was relatively safe. No obvious guns and attempted shakedowns. Scott walked along the familiar path, opened the door with a press of his thumb and stepped inside. He leaned against the door, taking a breath.

That was all he got to take, since the unfamiliar rustle of clothes had him reaching for his pistol. Please don’t let it be someone out for his blood. He liked this apartment, paid dearly for the spacious spot. His hackles rose as he stepped into the apartment. Ice clinked against glass and he had his pistol raised on instinct. As he came down the few steps to the living room, he could see a slim figure was stretched out along his couch. There was a black jacket draped over the arm. The bowtie was undone, dangling from underneath the collar and hazel eyes were fixed right on Scott.

Reyes fucking Vidal stretched out on his couch like he owned the place.

“Breaking and entering usually means you get shot.” Scott holstered his pistol.

“What’s a man to do when you don’t call or write? You vanished like a ghost. What should I think?” Reyes tilted the glass to him. “Excellent whiskey by the way. Milgrom is no T88, but still good.”

For a few moments, all Scott could do was look at Reyes. What the hell did the man want from him exactly? Friendship could be a fickle thing, he had learned that the hard way. Lovers even more so. He’d been burned one too many times before. Couldn’t deny how much he wanted though, looking at Reyes.

“So you’re here for something, Mr Vidal. I don’t usually accept contracts this way.”

Reyes shook his head. “No contract. You hadn’t been by in a few weeks, that’s all. Just wanted to make sure you were still alive.”

Shit, he wasn’t supposed to notice. Why was Reyes noticing that he wasn’t there? Scott swallowed as he shrugged. “Can’t keep drinking all the top shelf shit at Double Down.”

“Is that what you’re telling yourself, querido?” Reyes chuckled as he got up, resting his glass on the table. “Omega is full of liars and charlatans. I know a lie when I see one.”

“Why do you care if I show up or not? I’m a private contractor, I could have been shot up on a job. We’re a dime a dozen.”

Reyes made a clucked his tongue, before he half sung, “Querido, here of all places you should see no masks, to come to your home and hearth, aren’t we past all that? I thought we had something, had to find out. Had to come here and see, at least take my shot.”

The lull of his voice, his hand sliding along the shoulder armour to rest on the nape of Scott’s neck, fingers gently stroking the fine hairs there. Scott couldn’t explain why something just cracked inside him. If Reyes was offering what Scott thought he was… at this point, he didn’t care if he wound up dead in a gutter because of it. He slid a hand along Reyes’ arms, the muscles leading to the smooth curve of shoulder and down a solid back to the small just about the curve of Reyes’ ass.

“You’re innocent, get caught in my crossfire. I don’t want you dead because of me.”

Reyes raised a brow at that before he gave a dry chuckle. “This is Omega. Very few people here are entirely innocent. We’re all charlatans, thieves and liars to some degree,” his fingers traced down Scott’s stubbled jaw. “And did you not think that maybe you may wind up dead because of me?”

Now that made Scott laugh. “They’ve been trying for a few weeks and failed.”

“Ever had a Blood Pack member obsessed with you? Makes life tricky.”

Scratch that. Scott was probably gonna wind up smashed to a pulp in a ditch. Maybe not if he got to the krogan first, with the right backup. But Reyes was so close, with the warmth of his body and the promise of his lips… Scott was helpless to resist. He took a half-step back, queuing up some tracks from his omni-tool. The opening strains played through the apartment and Reyes’ smiled as Scott bowed, holding his hand out.

“Then may I have this dance?”

Reyes smiled as he took his hand and Scott pulled him in close as they swayed to the music. Then Scott felt the whisper of Reyes’ breath against his ear as he sang along..

“I put a spell on you, because your mine.”

Scott tightened his arms around Reyes, kissing him with everything he had. God help him, he really was under Reyes’ spell. For as long as he wanted him, Scott would stay by his side. And if someone wanted Reyes, they’d get to him over his dead body.

