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stxrgaryen · 1 year

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The other woman | Jacaerys Velaryon

Summary: In which I shuffle my playlist, spin a wheel and write a one shot for a random character from House of The Dragon.

On todays episode:

Song: The other woman by Lana Del Rey

Character: Jacaerys Velaryon

Warnings: none I think??

Word count: 4.42k

You had never held any wild preconceived notions of love. You knew it to be trying and oftentimes disappointing. Growing up you had watched your father dismiss and neglect your mother, all to pine for a woman that was no longer alive.

You could still hear the arguments that raged between them— the queen insisting that Viserys took no interest in his children, and your father replying that it was nonsense.

Of course he knew it to be the truth, he just did not care enough to change his ways.

He would always offer your mother remorseless apologies the morning following a big argument, gifting her beautiful gowns and expensive jewels. It was how you knew he did not truly love her.

Your father did not care enough to fight for her, to listen to her plights and address her concerns.

No matter how warped your idea of love had begun, you always knew it existed.

Your mother, Queen Alicent, had been the best example. She loved you with all her heart, entertained discussions that never interested her just because she adored the way your face lit up.

Each time you completed a patch of embroidery, she would show it off whenever she held court, urging her ladies to shower you with compliments.

Although it made her head spin with anxiety, she accompanied you to the dragonpit whenever you wished to visit your hatchling. She was present for each milestone you made and every accomplishment you gained.

She taught you that the love between a mother and her children was sacred and you knew in your deepest of hearts that there was no length she would not go to protect you.

You thought the absolute world of your mother. You adored her beautiful dresses and saccharine smiles. You loved how she did her hair and carried herself with such elegance.

Through watching her, you learned to make the best of whatever circumstances were handed to you, no matter how unfavorable you found them to be.

Queen Alicent guarded you like a well kept secret.

You were a child she had always deemed solely hers. Aegon was born for the crown, belonging entirely to the throne he would one day inherit. Helaena was born for him, meant to be the queen by his side. Daeron was for Oldtown, meant to serve as a squire for her uncle Hobart until he came of age.

Aemond would be set up in some kind of political marriage, most likely of a woman set to inherit lands, a match that would require him to leave her. But you— you were hers.

She could raise you as a child of her own and sure, someday you would have to marry but it could be to a minor Lord, perhaps a second son, one that would allow you to stay in the Red Keep.

It had offended Alicent to her very core when Rhaenyra suggested a betrothal between her sweet daughter and the eldest bastard.

And for all your mothers efforts, you adored her for her willingness to protect you and your siblings.

The second kind of love you had learned to cherish was that of your brothers' and sister and although you loved each of your siblings (yes, even Aegon), Aemond had always held a special place in your heart.

It was hard to describe the bond between you. It wasn't romantic, you had never held those kinds of feelings for him, nor he for you, but there was some kind of soul tie between the two of you, allowing you to know each other in ways others simply could not.

You held his hand through the rough days and laughed with him through the good.

Your fondest memories were faking coughs and wiping at a dry noses just so you could curl up with your brother in front of the hearth in your mother's private rooms, your other siblings following shortly after.

"You know—" Alicent had spoken to her children one night, "you don't have to fake an illness just to come visit."

You had smiled so brightly at those words, snuggled happily between Aemond and Helaena, your little brother’s head resting on your lap.

Aegon sat beside Helaena, his shoulder resting against hers as he pretended to hate every second of the interaction.

You always noted how he insisted on joining you despite his claims to hate these nights.

Your mother would sit in her chair, taking turns stroking each of your siblings heads as she called for melted chocolate and read a story for you all.

You had never felt such comfort, never felt so safe.

Growing up, your father was always sick. You could not remember a day where he felt well enough to spend time with you.

At least this is what you remember him claiming.

When your dragon had emerged from its shell, you had been completely breath-taken by her pearlescent silver scales. You marveled at how the sun reflected off them.

You named her Meraxes, after princess Rhaenys' mount.

You had gone bounding up the keep's steps, racing to your father's room to tell him of your new dragon.

You had thought that he could tell you tales of the conqueror. That he would possibly even speak of Balerion and what it was like to mount him.

Barely containing your excitement, you reached for the handle of his door, smile already plastered across your face. As the door pushed open you stopped dead in your tracks.

Viserys sat in his chair, smiling at Jacaerys and Lucerys, pointing to different parts of his model of the Valyrian Freehold. He spoke High Valyrian, slowing the ancient words so his grandsons could catch each syllable

It was something ugly that festered in you at the sight.

He had never smiled at you like that. Had never taken the time to show you or your siblings the thing he seemed to love more than them. He didn't teach you histories or the ancient language of Valyria.

Your father looked at you and his smile dropped just the slightest, before widening again. Although this time, it did not reach his eyes. Yours dropped completely, your breath coming out rushed and labored as your fists clenched at your side.

"Kepa." You greeted, making a point of pronouncing the word flawlessly.

Viserys nodded, "y/n"

An awkward silence hung in the air as the king and his grandsons stared at the disheveled girl. Viserys looked at you expectantly.

"Ñuha zaldrīzes—" you began.

"I don't understand." Lucerys cut you off with a whine.

Your father's true smile appeared as he looked at Luke and you felt tears cloud your vision.

"My dragon hatched." You whispered, every bit of excitement you once held now dead and gone.

"That is very good news." Viserys said indulgently. "Have you told your mother yet?"

You shook your head no.

"Then perhaps you should go tell her." You could remember your father saying, attempting to disguise his dismissal.

You said nothing as you slammed the door and ran to your mother's chambers.

When your siblings had visited you later that night, with honey cakes and hot tea, you knew that with them, you were always loved.

They cheered you up to the best of their abilities, spouting nonsense and exaggerated stories, all in the name of seeing you smile.

The third and final kind of love that you had learned to cherish over your few short years of life, was the kind shared between friends.

It was hard for you to believe that even now, Jacaerys had ever felt anything towards you other than contempt.

He had always been a child of great temper whereas you were levelheaded, at least in your shared youth.

You were the calm to his storm but never the apple of his eye.

Those were the days in which he was promised to Baela Targaryen.

He would boast over her beauty and bravery like they were prizes he had won. You never minded, you were happy that your closest friend would one day marry someone he cared for.

Your earliest memories are with him as you sat under the weirwood tree, arms intertwined as you picked candy lemons off honey cakes.

There was one day in particular where you had stolen the tray from the banquet table somewhere between the fifth and sixth hour of a feast, you had taken Jace by the sleeve, pulling him outside as you both began tearing the poor cakes apart.

King Viserys often threw revelries and just like all those before, he had drunk too much arbored gold.

On that day he had done just that— drank far more than his fair share and slurred some nonsense when he saw Rhaenyra, expressing how proud he was of his 'only child'.

You felt his words like a punch to the gut. There wasn’t a single thing in this world you wouldn’t give up to hear Viserys speak of you like that.

You had only been grateful your mother and siblings weren't around to hear it. It had been senselessly cruel, but it was your burden to shoulder.

You had only hoped his guard had ushered him to bed after.

"I do not understand why he doesn't like me." You admitted to Jace with a sigh. "I am just as much his child as Rhaenyra is."

Jacaerys turned to you, studying your sullen face as you picked off another candied lemon and popped it into your mouth. "Your father is a fool."

You turned to him with raised eyebrows. Swallowing the candied lemon, you placed the tray on the ground and sat up straight. "You just insulted the king."

Jace shrugged, picking up a honey cake and taking a bite, "just because he's the king doesn't mean he's not a fool."

"I thought you adored Viserys." You asked in confusion.

"You're my friend and he was mean to you." Jace shrugged again. When you didn't look convinced he continued, "your smart y/n. Like really smart. You know almost every part of Westeros, know almost every person that passes through court. You're kind to everyone, and good at everything."

Jacaerys shook his head, "and anyone who can not see that is a fool, including the king."

You beamed at his words. "Do you mean it?"

"Of course I do. You're my best girl." Jace beamed back. "One day I'll even make you hand of the king!"

You laid down, head resting against a root at you watched the red leaves sway gently in the breeze. Jacaerys settled next to you, laying his head directly next to yours.

"You're my best friend too." You whispered, not turning to see the way he smiled at the sky, eyes closed in contentment.

─────────── ☙ ───────────

The rift in your friendship began with the pink dread.

Above all, you cherished your siblings. You hated to see any of them upset and when it came to Aemond and his lack of a dragon, you knew just how much that singular problem effected him.

You had been in the dragonpit with them, learning to command Meraxes, as your brother and nephew did with their respective dragons.

As always, Aemond insisted on joining although he did not posses his own mount.

It was a kind of self-inflicted torture you could never quite understand but, your brother's determination was admirable, even if he hurt his own feelings in the process.

But of course, Aegon saw this same determination and wielded it as a weapon against him. Harsh jibes and terrible words were the least of your concern.

You stuck by your brother's side through it all, stuck up for him when permitted.

Today you had seen Aegon's cruel joke coming from a mile away.

Your face went red with anger as Jace and Aegon introduced the pink dread, little Lucerys running to find a pig with wings fastened to its back.

As your eldest brother and nephews left the dragonpit, you chased after them. Demanding answers for a brother who would not.

"Jacaerys!" You had yelled. You couldn't take your anger out on Aegon, although you knew it was deserved.

Your friend turned to you as Aegon and Lucerys continued to walk away.

"How could you?" You asked, voice trembling with anger.

"We're no longer the subjects of Aegon's torment." Jace said simply.

You had known this was true. Aegon had tortured Jace and Luke from the moment they learned to walk.

Now that he had a new target, her nephews were relieved with the reprieve. An argument ensued. You, insisting Jacaerys and his brother must leave Aemond alone, and him arguing that he couldn’t.

"If you continue, I'll tell the king!" You threatened, with all the resolution and determination of a hardened warrior.

"And which of us holds the king's favor?" Jacaerys asked cruelly.

You flinched at his words, face growing pale.

"Your father hardly tolerates you." Jacaerys hissed, his words aiming to cut. "He adores Luke and I."

You had run to your mother with tears in your eyes, hiccuping through broken sobs at you buried yourself in the soft fabric of her dress. She ran a comforting hand over your soft silver curls, whispering assurances you knew were false.

"Your father loves you." Queen Alicent had sworn, her voice cracking .

You knew it was a lie just as she did. Maybe Viserys did care for you in some capacity, but if he did he had never shown it.

The next day your mother had marched you down to Princess Rhaenyra's solar, demanding answers for her son's harsh words, neglecting the fact that her own child had said and done far worse things to the princess' children.

It seemed that single argument was the beginning of the end for you and Jace.

Later, he had brought you a sweet cake with a terribly written apology on a crumbled piece of parchment tucked beneath the plate.

You forgave him, as you did with everyone who wronged you in any way. It was always in your nature to forgive, no matter how badly words could sting, you valued relationships too much to push people away over mistakes they made.

Or you did at least.

─────────── ☙ ───────────

After that, spats always seemed to occur between the two of you. Some were serious but most were not.

It wasn't until Laena Velaryon's funeral that Jacaerys began to truly resent you.

In the midst of another disagreement, he was refusing to speak to you.

Distraught over the death of Ser Harwin and overtaken with anger at the world, Jace avoided each of your attempts to reach out.

So you gave up, instead choosing to spend the day with Aemond.

As far as funerals went, Lady Laena's had been beautiful.

You offered her daughter's your condolences and whispered assurances that meant nothing to them. They took took your hands in theirs, thanking you with sad but grateful smiles.

You remember your father calling you over, hand resting on your shoulder as he spoke to noblemen.

Aemond came to your side without you even having to ask, silently taking your hand as you listened to the utter nonsense coming from your father's mouth.

It was was the moment after your father had told Aemond he could claim a hatchling or dragon egg, that you knew the day would not end well.

Viserys never took into account how his children felt. Never once considered how he made them feel.

He only praised you in the company of others, only ever looked at you when you stood beside your eldest sister.

You had grown used to you father's aversion towards you and your siblings.

It made you lot all the closer, bonding over a neglectful father and a mother who tried desperately to overcompensate for that same father's neglect.

You tried not to let it bother you. How your father invited your nephews into his private chambers, sharing tales of Old Valyria and their family heritage. They never cared for it but, you did.