#mass effect #mass effect: andromeda #mryder #reyes #reyes vidal #mreyder #ficlet prompt friday #fanfic #writing #trajektoria

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aggresivelyfriendly · 6 years

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~Meet Me In The Hallway~

Chapter 30-Walkabout

Eternal gratitude to @nocontrolforlouis for making it readable and to everybody for being patient. I mommed hardcore this weekend, we did Disney, the beach, and rollerskating, plus LA traffic. I’m wiped, be gentle!

As Harry sobbed, I pulled him across my lap. I had heard his sadness and regret on his 10 -song memory trip. I knew we were all over it. I felt like I had a lot of answers to his questions. Not a one of them was good enough though.

"I'm sorry, Harry, I'm sorry, baby!" We were both saying it and he sat up and held my face.

"Im sorry. I'm sorry. If you ever thought I didn't love you, didn't think of you everyday.," he said."Didn't want you every bit as much as you wanted me. That you were less important than me."

I clutched his back, knowing touching him was a bad idea. "I'm sorry I ran. I'm sorry I didn't talk to you. You were my best friend, I should have just talked to you!"

He kissed me then. I think he was just caught up in the feeling of the moment, like I had been earlier. I let him, because we needed a real goodbye, a seal upon our lives and lips. Because I wanted to memorize him one last time, commit him to the mixtape in my head labeled 'Harry and Melly."

I pulled away after a few sips and stood, he needed to leave, before that wasn't possible. He tasted like sunshine and beaches and sausage rolls, and my mom before she got sick, like the home you can't go back to.

Harry let me pull him up and lead him to the door. I was surprised he didn't fight me about making him leave, that he didn't think we had more to say. Maybe he was sure this wasn't the last time. But he was leaving my island, a smaller one this time, and I knew better that it had to be.

I crossed my arms tightly at the door and said goodbye in the same tone. Collapsing back into myself, bringing her back home, the girl he set free.

"Can I at least call you sometime? I promise I'm much better about it now. Heartbreak is a good teacher," he said. The slice in his cheek appeared, his eyes shone through his drying tears and I thought that saltwater cured everything, except for love.

"I don't think that's a good idea, Harry."

His smile fell. "Alright, Alright Melly." He swallowed. "I...I love you, and for what's worth, I'm not mad at you anymore, ok? We're ok?"

I bit my lip and back my tears. "Mmhmm," was all I could get out with a nod. I couldn't cough up the three words he now seemed to say so effortlessly. Or the easy forgiveness, for him or me. I guided him to the threshold of my apartment and opened it onto the hallway. I couldn't even smile when he walked out into that place, our place. Though he was the one outside now, it felt backwards, like a mirror image.

I closed the door between us and sat down right there and listened to him walk away.

His footsteps echoed and I thought about how we don't ever really see our own faces, just reflections and pictures, but our lovers do. How they see us for who we really are. What face did Harry see tonight, when he had been looking at me? Did he see me as the 18-year old girl who he spent nights learning, of the 20-year old girl he knew in everyway, or the 23-year old woman who was a stranger?

I wasn't sure which one I saw either, what reflection would look back at me. I wasn't sure I'd recognize any of those people.

I was still there, on the floor, with a salty face when I heard Milo's footfalls and got myself up and to the bathroom. The girl in the mirror looked younger. So maybe today I was her, my 18-year old self. I'd cried off my makeup and I was in comfy clothes and my hair was up in the messy bun I had always worn at night three or four years ago. I'm surprised she wasn't screaming at me, for letting Harry walk into that corridor and away, onto another country.

It was time to put away childish things.

Milo loved my hair unbound, the waves down my back drew him out like he was a surfer at dawn. Most nights I wore it like that, now.

When we were young, Harry never made special mention of how he liked my hair, but he often gripped my bun. I wore a bun a lot then.