You tried not to think of how unfair it was because if you did you would never be free to think of anything else.

You watched as your father humiliated Aemond for what seemed like the millionth time in your known memory. You followed him as he ran from the great hall, wiped the tears from his cheeks once he stopped on the shores of High Tide's beach.

When some time had passed and your brother looked up with hardened resolution, you knew he had a plan.

To claim Vhagar, he whispered, would be to claim the world.

You agreed without a second thought.

Not thinking of the dragon's rider who had been sent to the sea not even a day prior.

You didn't think of the daughter's she left behind or the friend who was betrothed to one of those same daughters.

You only thought of your brother and the shared humiliation your father had forced you to bare your entire childhood.

So you agreed to help him. Not considering the consequences of this decision.

In the dead of night you set off with Aemond, determined to help him claim a dragon.

You had made your way to the outer yard, saddling Meraxes as you took to the skies— guiding Aemond who ran below, to the sleeping Vhagar.

You watched with bated breath as he approached her.

Felt anxiety when you saw her maw open and relief when Aemond had gotten her to calm.

As he took his first flight, you flew beside him. You had smiled so wide your cheeks hurt, cheered so loud that your throat ached.

When you landed you gave him the grandest of hugs, boasting how proud you were of him all the way until you reached the keep.

Where they waited.

It all happened so quickly.

You barely processed the insults the slipped past your brother's lips, barely had time to think as Baela surged forward and struck Aemond with a closed fist.

You tried to stop it. Tried to command them with a shaky voice to calm down. But they did not listen.

Before you could blink, your hands were pulling Lucerys back by the collar of his shirt— just after his blade had taken Aemond's eye.

You couldn't think, could not breathe as you watched Aemond writhing on the ground.

A fury you had never quite felt before rose in your gut, tears flowing as you struggled to find the words to express your anger, your horror.

Jace's eyes met yours. His face went pale and eyes wide.

"You bastards will burn for this." You promised, rushing to your brothers aid.

What happened next was only salt in an already gaping wound.

You refused to tear your gaze away from your brother as the Maester carved out his eye.

You could do nothing but watch as your mother struggled with her grief. She tried to bring justice to her children, tried to make it right.

Blame was thrown back and forth between each party.

The king was having none of it, insisting you were a family, that you ought to love one another.

It wasn't until Rhaenyra spoke up, at the behest of her sons, that the king finally began to listen.

Jace spoke next, your own words thrown back at you as your brother was being stitched whole in the seat beside you.

"Y/n and Aemond must be sharply questioned," Rhaenyra deflected "so we might learn where they heard such slanders."

Your back had gone rigid, your expression contorting into one of hurt. You watched as your mother struggled to defend you and Aemond and as your father ignored her entirely, just as he always did.

You felt helpless as you watched your desperate mother lunge for the heir, Valyrian steel dagger in her hands, seeking justice for her children when no one else would.

You understood it then. Why your mother was always so desperate to keep you away from Rhaenyra and her sons’. They did not have your best interests at heart.

They had harmed your brother and faced no consequences. What would happen when Rhaenyra ascended the throne?

The two women broke apart, breaths ragged and tears in their eyes.

Aemond rose from his chair, hugging his mother as he deemed the exchange fair, although you knew it was only in an attempt to calm her.

The silence was deafening as the opposing sides of house Targaryen began staring incredulously at one another.

"This matter is at an end!" your father's voice boomed as your mother dropped the dagger, blood now dripping from its blade. "Now make your apologies and exchange vows of good will."

When no one moved, the king spoke again.

"If you refuse to make this family whole— then I will." He rasped. Viserys pointed his cane toward you, "By royal decree, Jacaerys Velaryon and Y/n Targaryen are now formally betrothed."

Your mother's head turned with so much force, you had thought her neck would snap.

Viserys's eyes narrowed, "House Targaryen must be unified and with this marriage, it shall be."

Your hands clenched into fists at your sides, your nails leaving crescent shaped indents in your palms.

You looked at your mother in horror who only shook her head in return, closing her eyes as tears cascaded down her cheeks.

Rhaenyra nodded in agreement but spoke solemnly, "A fine match, Your Grace."

Nothing could have prepared you for how disastrous your marriage would be.

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In the years following Driftmark, you grew into a beautiful young woman, with pale lilac eyes and shimmering silver hair.

You were everything expected of a Targaryen princess.

Your smile still shone bright as bright as a star in the night sky. You had maintained your kindness and your incredible ability to forgive.

"More beautiful than Rhaenyra ever was at your age." A lord at court had declared.

The compliments pleased your mother beyond belief, she had always been so proud of you and the appraisal of her court’s members only furthered her sentiments.

You had grown into a well-rounded young lady. You were more than talented with the high harp and possessed embroidery skills that were near to perfection. Your charisma and charm was nearly unmatched, drawing in anyone who dared to come close.

The entire realm looked forward to the day you were crowned Queen Consort.

You had found happiness in your life, with your siblings and the people around you.

But while the years had made you all the merrier, there was a constant storm cloud just over the horizon, threatening to upend your life and thrust you into the unknown.

You had not forgotten your betrothed or the terrible way things had been left between you.

Still, you looked to you marriage with hope. You thought that perhaps maybe, you could perhaps reestablish the friendship that was once there, if not pursue a romantic relationship.

On the days leading up to your wedding celebrations, you had spent hours pouring over every minute detail.

You arranged the dragon's breath lining down the center of each banquet table. You spent hours upon hours with the palace's head chef, deciding which wine would pair best with each course.

You made sure that the sigils of both houses, Targaryen and Velaryon, were displayed throughout the castle.

You arranged for singers and harpists to fill the halls with beautiful melodies throughout the week.

There was not a single detail you overlooked, nothing seemed too small in your eyes.

When it came time for your betrothed to arrive with his family, you wore your best dress and had your handmaidens braid your long silver hair into an intricate updo. You wore your mother's emerald earrings and matching necklace, the jewels complimenting the colored fabric of your gown.

You waited with your parents and sister for their arrival, your brothers both refused to welcome them, but this did not shock you.

Jaehaera and Jaehaerys clung to Helaena’s skirts, occasionally venturing far enough from her to speak with you.

Your nerves ate away at you until your hands shook, so instead you clasped them together before you.

As the black and red wheelhouse rolled into the court yard, you attempted your best at a welcoming smile.

Princess Rhaenyra emerged first, a guard helping her to her feet.

She crossed over swiftly, greeting your father then the queen. She turned to you with a too sweet smile, remarking on how beautiful your emerald dress was. You thanked her, eagerly turning back to watch the others come out.

Prince Daemon was next, holding one of their younger children in his arms. The child's nursemaid was quick to scoop the young prince from him, shushing the babe as he cried for his father.

He did the same as Rhaenyra, greeting his brother and then his good sister.

He spoke a soft hello to Helaena, her children, and then to you.

You noticed the cautious look in his eyes as he took you in. You did all you could not to cower from his gaze.

By the time you looked back, Jacaerys had already been standing on the ground, a hand outstretched to help someone else down the steps of the wheelhouse.

You watched as a tanned hand met with his, one of the most beautiful women you had ever seen emerging shortly after. Her hair fell in silver ringlets down to her waist, her dress a beautiful shade of sea green.

You felt your chest tighten as you realized who it was, Baela Targaryen.

You felt a small hand grip your own, looking down to find your niece, Jaehaera looking up at you with wide violet eyes. You sent her a comforting smile, running a soft hand along her cheek.

Looking back up you saw Jacaerys approach, Baela's arm intertwined through his own.

You tried not to stare, tried to keep a smile on your face but had found it difficult.

They're friends , you reminded yourself, siblings.

You tried to ignore the way he looked at her, how Baela returned that look.

You didn't want to believe it, did not want to admit you had no chance at a peaceful life.

Jacaerys offered you a tight lipped smile, nodding once before moving to greet his grandfather.

You hated how it made you feel. Hated that he overlooked you after you had spent so much of your time thinking of him, of the life you would share together.

It will get better, you assured, We haven't spoken in years. Jacaerys will warm to me eventually.

So you painted a pretty smile on your face, ignoring the nagging feeling that all would not be well.

You led your guests into the palace, seeing to it that each were settled in their chambers before you went to find your brothers.

On the eve of your wedding, you paced in your mother's room, nails bitten down to the beds.

All week you had tried to connect with Jacaerys only for him to avoid your efforts entirely.

Jacaerys had never wanted to marry you. You knew this in your heart of hearts.

He never treated you poorly but the slights were constant.

He would leave you mid conversation to go to Baela or at dinners he'd choose the seat beside hers instead of the one next to you. He avoided your affection and cast you aside with every given chance, dismissing your very existence as if your presence offended him.

You faced it all with a stiff lip, never taking his rejections as a sign to stop reaching out your hand.

You wanted the relationship with your husband to better than your parents had been, wanted to make it better for the children you would one day share but as the week continued, it was clear that some things were simply out of your control.

"He doesn't love me." You stressed to your mother, your nightdress trailing behind you as you paced.

"These things take time, my dear." She tried to calm you. "Not all great loves can begin over night."

You still had yet to accept it, that you had a feeling that with Jacaerys, there was no great love in your future.

You tried your best to smile, to convince both yourself and your mother that you believed her words would hold true.

But the truth was, you were just another woman of House Targaryen destined for tragedy.

The ceremony had gone and passed with no issue. You were joined as man and wife in the eyes of the gods. A Valyrian ceremony would follow as soon as you arrived on Dragonstone.

At your wedding feast, you sat and laughed at the high table, genuinely happy with the day’s events.

Jacaerys smiled politely, picking at his food and barely acknowledging his new wife.

Members from both sides gave toasts, wishing the new couple all the happiness in the world.

“May you find as much love and contentment as I did with my Aemma.” Viserys had spoken, caring not for how his current wife would take the jab.

When it came time for the first dance, Jacaerys stood from his seat.

He pushed his chair out and rounded it, making sure to tuck it neatly under the table.

You smiled at him, butterflies in your stomach.

Your husband truly was a handsome man.

There certainly were worse options and as of this moment, you had believed yourself to be lucky.

But he did not return your hopeful look.

He barely glanced at you as he walked passed, down the length of the table to where Baela Targaryen sat.

Jacaerys outstretched a hand as the entire room burst out into hushed whispers.

You felt every butterfly that had come to life, die within seconds.

Rhaenyra sprang from her seat, only to be dragged back down by Daemon.

Aemond stood too, looking absolutely murderous as Jacaerys led Baela to the dance floor.

Your mother voiced her outrage, even Aegon stood, joining Aemond as they muttered to one another.

You felt trapped, completely unable to move as Jacaerys twirled Baela around.

This was when you had accepted your fate.

Like mother like daughter, they would whisper for years after.

You were a woman cursed to live in the shadow of another.

You may have been his wife, but you would always be the other woman.

#house of the dragon #jacaerys x you #jacaerys angst #game of thrones #hotd #jacaerys velaryon #aemond targaryen #house targaryen #alicent hightower #daemon targaryen

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yulin-pop · 1 year

Text

⤷ ✧ Amuse me

Gender neutral

- order 73 | headcanons | First years

Ace Trappola

He’s so cute help meeee. He would actually be really nice for once and buy you whatever you want from the food stands. But he wants a bite of whatever you’re having.

You have to make sure to stay close to him or else you two might get separated in the crowd.

Those basketball shooting games— he’s a pro at those! He’s not the best at shooting since he mainly plays defense but he can easily win you something after a few tries.

He also probably talked the game vendor into letting him have an extra turn (he is so sneaky).

He always gives you the prizes he earns and you’re kinda left carrying around a bunch of stuff.

He is really impatient and gets a VIP pass to cut the line. He doesn’t matter how expensive it is, he doesn’t wanna wait for too long.

He’s not one for the Ferris wheel, it kinda spooks him when it starts rocking around.

Ace is either the one forcing you to ride all the scary tall rides, or you’re the one forcing him to ride them.

“Don’t be scared, you can even hold my hand if you want!”

He’s the one holding your hand.

Deuce Spade

He has never actually been to an amusement park. Maybe he has before but as a little boy.

You’re mostly leading him around since he literally has no idea what he could or should do. Bringing him to the games is fun but a big mistake.