I didn't put make up on, but I washed my face and put my hair down and threw on a nightie before going to Milo.

"Corazon!" He greeted when I came into the kitchen and he was heating up yesterday's takeout. "Have you eaten?" He pulled down another plate and I felt a wave of guilt crest and crash.

"Yeah." I lied. Food sounded like sawdust. I sat at the table to chat like he liked me to do when he had been out late.

"Were you sleeping, Melody? Your eyes are puffy." His finger smoothed my eye and it reminded me of another swipe at the tear stained place too recently. My first instinct was to yank away from the confusing touch. I just adjusted myself slightly farther away.

"I nodded off, Buen Provecho." I nodded at his plate and watched him tuck in. He was always starved after these business affairs.

"I'm starving, How they all live off whiskey I do not know." He happily ate the Thai food I had called in, while we giggled on the living room rug and watched a film yesterday. It felt a lifetime ago. He was talking about his night between mouthfuls and I must have been feigning attention well enough because before long, while I was thinking about the sound of footsteps in corridors, he was pulling me up.

He hugged me and my body felt like I'd been in a car accident, black and blue all over. I was hoping my tiredness would convince him we should just retire. The idea of his hands on me tonight made me tender beneath my skin too. I wanted to word vomit over my shame and was trying to figure out how to tell him. How do you tell a good man he deserves more? When he wasn't touching me I could stay mum and numb.

I hoped he kept his hands to himself while I put on my courage like a poor knight's armor.

He was such a lovely man, I thought as I watched him round the bed. How could I do this? Milo got into the bed beside me and leaned over giving me a kiss on the head and taking my hand.

"Did you pack today?"

My confusion was plain on my face.

He chuckled, "Are you still jet lagged? Mi amor you are out of it." He made an up in space gesture.

I shook my head. Bigger things than sleep were wrong with me.

"No, Corazon, we leave in two days!" He's celebrating and I've forgotten somehow about the three week trip we are about to take. It has been an extremely stressful season at his work place. He's had to deal with some asset inquiries and he was up for review. When he'd been promoted to senior trader he had proposed that we make a trip to meet each other's families.

He picks up my hands then, and kisses the backs of them and then presses his mouth to the empty ring finger on my left hand. "After we tell our families, then you will have no excuse not to wear it anymore!"

He had also proposed.

And me in my delusions that I was over loving Harry Styles and all of the grief that had come with it, had leapt into his arms and accepted.

I'd be lucky to have him.

But we hadn't met anybody back home. I'd never been to Argentina and he had certainly never been to Australia. My parents and my brother were aware of our situation and happy that I'd found somebody after my unspoken, but apparent heartbreak. We had used the tools available to us and my mum had made a few calls where she had cause to make cheeky little comments about Milo because he was shirtless and I was disheveled.

They were happy because I was happy, or at least I thought I was.

No that is unfair. I was happy, and we were supposed to be getting married in six months. Smack dab in the middle of Harry's next tour. A shame I wouldn't be able to invite him.

I had agreed to marry my gorgeous grown-up man, but found a convenient excuse about why I could not wear his ring.

Milo had agreed, that our ex-patriot status made certain things complicated. What if our parents did not approve?

I could not imagine that my parent's would disapprove of Milo. And he assured me that his mother, the lone immediate family member he had, would love me at first sight, like him.

But I was well aware, having loved and lost a mumma's boy before, that her approval, Maria Luisa's approval, would be important. If she disapproved, however, that would be a deal breaker. I'm sure that Milo would not break up with me immediately, but it would be an eventuality.

Milo had been really nervous about this trip when we had discussed it originally. It was the youngest I had ever seen him appear, while he told me all about his home and all of the things he wanted me to see and eat. The friends that he couldn't wait to introduce to me.

It was more nerve wracking than meeting Harry's parents somehow. Maybe because of language barriers and cultural difference. Milo was totally sure that it would be a resounding success. I was his doll, everybody would love me as much as him, I would see.

Also, it wouldn't have been a deal breaker for Harry. No matter how much he loved his mother, if she didn't like me, he would just given her time and trust his own opinion.

Luckily we never had that problem.

For all of these reasons though, I had been hesitant to wear my ring until we actually met and it went smoothly. I could just imagine my mum catching the glint off the two carat skating rink Milo had presented me with and knowing her she would scream and cry and be happy. But she would also ask why they didn't know first and why Milo hadn't tried to talk to my dad before. I assumed that was because Milo had no father to speak of, and my parents were surprisingly old fashioned about some things.

Worse would be if his mother saw it and made assumptions about me before she met me. The guera from another world who kept her boy away.

These were the reason I gave Milo when he asked. And they were legitimate.

I felt the need to stall for time, but I had covered my hours of gut wrench by preparing for bed and pretending to be tired so I went to the bed and watched him round the room and close the bathroom door while I put my face into my hands and thought about the way Harry's face had looked while he'd begged me to tell him I didn't love Milo like I loved him. That I was meant for him.

His cheeks were drawn and he looked gaunt and like a cat caught out in the rain. Then he looked aghast that he had revealed himself so nakedly to me.

It reminded me of one of our first major conversations, when he had first stripped himself emotionally and admitted that the constant attention was exhausting and he longed for anonymity sometimes.

I pulled myself together when I heard the sink turn off after the buzz of Milo's electric toothbrush. When he walks out my feelings of guilt transfer to him.

He smiled at me so warmly and I remembered that he was my sun in a dark place. But I had betrayed him tonight, and would have betrayed him fully if Harry hadn't stopped me. Once again my thief's brain ran away with me, and my thoughts made a getaway from the righteous guilt I should be feeling to wondering about Harry's girl. She must be special if he turned me down.

Jesus I was a horrible bitch. I had no business with either of these honorable men.

Milo smiled at me, and came to his side of the bed, slipping in and flipping to his side so that he could run his fingers up and down my arm.

He wanted me. So I slouched down into the bed and tried to turn my brain off and my body on. Milo made me ravenous and desperate, it was his favorite thing.

It was a hard thing to fake, but I must have done well enough, as he nodded off after. "Mi Alma, mi sol!" he said into my long blonde hair.

Did all men fall asleep like this? Harry didn't even need to be horizontal or comfortable to fall asleep. Milo nodded off as soon as he met the pillow. They were the totality of my experience, so I guess men are better sleepers.

I was not tired. I surfed on my phone.

"Harry Styles girlfriend" went into the search bars without permission and I wondered how to punish my own fingertips, or mind.

There was nothing new, all of the girl's were from two or more years ago. So, she, whoever was standing where I stood and doing it better, was new or important.

Important? That was a weird assumption. And then I reminded myself, that voice who whispered important, that our names were never linked in ink. Only people who we loved knew. We were hidden far away from predatory eyes. I was hidden away.

Or it was new.

I sent up an errant prayer for the latter.

This was ridiculous! I was jealous of a woman I didn't know who got a man I didn't deserve and who I'd thrown away years ago. What I had now was real. And open. And I loved the one I was with.

I stared at Milo for a while and decided that I had to put Harry away. And that I would never tell. If nothing came of it and nobody came, the only reason to tell was to alleviate my own guilt. It was time to put away childish things.

I got up and located my engagement ring, stowed in the medicine cabinet for some weird reason. I closed the mirrored door and looked at the beautiful piece. I took off the ring that had adorned my right hand for years, with it's worn wish and held it.

I stared at myself in the mirror for a long moment and tried to decide who she was, the girl there reflected back at me.

And I put on my ring. But instead of the rock with all of its intentions, I slipped my past onto my wedding finger.

#harry styles #Harry Styles fanfiction #Harry Styles fanfic #Harry Styles imagine #mmith #meet me in the hallway #one direction #one direction fanfiction

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