Do not take him to one of those games where the clown taunts you. You know what’ll happen…

He keeps on going for games that always end up with you failing. Like the climbing rope game.

He’s determined to win you at least one thing.

You will have to drag him onto those roller coasters because he is deathly afraid of going on those. He will never let go of your hand and there are tears in his eyes when he gets off.

He prefers going on the spinning teacup type rides or just ones where it’s generally chill.

He is so excited to go on the ferris wheel. It’s the first thing he sees and he’s like “oh my god I wanna go on that”

He’s always seen it on TV shows and he wants to see the whole park from up there.

Might smooch at the top too

“I’ve never been on one of these before. Hopefully it doesn’t fall…”

Please don’t shake the capsule or else he will actually start screaming and crying.

Jack Howl

He’s gone to an amusement park but not one as big as this. The ones he went to were local seasonal carnivals in his town.

He’s confused at first and just follows you at first but soon he starts finding some activities.

Once he finds himself at the game section, he’s gonna be there for a while. He plays every game and what do ya know— he wins all the ones that involve strength.

He plays the rope climbing game not knowing it’s rigged against you. When he falls he’s like “have I not trained enough?” He gets banned from the game because he keeps on playing too much.

He probably gets a huge crowd around him on other games because he’s just that good. He’s left with a lot of prizes and he’s not sure what to do with them.

Jack is actually not very fond of roller coasters. Admittedly, he’s a bit scared of them. He doesn’t show it but he’s just in a state of shock after the rides.

“Here you can have this. I-I didn’t win it for you. Just take it already.”

Epel Felmier

He’s simply amazed. He’s been to a carnival before but this is just amazing. He wants to try all the foods. If they’re caramel apples, he’s probably gonna criticize it, his apples are way better! He’s running all over the place because he wants to see everything.

He knows most of the games are rigged but will attempt all of them regardless. He’s motivated but after a while starts to get upset. He is really determined to win.

Eventually he does and he realizes he doesn’t want the prize offered and just gives it to you.

When he gets tired of the games, he wants to ride all the tall loopy rollercoasters. He is a bit scared but riding those would make him a real man.

He takes you with him and you have never seen him that happy before. If you grab his hand, he’s gonna feel so good about himself.

He’s boasting about it after.

“If ya get scared, jus’ grab my arm.” He’s so smug about it.

Sebek Zigvolt

He doesn’t wanna be there. He acts like he’s being forced and someone is dragging him by the neck.

You have to lead him around for a while and once something grabs his attention, he’s hooked. You kinda have to force him to try the food. Buy him cotton candy and he’s begrudgingly gobbling it up.

Once you bring him to the games, he’s not as miserable. He may or may not rage when he loses a game but he has a lot of motivation.

He thinks all the prizes are ridiculous until somebody says “Maybe Malleus would like that” and then he’s blowing his entire life savings on winning it.

He doesn’t realize the games are rigged but eventually realized after a few failed attempts.

Sebek isn’t really interested in the roller coasters. You have to challenge him or threaten him to make him go on one.

“Sebek go on that ride with me!”

“It’s a waste of time. Go ask someone else.”

“Oh okay. Oh Malleus~?”

“That’s too dangerous for the Young Master!!”

That’s the only way you’ll get him to go with you. He will be almost stoned faced the entire time though but only because he doesn’t wanna show he’s actually having fun.

At the end there’s a slight look of disappointment that it ended.

#twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twst #twst first years x reader #twst first years #ace trappola x reader #ace trappola #deuce spade #deuce spade x reader #jack howl x reader #jack howl #epel felmier #epel felmier x reader #sebek zigvolt x reader #sebek zigvolt

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bitchfitch · 11 months

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idk I'm just trying to figure out the Vibes of this settings fashion. I'm trying to avoid anything that is like, obviously from any real culture, but if you can't tell from the kimono and dhoti knockoffs, that's hard. Mostly because the rules I've decided on have to do with the sorts of looms that would be being used, what fibers are available+in what qualities, and general climate. Once you narrow down that shit you're left with only a handful of options that have all already been done. Humans been wearing clothes for a real long time. Anyways, fuck you, demon fiber craft lore time

I don't have specific earth place picked out but the gen climate for this part of the setting is very mild. Heatstroke is a concern at the height of summer, frostbite at the height of winter. jorts and a thin hoody would be appropriate clothing for the weather 60% of the year. Just gradient out in those directions from there. Very dry summers, fuck ton of snow in the winter.

Sheep are around but mostly as meat animals with fiber being a secondary product, there's just not enough good grazing land for them since most of the area is forested. There are man made clearings, but full on farms and fields aren't as common as food forests. Plus the dryness of the summer makes a lot of field centric agriculture not an option, it's too dry and there's not enough folk cooperating in the area to manage massive irrigation projects being built up.

What is an option is flax. Grown along rivers most clothing is linen with wool being used for thicker garments and silk for finer garments.

all the work that goes into fabric creation in a pre spinning wheel society means fabric is Pricey. Demonic magic helps, but not a lot. Most garments are not cut or sewn. They're made with whole pieces of cloth wrapped or folded to conserve as much material as possible and then pinned, tied, or otherwise secured.

There's also two very different sorta parts of society to consider for Esti and his outfits.

One is that of his birth. Prim and Proper Nobles who control vast resources largely through negotiation bribery and backstabbing. the Coraxes, their outfits tend to be Expensive, and very much made with a life spent indoors and away from any kind of physical anything in mind. The head family of demons are colorblind, and because of that their fashion, and thus the fashion of those who want to fit in with them, has a very limited pallette, shades of grey and natural fiber colors are the primary elements with red and gold fabric being used as an accent to keep people from thinking too long about their 'fault'. They are totally reliant on their servants to be telling the truth about what color anything is. Esti is from that noble family so his outfits were largely picked out for him when he was to be seen outside their home. big heavy layered skirts that he needs help with when he gets dressed are not his typical vibe but he does appreciate the number of places to hide knives.

Next up are the Cristatuses, Their prevalence and current top dog spot have come from ruthless conquest of nearby territories and a very militaristic vibe. For the common person this mostly just means theyre the big city folk. This is where the money is. Bright colorful fabrics and lots of thin short layers to go with a much more physically active lifestyle of sports and work done outdoors even if it's not work completely suited to being done outside. Breezy. Their wider trade network and attractiveness to merchants also means more options for basically everything to do with clothing accessories and other bits of self ornamentation.

Esti apprenticed with a war lord. His experience with the fashion had a lot more to do with what was practical while on horse back or after the third night sleeping in the dirt. Bright colors stayed but thicker, more minimal, and legged garments were the norm. Armor is a thing, he is an apprentice to a man who should be a prince, he was never supposed to see battle, and was instead kinda meant to become the sort of general who has never actually fought but who knows a lot of tactical theory.

When he finally got to start picking his own outfits he kept with the more neutral and dull colors of his heritage, but the much lighter and easier to move in outfits he was used to wearing throughout his training. Minimal and dull by Cristatus standards, unrefined and brutish by those of the Corax. Very comfortable for him.

#hi i have 7 spinning wheels. that is not a joke. I am very autistic about fiber craft #i paid for 2 of them #people keep giving me things with treddles.#anyways Yeah the corvids are stuffy nobles and the peacocks will find Valhalla through invasion. because that was Objectively the funniest #way to do that.

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dervampireprince · 1 month

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twitch_live

Double Donothon Day 5

Update to the donothon and how it's going! We were raising money for my partner's dental bills, and within 2 days of streaming that goal was met! Thank you guys so much!!

We had said if we reached the goal then anything extra will be going towards my moving out (expenses like a deposit on an apartment, furniture, a new pc as my current one is 15 years old, moving van costs, travel) and my top surgery fund. I'll only be able to get top surgery once I'm moved out and in a better environment. If you would like to contribute towards that I have made bonus goals that donations will count towards. Ko-Fi lets you donate at minimum £1 and no donation is too small, every little bit really does help and means so much to me. You can donate without watching the streams and while I'm not live and your donation will still count towards unlocking these extra goals. My partner is also continuing with her wheel spins for stickers, buttons, bookmarks and more! Each time the total donated to my Ko-Fi reaches a multiple of £20 that equals one spin of the wheel. Any rewards I've crossed through with a red line (on my image) means we've already unlocked those ones, any not crossed through are ones we haven't reached yet. All of my partner's goals have been locked, it's just the wheel spins left.

I'm trying to go live every Monday, Thursday, Friday and Sunday until the timer reaches zero. The timer is currently at 68 hours so I'll be here a while as every £3 donated adds 5 minutes to the timer. We also have 4 giveaways going on right now, you need to come into stream and tell me in chat while I'm live if you'd like to enter any of them, but remember my Twitch streams are 18+ only.

Thank you so much to anyone who has donated, who's taken part in the group Magma drawing we have going in the background during streams, and anyone who's just come along and watched even if you've just been lurking. This all means so much to me, I can't thank you enough.

If you have the means to donate and want too, my Ko-Fi is linked in my pinned post.

#the vampire rambles #vtubers

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late-to-the-magnus-archives · 10 months

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Corrupted, Chapter One - a Magnus Archives x Malevolent Crossover

Tim opened a book he shouldn't have, and now has the last remaining god in the universe stuck in his head.

In the process of dealing with that, he will come up against invading deities, be marked by the Desolation, and turn—reluctantly—to the Magnus Institute for help.

There is a lot going on here. Tim feels out of his league. He is. And lately, he's unnervingly certain that maybe, he should just burn it all down…

(Been waiting to share this one for a while! It's ongoing, and I can work on it again now that the Big Bang stuff is done. Enjoy!)

Chapter One on AO3

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

He never thought Danny would get into anything dangerous. Not really.

All right, mountain climbing wasn’t great, but Danny had been careful, with equipment and partners and training and tools. It hadn’t lasted long, anyway. None of Danny’s fads did.

He wasn’t stupid, was he? Danny was not, Tim tells himself, stupid. That means there’s no excuse for this. “Danny, I don’t know about this.”

This is a book. A book Danny has evidently stolen from some cultists? Who beat him up in the process?

There is blood on Danny’s knuckles. “Just hide it,” Danny says, his face swollen, one eye completely shut, purple blooming below the other. “Don’t open it. Okay? Don’t. Don’t ever. But please, I… I can’t let them get this.”

It’s four a.m. Tim is not his best at four a.m. He might’ve functioned better an hour ago, but right now, he’s bleary, and feels like he’s trying to race while wearing socks on a grease-slicked floor. “There are cultists?” he says, a beat behind.

“Just take it.”

“But what… the hell? You need a doctor. Or the police.”

“No time.” And Danny gives him a tight, hard hug.

So that feels like a goodbye, and Tim swings from annoyed into terrified. “Danny, what—”

Danny actually kisses him on the cheek. Then he tugs his hoodie back over his face and takes off at a run.

By the time Tim’s foggy brain snaps, After him, idiot! it’s too late. Danny’s long gone. “Danny!” he shouts, trying anyway, running in his socks down the sideway, leaving his door fucking open behind him, but there is no sign.

Tim checks his phone. Danny has turned off location.

Tim goes back inside. Tim closes the door. Locks it.

It has to be a prank. Right?

He makes sure his windows are locked. He cannot go back to sleep.

Later, when the police come to ask him to identify the body, Tim knows he’s gone into shock because he can’t remember anything they said.

He forgets about the book.

Nigel is an asshole, but at least agrees to give him three weeks of compassionate leave. It’s publishing, for crying out loud. They can do without Tim for that long, and besides, he has a lot to do.

He has everything to do.

“I’m all that’s left, you know?” he tells the police, the morgue, the funeral director.

“I’m all that’s left, you know?” he says to friends as he arranges the burial, the shut-off of Danny’s utilities.

“I’m all that’s left, you know?” he tells Danny’s contacts who come by to take his things—folks who were friends only due to shared interests, and who, fortunately, have a use for all of Danny’s expensive toys.

Most of those toys are barely used. Danny never kept his hobbies long. Tim thinks he would have appreciated them going to folks who would use them.

He doesn’t know most of Danny’s contacts, anyway. Apart from a couple of weird, shady blokes who leave with nothing (except Tim’s severe dislike of them), most of the others at least seem nice, and sorry Danny’s gone, and they do Tim the solid of hauling stuff away.

And then it’s over, and the apartment’s emptied, and the furniture’s sold, and the funeral’s done, and Tim has two more weeks of compassionate leave to sit and cry alone.

He’s not okay, spinning his wheels.

He keeps thinking, I need to tell Danny what a shit week this has been, because it’s habit, because his brain won’t stop. He needs…

He needs Danny.

His parents’ house feels too big, even though he was already living in it alone. He can’t do this. Every corner reminds him of Danny. Every room carries echoes of a conversation, a laugh, a drunken joking argument. Something precious and forever lost.

“I’m all that’s left, you know?” he whispers to no one, and knows he has to move.

Nigel won’t give him more compassionate leave.

Well, homes in Woking go for a lot more than when mum’s parents bought the place. Once he sells the house, he'll be fine for a while. He quits.

“Five years climbing the publishing ladder, thrown away in an instant?” Nigel says as Tim signs his final paperwork. “It’s not too late. You can still choose not to ruin your life.”

My life is buried in Addlestone, he thinks, but chooses not to say.

A few people say goodbye, but most don't; Tim was too much for them, too friendly, too smart. A lot of them envied him, or resented his easy charm.

It’s odd, really: five years in the place, yet he doesn’t regret leaving it at all.

The house sells fast. Of course it does. An actual family home with a yard, in commuting distance of London? Yeah.

It’s while packing that Tim finds the book again.

That damned book. The book that got Danny killed.

It’s very weird. A strange black leather, and not one he recognizes; it feels thick, oddly squishy, and it’s a weird proportion, as well—too wide, uncomfortable to hold in one human hand.

It has a weird, three-hook symbol on the cover that Tim has never seen before, embedded, made of some sort of dull, yellow metal.

Danny died for this.

This thing. This… gods-damned piece of print and hide.

Should he take it to the cops? Probably. Fingerprints, or something.

He wants to fucking burn it.

“Doubt you have anything that matters in you, do you?” Tim says, and opens it on the off-chance some cultist wrote their phone number on page one.

How about that? There’s a bookplate. FROM THE LIBRARY OF JURGEN LEITNER, it says.

Well, well, well! They could do something with this! An actual name, identifiable, probably easy to match to other books in the guy’s—

There's a noise like rushing waves, like encroaching tsunami, and he only has time to think fuck, my eyes HURT before he is swallowed whole.

#crossover #tma #tma fic #malevolent #malevolent pod #malevolent fic #malevolent crossover #tma crossover #tim stoker #timothy stoker #danny stoker #hastur malevolent #kiy malevolent #corrupted fic

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distant-velleity · 8 months

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i know you, i walked with you once upon a dream

Summary: Normally, Silver dreams. This time, it is a nightmare he suffers through.

Warnings: none (I'd hope)

Pairings: no romantic ones; Silver & Malleus Draconia

Word count: 1351 A/N: I didn’t post the first bingo slot I did because the content is kind of sensitive, so we start(?) with this. Silver and Book 7 have me so unwell. I'll be writing another piece to follow this one up for this same bingo at some point, so stay tuned? Maybe?

Without fail, Silver remembers the dainty little cottage he grew up in with his father, isolated from humans and fae alike except for the occasional visitor—Sebek, Sebek’s family, or Malleus. Those were peaceful, simple days of lessons, training, and living in happy coexistence with the gentle creatures of the forest. It is no surprise, therefore, that in the midst of his slumber, Silver finds himself back where he belongs: in the sprawling yard of the cottage, taking in the view.

He treads the stone path to the door with a serene smile on his face, happy to be home even if it is merely a dream. Everything is exactly as he remembers it to be—birds chirping from the trees, flowers blooming amidst the blades of grass, water babbling in a small stream along the stone path.

It is peaceful, naturally perfect, beautifully—it is undeniably home.

However, as soon as Silver pushes on the handle and opens the door, the birds stop chirping and the wind ceases to blow. Without looking down at the ground, he takes a step forward—

And suddenly he’s falling, his rapid surroundings blurring from gentle pinks, purples, and whites to cold and lifeless black.

Before he knows it, Silver is landing back-first on cold stone tiles with a loud thud and a soft grunt. Although dreams are his forte and he’s arguably even more powerful here than he would be in the waking world, he feels incredibly disoriented nonetheless. He closes his eyes and lets his head thunk back against the ground, trying to will the air back into his lungs.

This isn’t par for the course, he thinks. Normally my dreams don’t shift that violently, and so soon at that. What could this mean…?

“Silver.”

At the sound of a distinguishably deep, noble voice coming from above him, Silver’s eyes shoot open. He scrambles to stand on his feet and sharply steps into a salute. “Lord Malleus! I apologize for my idleness.”

Even in a dream, Malleus still retains the same majesty and gravity of presence that surrounds him in real life. His gaze sweeps Silver up and down for a moment, before he makes an indecipherable noise. “See to it that it does not happen again.” With an air of displeasure to him, he walks past his knight-in-training with long strides.

Silver frowns and turns around, in the process gaining an understanding of his surroundings—it’s a room in the style of the Diasomnia dorms, all grey tiles edged in the green of magical firelight. At the end of the room where Malleus stands is the sole object in the vicinity, draped in the dusty light of the windows: a wooden spinning wheel, old and well-used.

It’s then that he notes how it’s raining outside, precipitation drumming on the windowpanes and running down in unsteady streams. It seems odd, for some reason, Malleus’ temper—he would not normally be so worked up over a soldier merely taking a few moments for themselves. Maybe he’d poke a little fun at their expense and lightly remind them of their place, but today… Perhaps that and the rain are indicative of something worse at play.

…Or perhaps he’s taking this dream too seriously? After all, this isn’t the real Malleus. But he should be treated with respect nonetheless.

“My prince,” Silver begins cautiously, eyes trained on Malleus’ back turned to him, “if I may… did something occur today?”

Malleus is silent for an uncomfortable amount of time, gazing out the window. Finally, he turns to face Silver once more with an unreadable smirk, standing possessively close to the spinning wheel. “We are like brothers, are we not? There is no need to tread on metaphorical eggshells around me.” When he receives no response, Malleus’s expression sobers considerably. “...Well, then. Come a little closer, Silver. I’d like to show you something.”

Not one to disobey direct orders, Silver steps forward cautiously, one after another until he’s standing before his lord and the spinning wheel.

“Legends say that this spinning wheel, specifically its spindle, was used to send a princess into a deep slumber,” Malleus recalls, and—much to Silver’s growing uneasiness—gazes at the sharp point of the spindle with something akin to admiration. “A slumber not unlike death itself.” Then, his focus shifts to Silver. “I must ask you—do you trust me?”

“Of course, my prince,” replies Silver on instinct—it is like second nature to him, serving and carrying out Malleus’ will. So of course, he should trust him…

…if it weren’t for the fact that Malleus’ expression has shifted into something cruel, something cold, something tyrant-like. Something distinctly unfamiliar to Silver and his understanding of the prince. Suddenly, it feels as if ice is creeping throughout the room and all along the walls, depriving the atmosphere of any warmth it could’ve had.

“Then touch the spindle,” Malleus commands, regarding Silver with a foreign sort of callousness.

Silver freezes, alarmed for certain now. This is not the Malleus Draconia he knows—this is some figment of his dream. Just a figment.

“...No,” he replies, feeling the word force itself from his throat like molasses.

Thunder rumbles in the distance. At the same time, frost creeps up Silver’s boots and even further into the room, painting the walls in a shimmering layer of greyish-white.

“Did you misunderstand?” asks Malleus lowly, dangerously. “I ordered you to touch the spindle, Silver, after you said you trust me. There is no room for resistance.”

Silver stands his ground. “No.”

Suddenly, the dream phases out of existence and back in, flickering—one moment the cold Diasomnia walls, the next a dimly-lit throne room lined in briar thorns. Malleus is still there with the spinning wheel, but now he bears regal robes and is gripping Silver’s wrist tightly enough to bruise.

“This,” says Malleus, sweeping his free hand to the side in order to gesture at their new surroundings, “is the price you'll pay for your defiance. Do you understand?”

Confused and a little terrified, Silver slowly turns his head to look around. It’s with horror that he realizes there are people laying on the ground amidst the briars, and not just any people; all Night Raven College students, with Lilia and Sebek in the middle—all prone and unmoving.

“This is…” He swallows dryly. “Malleus, you…”

“Now, come.”

Malleus ignores any attempts to flail or thrash his way free from Silver and leads his hand closer, closer, ever closer to the spindle.

“Malleus—”

“You feel no fondness towards your sleeping ailment, correct? Allow me to cure that for you.”

Malleus narrows his eyes. Emerald fire crackles to life all around them.

“Permanently.”

Silver’s finger is forced to touch the spindle, its needle-sharp point easily breaking skin and drawing what turns out not to be blood but black, inky blot. He has all of a few moments to react before it rushes up and clogs his throat as well, triggering a series of coughs and choking so great he’s forced to his knees.

The fires all around them make Malleus’ shadow on the floor appear to be a daunting, larger-than-life dragon as he steps closer, heels clacking ominously on the tiled floor. “It’s a pity,” he muses aloud, stopping right before the splotches of Silver’s forcibly-regurgitated blot, “how you and your father both share this stubborn streak. I only want what’s best for you—you’d do well to remember that.”

Silver hacks up even more blot, looking up at Malleus with blurred vision before swaying to one side and collapsing—

He wakes up from the nightmare suddenly, throat feeling dry. When he looks around, he is still in bed in his dorm room. His blankets are still a little messy, and everything is unorganized in a contrarily orderly fashion. There is no spinning wheel in sight, nor any emerald flames or sprawling briar thorns.

…That’s right, Silver thinks. It was just a nightmare. There’s nothing to be worried about.

He settles back down under the blanket and is out like a light again once his head hits the pillow, unaware of the verdant eyes watching him silently from his slightly ajar door.

#kai's writing #twisted wonderland #twst #twst silver #malleus draconia #bad things happen bingo #this is pre book 7. surely nothing could go wrong #if anything doesnt make sense just chalk it up to silver dreaming

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russilton · 2 years

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rb!george adjusting to merc accordingly i— 🥺🥺🥺 my god, i'm so Soft for found family dynamics, or just general kindness from a group of people after they know you've gone through a rough time. i could imagine how absolutely surprised george is after realizing how fucked up his past working environment is compared to this one. 100% feel like that man would cry like he did in hungary 2021 because he finally internalizes the fact that he's okay now, that he's in a good place.

also curious—you don't have to respond fully if it spoils the fic btw!—how would lewis ask george to join merc? and if it's announced, how would the entire grid react? :0 as always, fuckin love your writing!! :D also i am a sucker for perfect and open communication too so 🤝🤝🤝 - @ruszhou

AME THANK YOU FOR LETTING ME TALK ABOUT FOUND FAMILY CAUSE IM FERAL FOR IT.

Spoilers for Redbull George au! Big ones!

God George joining Merc may be one of my favourite parts of the second half of the story haha. Lewis approaches Toto about a seat for George somewhere around Russia. Redbull have nerfed the shit out of George’s car post summer break to keep him in line, and while he’s worked his ass off to outdrive those issues, to keep his head above water, they make the car fundamentally harder to drive. Around rolls Russia, max has the engine penalty, and George is having a really hard time keeping his car in contention.

He’s also exhausted. He isn’t sleeping much, every weekend is brutal reminders that if he doesn’t perform he’s fucked. He can’t look Lewis in the eye. After Monza something in him twists like a knife seeing Lewis crash. He throws up when the team joke to max he should have tried spinning his wheels. Going to sleep means the next day comes faster so he often ends up laid up in whatever expensive hotel the team is booked into staring at his phone, trying to figure out who he can talk to. He can’t talk to his family, after all they sacrificed to get him here. He can’t talk to Aleix, or any of his previously close friends all on Redbulls pay role. All he has is Lewis, what cruel irony. He doesn’t call.

This lack of sleep, combined with the surprise rain in Russia, his horribly under responsive car, slick tires and max just slightly tagging his back wheel into a turn as he overtakes him, and George’s car spins out and takes Max with it. George hits the wall harder, max gets off lightly even if the car isn’t able to finish the race. George’s head is still spinning when max is leaping out of his car to shout at George, vitriol and acid that george can barely parse over his ringing ears. George can’t even look at him he’s panicking so badly, adrenaline making his instinct to freeze rather than fight kick in. Max shoves his head violently before he storms off (at this point he doesn’t even know if george has a head injury or not, which is pretty horrifying) and george is so dizzy he can’t get up. Max is already on the back of a cart back to the garage when medical arrives, and once they get his collar guard off, george has to try and pull himself out the car and look fine because he knows Redbull will be furious if they think he was using the medic for sympathy. He grimaces and waves his arm to the cameras even as his shoulder screams. Nobody can tell behind the helmet.

Redbull put the blame for the incident entirely on George, they quote his drop in delivery (that they forced) and his withdrawn attitude as him reflecting on what he did (he’s actually trying to stave off a crippling migraine.) When he’s back in the redbull building it doesn’t get better, they verbally abuse him for damn near an hour before marko tells George he won’t be driving for Redbull next year. When george looks like he’s teetering on a panic attack they tell him that if he behaves from now to the end of the season they MIGHT give him a seat in the AT rather than pierre. But if he steps out of line again they’ll blacklist him from the sport entirely, making everything he and his family have worked for worthless. As he leaves, max shoves him so hard into a wall he’s surprised he doesn’t break his nose, hissing something about George deserving it for fucking with his championship. Nobody stops him .

That’s how Lewis finds George, tucked away behind a Redbull motor building, blood dripping out his nose, on the verge of a complete breakdown as he tries to stop the blood getting on his shirt. Lewis was just looking for him to tell him he didn’t think the crash was his fault, and now he’s found george looking bruised and beaten emotionally and physically. He hustles George into a quiet Merc building to get him out of camera view then leaves him sat on a sofa while he finds something to get the blood off his face.

When Lewis cups his face to gently wipe the blood off his nose and lip, he ends up murmering who did this to you? He sounds angry, and George is panicking again, thinking about what just happened, and he dives for Lewis to kiss him. It’s not graceful or loving, it’s desperate, George acting on instinct bc Lewis always made the pain go away before god please take it away now. Lewis holds him back, because Jesus george what’s going on with you? You’re not fuckin okay what happened? And George just, breaks, tells Lewis everything. About the second driver status, the testing, the abuse, and how he’s just lost his seat and might be kicked out of F1 entirely. Dams broken, he’s shuddering and sobbing into Lewis’ shoulder. Ugly, snotty, terrified crying as it all crashes over him.

Lewis ends up hugging him close as he processes everything, everything george is telling him is 10x worse than he guessed. No wonder george has turned into a stranger on and off track, it’s all beyond fucked up. He can’t do anything more than help calm george down and offer him somewhere to stay away from Redbull. Once George has cried it out he just laughs without any humor to it and tells Lewis he can’t, he has to go back, if he’s gone any longer it’ll be worse. Lewis has to let him leave even if it feels like letting someone walk off to be tortured.

It’s when Val finds him, still sat on a couch; still with slightly bloody hands and a damp spot on his shoulder that Lewis realises what he can do. He asks Val for his blessing to suggest george as a replacement to his seat (as mentioned last time, it’s already been decided that Val will be leaving Merc for 22, a mutual choice between Bottas and Toto). Val looks at him like he’s grown two heads, then at his hands, and connects the dots. He approves and doesn’t make Lewis elaborate. Solid man, Val is.

Lewis approaches Toto about it just after that debrief, and it takes two weeks for a preliminary agreement to be drawn up between Toto, himself, and James V. When George podiums in turkey, it’s agreed they want to approach him, and just before COTA Lewis invites George to dinner. George goes because he barely gets to escape his hotel rooms now. He thinks it’s just Lewis; he’s not prepared for Lewis to lead him into the lavish back seating area of a fancy restaurant and to be met with Toto, James V, Bono, Val and shov all waiting for them. Here george is in a slightly wrinkled shirt across from a whole table of serious looking men in smart buisness attire.

He’s on edge immediately of course, doesn’t even sit down, all their calm measured gazes feel like spotlights, and he defaults to angrily demanding to know what the fuck is going on. Are they trying to get him to give up engineering secrets? To blackmail him into shitting on his team? Are they gonna take advantage of him as well??? They let him hiss at them like the angry feral cat he is before Val just leans forward on his elbows and says “they don’t want secrets, they want you”

George falls into shocked silence. Toto confirms it and taps a stack of papers, telling George it was Lewis’ idea. Lewis is eyeing George for a reaction, and George is so overwhelmed, confused and… kinda scared. He just can’t trust them, so he asks Lewis what the fuckin’ catch is, and Lewis tells the group he just needs to speak to George and drags him outside and into a side alley where it’s quieter and they’re hidden from passers by.

Lewis, very politely, asks George what the fuck his problem is, and George blows up at him and accuses Lewis of either trying to get something out of him, or pity him so George will feel in debt to him. He’s working himself up and doing a lot of pointing at lewis and accusing him of trying to make George his bitch on track too, and lewis gets a little fed up and grabs George by his shirt collar and pins him to the wall so George shuts up for a second.

This is when lewis uses his communication skills to tell George to maybe consider that lewis fucking misses him. Fighting George made him feel like a kid again, that he can’t stand having George handicapped on the grid no matter how much it makes his job easier. He wants to battle with him again, he wants George in a car alongside him so he knows that no matter which of them wins it’ll be for the team. And George’s jaw is tense, eyes damp and glaring at Lewis with a vulnerability Lewis fucking hates because he knows Redbull put it there. The only thing George manages to spit back in a wobbly voice that sounds a little close to tears is that “you just want to get a leg up on redbull” and Lewis just growls and gets right up in his face to tell him “of course I fucking do, don’t you? I want to battle someone who actually matters”

That finally shuts George up, and Lewis can gently unfist his shirt and step back. George self worth is in the basement and it makes Lewis so angry and sad. He misses the George who taunted him so Lewis would bend him over a table. He misses the spark in his eye. He tells George just to hear them out, listen to the offer, he doesn’t have to decide today. Redbull are going to fuck him anyway, what does he have to lose. George finally nods and let’s Lewis take him back inside, listens quietly to Shov and James explaining the details of the offered contract. The only thing he asks is to valtteri, which is he really okay with this? Val nods and explains why he’s moving. It’s all very tense as George tries to guess if they’re going to screw him, and everyone else waits for George to explode.

At the end George takes the copy of the contract he’s handed, and leaves without much of another word. Val and James immediately start questioning if George even wants a seat at Merc, sure doesn’t seem like it, but Toto is staring intently at Lewis, who matches his gaze, steady and determined. Toto nods at him and tells the rest that George wants it, the question is if he’ll let himself have this.

COTA is right before a two week break, and none of them hear a fuckin peep from George. He’s radio silent on and offline, till 3am on the Wednesday before mexico where he calls Lewis. Lewis is barely awake, asking George what’s going on, but George just cuts him off and asks lewis if he can trust Mercedes’. Can he trust this contract. Tell him this isn’t a trap.

Lewis is awake immediately, telling George about all the details of his own contract, about how fair Merc are, how they want him, not just because of Red bull. George doesn’t reply, silent, and lewis just says “ even if you don’t know you can trust us, isn’t that a better option than red bull, who you KNOW you can’t”. Silence. Lewis asks if he’s okay. George hangs up, leaving Lewis groggy and confused.

But next morning he’s getting on a private plane in Monaco with Toto and Valtteri to fly to the race, And Toto holds up his phone to show Lewis the freshly emailed scans of George’s signed contract, just waiting for his and James signatures. Sent over that morning, time stamped just after George hung up on him.

#britcedes #gewis #4463 #mark’s fic tag #asks #hoecedes #redbull george au #ruszhou

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darsynia · 1 year

Text

Trust Fall | Ch 20 (mature)

MINORS DNI THIS CHAPTER PLEASE. Oral sex (f receiving) and sexual touching.

Story Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Summary: Tony/OC, ‘terrorists made us fall in love;’ IM1 timeline. In this chapter, Tony and Emory arrive at the mansion and spend some quality time with each other.

Length: 4,853 (there's just nowhere to cut this. It's smutty tho)

Taglist: @starryeyes2000 @raith-way @arrthurpendragon @themaradaniels @starksbf @chickensarentcheap @tiny-anne

Excerpt:

Tony stops at another door, metal this time, with submarine-style fittings. He reaches toward the circular spoked door mechanism but stops with his hands mid-air. “Shit, I’m just taking you into another confined space you’ll be locked into. Em--” Tony turns to look at her, concern etched across his features.

“Drag me into your bunker, Mr. Stark,” Emory tells him in a breathy voice.

His relief is immediate and attractive. “Oh, I will.”

He spins the safe-like wheel one way, then the other. Tony swears under his breath, repeating the action, then blows out a frustrated sigh and turns on his heel to glare at her good-naturedly.

“You!” He starts towards her, herding her against the wall opposite the vault room. “If I had your power set the building would probably be in serious danger right now.” He rests both palms flat on the wall and looks down, desire painted clearly on his face. “What am I going to do with you?”

Everything, Emory wants to say.

Chapter Twenty: Star(k) Power

They’re both very hungry by the time Happy Hogan finally drives them into the mansion’s subterranean garage. Tony had spent the last hour listing food places they could order from until she’d picked one to placate him. After years of having to make do with things she doesn’t like, it’s hard to even recall her own favorites. Rory would always choose her own second favorite things so she could eat from Emory’s plate.

As they’re getting out of the limo, Hogan gets the notification that their delivery driver is almost there, and he sets off to collect and pay. She’s not surprised that Tony had set up the other man’s phone as the contact, but it’s close enough to her previous life that she feels odd staying behind.

Tony leads her out of the garage toward the main part of the house, saying, “Why do I have a feeling your former boss made you pay for the food and expense it, instead of just setting up a card?”

He’s right. “How did you know I was thinking about Rory?” Emory asks, staring up at his back as he climbs the stairs in front of her.

“You have a face. It’s your ‘Rory’ face.”

“I ‘have a face,’” Emory repeats, amused.

“You do. I missed it. Your face in general, I mean.” He walks her through a hallway with crimson wallpaper that terminates at an ornate wooden door, and indicates that she should go first.

“You go first. I’ll follow you and silently judge your slightly creepy murder hallway,” Emory says.

Tony laughs, leaning against the closed door and glancing up at the ceiling in recollection. “That reminds me-- My father was angry about something, so he’d driven home ‘aggressively;’” Tony’s air quotes imply this is an understatement. “I was five at most, and my mom had just taught me the word ‘pedestrian,’ because of those signs, ‘Ped Xing?’ Well.” He winces. “Dad was in front of me in this hallway, and I just said, ‘Did you paint the walls with the blood of pedestrians?’”

“Oh no!”

He pulls a face and opens the door. ”Dad updated many other things over the years, but never this hallway. Can’t look like I ever influenced him, I guess.”

Tony doesn’t look upset as he walks past her through the doorway, but from behind, Emory can see that he’s tense from the memory. She doesn’t blame him; her own parents’ divorce had been rough, sure, but when she was a kid, she’d never doubted that they loved her. Their distaste about her choice of occupation was a whole different beast, but she’d been a young adult by then.

“Drag me into your bunker, Mr. Stark,” Emory tells him in a breathy voice.

His relief is immediate and attractive. “Oh, I will.”

He spins the safe-like wheel one way, then the other. Tony swears under his breath, repeating the action, then blows out a frustrated sigh and turns on his heel to glare at her good-naturedly.

Everything, Emory wants to say. Instead, she impishly remarks, “Most of your choices probably involve the room in there,” and nods over his shoulder at the still-locked bunker door.

“Is that meant to be a motivator?” he asks, tilting his head to the side.

The mental snowfield that aids her in keeping control slips after having been extensively employed earlier today, and Emory thinks, fuck it. She grabs a handful of his shirt and lifts herself up for a kiss. “No, but this is.”

Tony’s on board immediately, closing in to nip at her, teasing and tasting. He pins her in place with his hips, and she slips a hand around to press at the small of his back, anchoring herself in his sturdy warmth. There’s a whoosh of air around them, loud but not dangerous, given the limited space to draw from. Emory can feel the fabric of his shirt ripple when it passes. Tony’s reaction is a low rumble in his chest as he presses even closer, his kiss more demanding, spurred on by his role in her power generation.

After a long few minutes, he lifts his head and schools his expression into a stern one. “Consider yourself properly chastised.”

“Is that supposed to be a de-motivator?” she asks as he stalks away from her over to the door. Tony once again pauses in the process of setting his hands on the mechanism, his shoulders shaking with laughter. Emory has to work hard to hold back her own.

Thankfully he gets the door right this time, opens it, and goes straight in. She pushes off from the wall and follows only to skid to a halt after just a few steps. Nothing about what she sees reads as an ‘emergency bunker’ to her, mostly because it’s huge.

In the center of multiple separate areas is a lab space complete with worktables and equipment. Fanning out on either side of the central area are two ‘wings,’ one of which is a kitchen/living space straight out of a 1980’s celebrity home magazine. The other is a large bed adorned by a circular curtain hanging from a hook directly above. Each wing has independent lights from the center lab, with the bedroom lights set the most dim.

Just looking at the bed makes her yawn, but at that same moment, Tony gets a message from Hogan, who is at the door to the bunker with the food. The three of them eat at the kitchen island before Hogan excuses himself, bidding them goodnight. This prompts another yawn, which Emory tries to hide in embarrassment.

“No worries,” Hogan says. “The two of you probably haven’t slept soundly in three months.” He nods at Tony behind her. “This one’s been working nonstop to get you here, it’s about time he gets some shut-eye, don’t you think?” Even though Emory hasn’t reacted with more than a simple nod, Hogan starts getting defensive. “What? Don’t look at me like that! I’m saying get your priorities straight, that’s all!”

She turns to see that Tony’s making a ‘time out’ gesture. When she swivels back to look at Hogan, he’s pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I’ll be picking up Pepper from the airport in an hour, but we’ll see you in the morning. You know, when you’re both rested,” he says. There’s a little bit of impish humor in the set of his jaw that Emory can’t help but be delighted by.

Tony sounds less enamored. “Lovingly? Get out. Now.”

“You got it.”

Tony guides the other man to the door, one hand firmly on his back. When the door clangs shut, he deflates a little, pointing over his shoulder with his thumb.

“Don’t tell Mother Hen back there, but I had every intention of sleeping at our earliest convenience. He tends to get gloat-y, but I think the most accurate term for how I feel right now is ‘knackered.’”

“I’ve been looking forward to sleeping beside you for more weeks than I’m willing to admit,” Emory says simply.

With a pleased look on his face, Tony crosses half of the space between them, turns toward the bedroom area, and holds out a hand.

It’s completely dark when she wakes. There’s no way to know the time, but it can’t have been more than a few hours. Emory’s the little spoon to Tony’s big one, his arm curled around her waist, head nestled behind hers on the pillow. As someone who is often cold at night, she’s glad for the way their legs are tangled together, as the t-shirt he’d lent her to sleep in doesn’t fall any further than mid-thigh.

The only problem with the way they’re intertwined is, the heat of Tony’s hand on her stomach and the way his knee has snuck up almost between her legs is kind of making it hard to drift back off to sleep. She shifts a few times, hoping to either shed the growing arousal she’s feeling or position that knee of his somewhere it would do some good.

“Are you trying to kill me in my sleep?” Tony gasps in her ear, nuzzling his body closer and spreading out the hand on her stomach.

Emory sucks in a breath; that felt really good. She opens her mouth to respond, but stops. The thing she wants to say is more brazen than she’s ever, ever been, not that it would even faze Tony.

“What is it?”

Of course he’s perceptive about this, it’s sex-related! she groans to herself. Emory decides to go for it. “I’m not trying to kill you, but I will if you stop touching me,” she manages, voice wavering between steel wool and cotton fluff.

“We are at the same paragraph on the same page of the same dirty magazine,” he groans into her shoulder, sliding his hand down to cup her through the fabric of the shirt she’d borrowed. “I’ve wanted to know whether you took off those panties you didn’t let me peek at since we got in bed.”

Emory pictures Tony’s hand as the snowfield that’s meant to be keeping her powers in check, but all that does is make it easier for her to picture his hand where she can already feel him moving. The variable pressure in each muted, cloth-covered swirl of his fingers is unpredictable and glorious. Emory rests her own hand on his forearm and almost moans aloud. She hadn’t realized that feeling his muscles flex would be so intimate.

Then, Tony drags the shirt out of the way and runs his hand along her bared hip like he’s searching for the lace of her panties. Finding nothing, he says, “You did! Perfect.”

“I hate sleeping in panties,” she confesses.

“I wholeheartedly approve.”

Tony moves the flat of his hand from her hip to her knee, simultaneously angling his own leg underneath, slowly drawing hers apart. His confident caresses ramp up her anticipation, with wide sweeps of his whole hand spreading tingles closer and closer to her core. Emory whimpers, her stomach muscles protesting at the way she’s used them to hold still. Tony makes a sympathetic noise of his own and circles closer, finally delving his fingers into her waiting curls. Emory’s waning grasp on her power generation flutters along with her heartbeat.

She didn’t know she’d closed her eyes until something large brushes against her legs, startling her. Visible in the dim LED-glow from the devices across the room, the support chain above them is shaking, and the canopy itself is spinning.

“Em?” Tony pauses his movements. He doesn’t sound upset, but she’s mortified.

“Shit, sorry!” Emory says. She pulls in all of her scattered concentration to leash the radiated energy. A few tossed packets of power in the opposite direction helps her slow and then stop the twirling fabric. When she lays her head back against Tony’s shoulder behind her in embarrassed relief, he chuckles.

“Yes, how dare you lose your grip on your actual superpowers when I touch you? I am outraged,” he teases, sucking a kiss onto her neck.

“Don’t get too cocky. I just woke up, I’ve got diminished capacity!” Emory teases back. She can hear the smile in his voice, and something about the prickly feel of his beard hair on her collarbone makes her feel his, somehow. Turning her head to catch his attention before he takes away her powers of thought and speech with the hand he’s starting to move back into position, she says, “It’s pretty early. We could skip ahead to other… I mean, if you want--” Even in near darkness, she’s too shy to finish the suggestion.

“Oh, I want, but hear me out,” Tony says, shifting so he can look down at her. Most of his face is in shadow, but she can see a glittering intensity in his eyes. “Night after night in that cave I wanted to sneak over to your cot. Because of their camera, I never did. In Malibu, JARVIS is everywhere, but I didn’t install him in the bunker, which means no video or audio monitoring. There’s no one watching but me.” He dips his head down to kiss her, pulling back after just a few seconds. “Let me do this for you. Tomorrow I can look; tonight, I want to feel.” Tony leans down and nuzzles against the clothed hollow between her breasts. “Say yes.”

“Yes,” Emory says softly, trailing a hand across his back and up into his hair.

“Mmm, and since it’s already dark, and I won’t be able to see well either way…” Tony moves down her body so swiftly she doesn’t fully understand the context until his warm hands push her t-shirt farther up.

“Tony!” she hisses, frozen in agonized indecision. She definitely wants this, but they’d been in the car for hours.

He seems not to have heard her protest, too busy settling down at the foot of the bed and gently positioning her onto her back. “I’ll stop, if that’s what you want,” Tony says after a long moment, pressing a kiss to her inner thigh.

“Is there a shower somewhere nearby?” she whispers.

“First of all: I would have done this in that cave if it weren’t for the aforementioned surveillance cameras,” he says, dragging his shirt off over his head. The gentle blue of his arc reactor helps her see the sincerity in his expression. “Second of all: wouldn’t that wake you all the way up? I was going for ‘comfort pleasure,’ here.”

His casual tone coupled with that phrase almost undoes her, but she’s still nervous. Tony’s been with so many beautiful women!

“But--” Her words cut off for a second when he draws a too-light caress from one hip to another. Instead of staying propped up to look at him, Emory falls back onto the bed, angling an arm over her face in chagrin. “You’re a billionaire, Tony!” she argues weakly.

“Hey, most of that wasn’t on purpose!” He rests a warm hand on her stomach. “Being rich means I don’t do things unless I want to, unless there are terrorists involved. This bunker is terrorist free.” Tony freezes in place, and Emory lifts her head to see what’s wrong. “Forget I said that,” he says. “Only good memories right now.”

“Meeting you was a good memory,” Emory says quietly.

His eyebrows shoot up. “Time to make another one?”

“Absolutely,” she says, still shy but completely won over. His hand on her stomach stays put, but Tony grins up at her before drawing his other thumb right across her very center. She drops her head back yet again, saying, “No recordings, but is the bunker soundproof?”

“Yes. Please tell me that means you’ll make noises,” he says, sounding delighted. Then, in the next second, “Wait! Don’t tell me. I’d rather find out.”

The smug bastard starts slow.

Somehow after watching him spend hours a day working with delicate wires, employing his creative mind to come up with clever solutions to intricate problems, Emory had never thought about how that might translate to sex. Tony’s knowledge-base is no less vast when it comes to exactly how to take her apart. Thanks to his comment about noises, she’s self-conscious to the point of muteness, but of course, he doesn’t play fair.

“It just so happens that I do better wirework when I’m horny. That means you are responsible for half of that first suit’s success,” he says after a minute of teasing her with devastating twists of his fingers and kisses that land almost but not quite close enough. “Pictured myself in exactly this position, too.”

Even though she braces herself, Emory’s still unprepared for the jolt of pleasure that strikes her when his lips close on her clit, tongue swirling, fingers thrusting home for the first time. It’s a ‘car battery to arc reactor’ leap in intensity, and she can’t prevent herself from crying out. Tony ‘mms’ his approval, the vibrations turning her blood to lava.

From there he simply lays waste to her ability to do anything more than feel, building on each action and counter-action until she’s writhing and gasping and begging. When release comes she’s long-since incoherent, her throat tender and her soul sore from his unique mix of sweetness and conceit. Tony adds to that by reaching out to catch her hand in one of his as she shakes.

When she opens her eyes again, the ceiling looks wrong. Emory stares, uncomprehending, until Tony crawls up and stretches out beside her, also on his back.

“The stitching tore loose,” he explains. “It landed somewhere over there,” he says, gesturing vaguely.

“Oh my god!” She sits up, eyes wide, horrified.

“It’s fine, Helen Hunt. Blew harmlessly past us into another part of the bunker. Nothing’s messed up.”

Emory laughs, despite the situation. “Helen Hunt? Where did that come from?”

“That tornado movie, Twister?”

“Wouldn’t the nickname be her character name? It was ‘Jo,’ right?” she asks, laying back down.

Tony’s struck by a huge yawn right as he tries to answer. “I fully admit I have zero cognitive ability right now. What is it, 3 AM?” He snuggles closer, reaching down to drag over the light blanket from where it’s crumpled up at one side of the bed.

His yawn is contagious, and her orgasm has filled her with a kind of lassitude that could translate into sleep very easily. Still, there’s no way he hadn’t ramped himself up, and she’s not a tease.

“I don’t want to leave you… oh, crap, there’s no word that my sleepy brain can bring up that doesn’t sound filthy in this context. Don’t you want to come?” she asks, scrunching her face up in embarrassment.

“I’m good,” he says, surprising her. “I end up with some really intense dreams like this.”

Tony’s words already sound sleep-slurred, and Emory reminds herself what he said about having the agency to make his own decisions. She nestles herself against him, wondering if the intense dreams he’s expecting might include her this time.

Emory wakes up when Tony eases his arm out from under her.

“What time is it?” she asks, stifling a yawn with the back of one hand.

“It’s just past nine. It’s easy to sleep in with no windows,” he tells her, reacting to her surprise. “Wait till you see my bedroom in Malibu. Windows for days.”

“Wow, besides Afghanistan and jet lag, I don’t know if I’ve slept that late in almost a decade!”

“The more you talk about your life before, the more I want to send that bitch a nastygram,” Tony grumps, heading off to the bathroom. Rory’s a sore subject for him, he can admit that to himself. He’d enjoyed the sex, but thought her hangups were too numerous and unusual for anything long-term. That's not the problem, though.

Tony literally can not remember Emory from his brief weeks with her boss. It makes him feel like shit.

He sees the full-size towel hanging beside the stand-up shower and decides to duck in for a quick one. When he steps out fifteen minutes later, he sees that Emory has helped herself to a glass of milk and one of the muffins he’d stocked the kitchen with. Beside her plate on the center island are the clothes she wore yesterday, neatly folded. This makes him check for a full-light glimpse of her bare legs, but she’s wearing the pants.

“Damn.”

“Metal stool equals way too cold for the disheveled girlfriend look, sorry,” she says, her expression turning guarded right away. “Not that I want to presume--”

Tony knows just how to reassure her. He holds up a finger and jogs over to the tablet computer he’d left in the lab space, waking it up and navigating to the checklist of tasks for rescuing her he’d synced with Pepper and Happy. He holds it up for her to read.

GIRLFRIEND: ULTIMATE RESCUE LIST

“I’ll take it personally if you make a liar out of me.”

Her face lights up. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” Emory says, looking down at her plate. A lock of her beautiful red hair slips free from where she’d anchored it behind her ear. Tony can’t understand how he could ever have overlooked her, but at the same time, awfully, he can. He’s been surrounded by staff and service people his whole life, and from a young age he’d been taught that it was rude and sometimes even dangerous to let the veil of social strata fall too far. To distract himself, he looks for a muffin of his own, and misses something Emory says.

“One more time?”

“Oh, I was wondering if you’d tried to make it ‘GO GURL’ but didn’t have the time to make it work.”

Tony rewards her with an exasperated look, and her little smile of victory makes him feel a little lightheaded. She knows him, the way that Happy and Rhodey do, but he’s already done the work to make sure that those men are safe and successful. Emory’s not safe yet. Being forced to leave some of his heart uncertain and unguarded is an uncomfortable feeling. He doesn’t like it.

At least Rhodey’s innate sense of tact and careful diplomacy netted Tony some sparse info on SHIELD, but it’s nowhere near enough. Rhodes had cautioned patience, but Tony’s fresh out. He doesn’t intend to send her back to Fury unless they’re certain of her safety, and that’ll mean asking her some uncomfortable questions. Emory’s skilled in deflection, her skills honed by a hundred hundred thirsty men angling for Rory Fall’s affections. Will she figure out his ultimate game plan of threatening SHIELD’s mission in exchange for a promise of full autonomy?

A short rumbling sound breaks the silence between bites of muffin.

“Is that your phone?” Em asks.

Tony sighs. “It’s got to be Happy, I’ve got everyone else on do not fucking disturb. Literally.” He winks at her lasciviously and appreciates the look of interest this prompts in her. Tony gets up and heads over to the overturned storage bin he’d stuck his phone under in a vain attempt to muffle the notifications. Sure enough, he’s got five missed calls and multiple text exhortations to answer the phone, all from Happy Hogan. It’s annoying at first, but then he looks at the timestamps.

The first is from six AM, then one every half hour until nine, scattered through with the texts. Ironically, Happy tends to bunch them up when something’s trivial, so this? This looks like an actual emergency.

Even as he thinks this, another text comes through.

HHogan: Don’t leave me on ‘read,’ Tony. Something’s up.

Tony picks one of the missed call messages and calls back. Hogan answers within the first ring.

“We’ve got media trouble, maybe legal too.”

“Your face just got really serious,” Emory says, getting down from her stool and coming over.

“Happy’s on his way. Something about media trouble.” He doesn’t add the legal part because she hasn’t had enough exposure to Happy Hogan to know when he’s exaggerating for effect. To Tony, this doesn’t feel like one of those times. “Ok, come on down. Pepper get home okay?” he says into the phone.

“Yep, she’s right-- Yes. She’s… she got home okay,” Happy stammers. Tony takes this to mean she’s in the room with him.

“Good. Should I activate JARVIS in here, or--”

Hogan is forceful. “No, no. That’ll just get you upset. Lemme come and--”

Happy’s voice cuts off. Tony can hear him and Pepper arguing (‘You’re gonna freak him out! Just go down there!’ ‘He won’t even stick around to hear anything we say if he sees these headlines!’) in a muffled way, as if Pepper’s holding the phone against her shoulder. By the time she speaks into the pilfered phone, Tony’s genuinely concerned.

“Tony? He’s on his way. It’s… it doesn’t have to be really bad, okay? We’ll fix it.”

“None of this is reassuring,” he tells Pepper in a tense whisper.

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.” Tony hangs up and sees that Emory is hovering anxiously nearby. He opens his arms for her and she obliges, kissing the space beside his arc reactor.

“You’ve had bad media attention in the past, haven’t you?”

“Sure, which is why those two having kittens on the phone has me concerned,” he replies. She makes a little noise of unhappiness and tightens her arms around him for a few seconds.

With a qualm of conscience, Tony realizes he probably should have obscured his worries and sent Emory in for a shower. In the past, he’s seen that fear dissipates her self-described ‘sheaths’ of power, but Emory has implied that positive emotions aren’t the only generator. It’s possible, even likely, that it can happen with any strong emotion, which is then derailed by feeling an equally strong opposing response. Affection is negated by fear, but is fear negated by affection?

“Shouldn’t he be here by now? How big is the house?”

He pulls the phone back out of his pocket to see if he’d missed Hap’s text. The door is designed to be too thick to translate something like a knock. “Not this big, but it’s been a while since we--” The phone starts ringing, interrupting him. Tony answers it with, “Did you get lost?”

“Left my phone with Pepper, and you didn’t hear me knocking,” Happy’s saying, sounding out of breath. “Your turn. Meet me in the den.” He hangs up.

“Want to see the rest of the house?” Tony asks Emory.

Her response is to have a minor freak out about whether she’s presentable, given the fact that Pepper Potts and Happy Hogan have ‘already seen her in these clothes.’ Tony finds her an old white dress shirt from a drawer in the bedroom. While she’s dressing in the bathroom, he rushes to collect the ripped bed canopy that’s lying across their path to the door before she sees it on their way out and feels bad about it. The truth is, he’d been reassured by the whole canopy thing. Her control has improved a good deal between that and the tornado of cave debris.

“Worst deja vu ever?” he asks when she comes out of the bathroom with the sleeves of the over-large shirt rolled up. It really does look like the one she’d borrowed from Yinsen all those weeks ago.

Emory nods, but her expression hardens as she puts her shoes back on. “I can’t let anyone else get trapped by that scientist. I keep picturing Yinsen collecting all of his money, blinded by the possible outcomes. There can’t have been much information on the guy, or he would have figured out it was a bad deal.”

“We can ask JARVIS--”

“No!” she says sharply. “Sorry, but no. Natasha says it’s possible the guy keeps records of pings, showing the physical locations of people who visit his page. She cautioned me not to search while at SHIELD so we didn’t tip our hand. I’m sure a ping from the Stark mansion would be just as bad, after all, I’m supposed to be friendless and destitute.”

Tony turns to open the door, frowning where she can’t see his face. That sounds like manipulative bullshit to him. “I hope you’re good at faking that, then.”

He leads her up the warren of steps and corridors to the second floor den. It’s classic and intimidating, with wood-panel walls, thousands of books, and velvet furniture, on which is seated an anxious-looking Happy Hogan.

“Well?” Tony says, noticing the way Emory’s tracing her hands along the odd devices that line the edges of the mahogany desk.

Hogan stands up. “Look, there’s no good way to say this-- the singer, your old boss?” he says, looking at Emory. “She’s been making some calls. Claims that since she hasn’t heard from you, Tony must be covering up that you died during the escape.”

“This from the woman who spent a week melodramatically wailing from a kushy hotel in Kabul that her luggage was missing, with hardly a word about the whole person who was also missing?” Tony snaps, instantly furious. “Has she even tried to get in touch with you? Your parents?”

“Not that I know of,” Emory whispers, white-faced. “I put it off, since it seemed like she wasn’t interested in-- Mr. Hogan, what exactly is she saying?”

“She’s basically accusing Tony of murder.”

Next chapter, Emory and Tony have to decide whether to prioritize their current needs over their future ones.

#tony stark x oc #tony stark fanfiction #tony stark x original character #tony stark imagine #iron man fanfiction #iron man #iron man x oc #iron man x original character #mcu #mcu fanfiction #mcu fanfic #marvel #marvel fanfic #tony stark #series: autonomy #ocfairygodmother #fyeahsuperverseocs

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moscowfic · 9 months

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When I look into your eyes

You are my church, where I can embody my darkest sins.

Then he looked at the blond down the rain, his hair darkening as the drops drenched his head. Dmitry closed his eyes, squeezing the handle of the shotgun in his hand as the trigger was pulled....

****

Dmitry opened his eyes, the blue color adjusting to the daylight. Lazily he turned around, looking around the room to notice his loneliness, another day where he was separated, another day where the divorce was not cancelled. Yes, he cheated on his wife but it wasn't like she was a saint, was it? He has the right, he is the man after all.

Although everything changed if who he had cheated on his wife with was another man, he was still a gentleman after that? Maybe not, but it was not appropriate to inquire more on that subject, it was enough with the international television spinning the matter every day, in search of the reason. Why can't they just keep quiet? People always split up.

The Prime Minister got out of bed, walking to the bathroom to start filling the bathtub. He closed his eyes for a few seconds, sighing to grab his phone; missed calls from his ex, ones from the president...those were dangerous, largely because of what had happened that time. He looked at himself in the mirror, stiffening his abdomen to smile a little. He wasn't fat, at least not anymore, which made his self-esteem go up in a huge consideration.

" Ahh, damn." He sighed again, shaking his head to brush his teeth. He dialed the President's number, his heart pounding rapidly at the thought of hearing that voice again." Volodya."

"Dmitry Anatolievich, are you ready to go? I can tell by your voice that you've just woken up, rather irresponsible of you to tell the truth." He rolled his eyes at the words, brushing his molar.

Yes, he was the man his wife had discovered him with. After all they had both drunk quite a bit of whiskey, so there was no telling what happened next when he kissed the president other than to say that the rumors of the women who had slept with him were true. A real stud.

"Are you going to act like this all day? Because if you're going to treat me like that I might as well stay here in my house." He could hear the babbling, letting out a chuckle to lay back in the tub, groaning as the warm water massaged his muscles.

" S-Sassy brat." The murmurs made him smile, Dmitry let his head fall back, licking his lips as he caressed his abdomen." Of course I want you to come, don't be long."

He hung up the phone, wetting his face to laugh rather darkly. Oh yes, things were going to turn out in a way the President was never going to forget.

Even if his life depended on it.

****

He stretched as the towering mountains welcomed him to his new home. A well-deserved vacation, the divorce had made his mood a roulette wheel that went in an increasingly aggressive back-and-forth; Sveta was his only girlfriend and wife anyway, so losing her forever made the nights harder when he had no one by his side.

But the situation would change in those weeks. Dmitry turned around, smiling as the President held his bags. That man, it turned out, was more innocent than he had imagined, after all a KGB had to have seen horrendous things, why then did Vladimir blush that time he saw him naked? He grimaced as the suitcases fell to the ground, snorting.

"You know they're expensive? You're going to have to clean them when we go in." he tapped the man's shoulder, in a playful way as he leaned closer to his ear." And who knows? Maybe we can spend some quality time here, just the two of us."

" D-Dima, don't say that kind of barbarism." His normally pale cheeks were stained a deep red, as if a bucket of paint had fallen on him." And I won't clean it up, it's your stuff."

He rolled his eyes, allowing the man to advance a few steps further. He raised his fingers, stretching his arm out to form a pistol with his fingers, he waited for a few seconds, aiming it directly at the blonde head.

" Oh yes, this will be an excellent vacation." He made a popping sound with his mouth, smiling as he closed the door behind him.

This time, the lamb would devour the flesh of the innocent wolf.

Hi! This is from one of my short fics in AO3. I hope yo guys enjoy it and will put the other 2 parts next

#putvedev #ao3 fanfic #ruspol #vladimir putin #dmitry medvedev

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dangerousartisanwerewolf · 15 days

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My phone died

Screaming, crying throwing up. I think my phone has kicked the bucket for good. It was on it's last legs for a while but I think last night was it. For a while my phone- if you touch the screen would just glitch into a totally black screen with a small spinning wheel. That was normal so I would use the widgets on my lock screen to get into my phone because they would let me in. I shut off my phone because it wouldn't connect to my airpods so I have to shut it off and try again when that happens, thats normal. But after that it started glitching more- like I would tap a notification or widget and it would glitch instead of letting me in. So I restart it a few times and the last time I did it, after the little wheel had spun for a while the screen went totally pink for a few seconds and when it took me back to home and when I tried tapping stuff it wouldn't respond. Like it wouldn't let me use the torch or swipe up.

My phone has been off for a while. It said I had too much storage so I deleted the bulk of my photos , wouldn't let me take photos anymore and it offloaded my Pinterest, Spotify and Instagram. it still feels that I have too much storage but there was nothing else to delete so I just had to cope with yt and reddit being like the only things I could do on my phone. I couldn't even text anymore! I had to call since texts wouldn't go through. My mom even said she'd never seen anything like it. But these are all things I can cope with/get around. Like I can cope w/o Instagram or social medias because I have them on my laptop (where I'm writing this from btw), I can handle not texting since all you really need to do is call people, I can handle the phone glitching when I open it normally. But you know what I can't fucking work around- the fucking touch screen not working. Like this is game over for me in a sense.

Idk, I know it's not the end of the world really but like prom and stuff id coming up and it would be nice to be able to take photos- I have a handheld camera but like come on, I don't wanna pack one more thing. And I know me and my mom talked about replacing my laptop for college but now I'll need my phone down too. I was hoping I could at least make it to the end of the year with it before telling her it needs replaced, cause those are expensive.

Lowkey missing my old ass Samsung fr......

Had it for like 5 years after someone else and it was reliable til the day I got an iPhone.

Like I left it in my jacket pocket and let it go through a dryer cycle and it was perfectly fine lmao. Honestly thinking of switching back to a Samsung/android when I get a new phone, cause at this point there is no 'if"

#rant #personal rant

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maieconofolio · 6 months

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Environmental Justice

Environmental Justice is the act of giving voice to the people who have suffered the majority of the consequences of industrialization in a political space. The EPA’s definition is very similar to this, though, my definition touches on how the voice is for the people who have suffered the most from pollution. The EPA’s definition focuses most on everyone in general, so passing laws for the benefit of even those least affected. The most important similarity is that each definition pushes for legislation for these changes to be enforced.

The only way change will come to these communities is if the plants built there stop production and air purifying efforts are put into place. The Inflation Reduction Act Community Change Grants Program would give the funds for these changes to be implemented. Air purification is expensive and to close these plants would require funds to build a new sustainable plant to replace it. This has the added benefit of opening new jobs in places where poverty may be high. The communities are where the next generation of environmental justice leaders are coming from and this grant would give them a head start towards their careers and their duty to their communities.

For my song, I chose “The Times They Are A-Changin’” By Bob Dylan. The lyrics are as follows:

“Come gather 'round people, wherever you roam

And admit that the waters around you have grown

And accept it that soon you'll be drenched to the bone

If your time to you is worth saving

Then you better start swimmin' or you'll sink like a stone

For the times, they are a-changin'

Come writers and critics who prophesize with your pen

And keep your eyes wide, the chance won't come again

And don't speak too soon, for the wheel's still in spin

And there's no tellin' who that it's namin'

For the loser now will be later to win

For the times, they are a-changin'

Come senators, congressmen, please heed the call

Don't stand in the doorway, don't block up the hall

For he that gets hurt will be he who has stalled

The battle outside ragin'

Will soon shake your windows and rattle your walls

For the times, they are a-changin'

Come mothers and fathers throughout the land

And don't criticize what you can't understand

Your sons and your daughters are beyond your command

Your old road is rapidly aging

Please get out of the new one if you can't lend your hand

For the times, they are a-changin'

The line, it is drawn, the curse, it is cast

The slow one now will later be fast

As the present now will later be past

The order is rapidly fading

And the first one now will later be last

For the times, they are a-changin'”

References

Dylan, B. (1964, January 13). Bob Dylan – The Times They Are A-Changin'. Genius. https://genius.com/Bob-dylan-the-times-they-are-a-changin-lyrics

Steinberg, L. (2020, February 19). 12 songs for your climate strike playlist. Earth Day. https://www.earthday.org/12-songs-for-your-climate-strike-playlist/

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whumpster-fire · 2 years

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Whumptober 2022 Day 3: Gun to Temple

Wendy Weasel has a sick sense of humor, and one night the 'joke' is at her own expense.

...and when I say I got darker and more fucked up than normal this Whumptober this is what I mean.

CW: Minor whumpee, Self-harm that looks like suicide even if it has no chance of being fatal. Exactly what the prompt says. This warning isn’t here for show, don’t click the Keep Reading if you aren’t hungry for dead doves.

Wendy Weasel’s hands shook as she loaded the round into the revolver and snapped the cylinder into place. She stared at it for a while, pulling the blanket closer to herself. What the hell was she even doing? This was stupid.

No. She deserved this. She fucking deserved it, and worse, but she didn’t have the courage to chug a bottle of rubbing alcohol so this would have to do. She’d been trying not to think about what she’d done for months now, that she’d killed people. She’d killed people, not traitors to the human race that she wasn’t even a part of and not monsters like her kind were supposed to be. She’d tried to tell herself that she couldn’t know, that she couldn’t have known, because that was all she’d ever been told, but deep down she’d felt it that night at the apartment building, and during the battle, and… the battle was one thing, all she’d really been trying to do was stay alive, and keep the people who were supposed to be the good guys alive. The good guys. Right. The guys who’d stood there and laughed while she dragged people from their homes and stunned them or tied them together and lined them up to be melted down like a snowman facing a firing squad of napalm flamethrowers. And it didn’t matter how horrible she’d felt doing what they’d told her was making the world a better place, because part of her had still enjoyed it. There wasn’t supposed to be any other part of her.

She’d kept trying to block that out when she saw ToonTown in daylight for the first time, and saw so many creatures just going about their lives that were just like her, except for the part where they weren’t mass murderers. But today she’d had to rip all those memories back out of the depths, and watch every last bit of it as she burned it onto a VCR tape so a judge could decide if she was ‘competent to stand trial’ or if she was just a brainwashed little weapon that had been forced into it. Or she guessed ‘Child Soldier’ was the word they kept using.

“You are not my child,” Herschel Wilson’s voice echoed in her head. “You are not even a child.”

Wendy snarled, and spun the cylinder. “Shut the fuck up, Herschel.” It took longer than it should have to stop spinning. Wheel of Morality, turn, turn, turn.

Forced. There was no question they would have killed her if they’d known she was conflicted about the orders they’d given her. They’d have tried anyway, and… now she knew how easily she could have stopped them, but she didn’t know if she would have tried, because that was all she knew of the world and they’d said that if she tried to run the other toons would see right through any disguise. And yet she’d stood right there in the open and people fucking asked her where her parents were and told her she should be in school. The Warners said they used to get that a lot before so many people recognized them, and they kind of missed it.

The worst part was seeing the same things through Riley’s eyes. He hadn’t needed the gas mask to hide his feelings like she had, but seeing the way he didn’t look at the toons when they died, and the way he kept looking at Wendy like he was checking on her, it was obvious. She wondered how long he’d been thinking of her as his sister before he said anything out loud. Or maybe he was just worried she was going to do something stupid. He’d probably have figured out the stupid thing she was about to do now, and tried to stop her, so part of her was glad he was still in the hospital.

Wendy’s muscles tensed. Her heart picked up speed. She brought the gun to her temple, braced herself, but then tried not to brace herself, to let it hurt her, to make it hurt her, and squeezed the trigger.

BANG! Her head jolted sideways, and the door on the other side of the bedroom lurched and blurred. Wendy gritted her teeth at the stinging, burning pain. Her ears were ringing from the gunshot. Fuck, it really was different from getting shot by someone else. That was barely even on the scale of annoyance, just enough to get the adrenaline going. This still wasn’t that bad. The ringing in her ears was fading. There was the rapid thump of her heart, and the also rapid but less rhythmic thump of -

Footsteps? Oops. Damnit damnit damnit! Wendy shoved the revolver under the covers, then remembered that wasn’t the part that would get her unwanted attention. She ran for the door, pulling a poster of a dartboard out of Hammerspace and slapping it on, then zipped back to the bed and shook the burnt powder out of her fur just in time for the door to burst open.

“Do you mind?” Yakko Warner stood slouched in the doorway wearing black-and-white pinstriped pajamas and a nightcap. “Wait, no, don’t say anything, I want to guess what your new hobby is. Is it… pyrotechnics?”

Wendy gulped. She was, technically, imprisoned somewhere in the extradimensional labryinth that the Warner Siblings had turned the studio water tower into, because there were only a few toons on the planet who had any chance of stopping her if she tried to leave. Their interior design didn’t follow normal rules of geometry, but it felt surprisingly familiar to a toon who’d spent most of her life in an underground complex. Well, she guessed she’d spent most of it here. It had been over a month now and that was longer than what she still thought of as ‘most of her life’ had been.

Wait – the gun was uncovered now, she’d disturbed the blanket. He was looking straight at the thing. “Target shooting.” She pointed at the door, and Yakko saw the dartboard. Wendy realized too late there wasn’t any hole in it.

“Huh. Well you’re no Peter Possum, that’s for sure.”

“Yeah, that’s why I’m practicing, Einstein.” Wendy slowly picked the revolver up again. “Now get out of the way, you’re blocking my target!”

“Do you have to practice at 3:30 in the morning? Some of us are trying to sleep here!”

“Not my fault you have infinite space here and didn’t soundproof it better!” Yakko raised an eyebrow. “Okaaaay, fine, I’ll stop! Can you just let me finish this round first? I’ve only got five shots left!”

The inkblot rolled his eyes. “Fine, we’re already awake anyway.” He slid out of the room and closed the door behind him. “False alarm, Sibs, she’s just using our home as a shooting gallery!”

Wendy waited for his footsteps to fade. Why were they being so goddamned nice to her? They of all toons should’ve known better than to act like she was some innocent kid, and yet they were… treating her like a cousin who’d come to stay for a while because her home life had gone wrong or something.

She didn’t deserve it. Wendy spun the cylinder again, and put the gun to her head. Five shots left. The first round she’d known what would happen when she pulled the trigger, but now there was a chance nothing would happen. Maybe it would hurt, maybe it would be nothing. She winced, and pulled the trigger.

BANG.

It hurt more the second time. The stinging was turning to throbbing now. Good. She hoped her goddamn head split open. She gritted her teeth and spun the barrels again. Only four shots left. It would probably go off. She held it up, pressing the still-hot barrel against her skin.

Click.

She didn’t know if this feeling was relief or disappointment. Her hands were really shaking now. It took her a couple tries to get a good spin. She waited for the clicking to stop.

BANG.

Wendy snarled under her breath. She put out her burning whisker, and dragged her left ear back to its proper place. She felt the place where the stinging was worst, and immediately recoiled, as much from the feeling of her glove getting wet as the pain. She stared at the small stain of bright scarlet ink on her finger. It smelled like smashing a magic marker to bits with a hammer.

Fuck. Fuck. She hadn’t thought it would be that easy to break the skin. It wasn’t easy to do that to a toon.

Another spin. She put the gun under her chin this time. Three shots left. It was even odds, like a coin flip. The last one it had fired. Odds weren’t supposed to work like that, but in a place where cartoon physics ruled everything, maybe the revolver would take turns.

BANG. No it didn’t. Wendy hadn’t realized she was panting, but now she’d bitten her tongue from the blow, and her throat was starting to hurt.

Another spin. She returned it to her temple. She couldn’t make herself pull the trigger at first. The burning was getting worse. Come on… come on… she deserved this. What was she, some kind of coward?

Click.

No… no… she just wanted to get it over with now. Just get it over with. Wendy fumbled with the cylinder, and pulled the trigger as soon as she felt the barrel touch raw skin.

Click.

Had she loaded them all? She resisted the temptation to open the gun again to check. She was sure she had. She’d get one of the two loaded chambers sooner or later.

BANG.

Wendy stifled a yelp of pain. Stars spun around her head, and her vision blurred with tears. God damnit. God damn it. Her other hand dug into the mattress. Her shoulders were shaking now. She could feel warmth trickling down her cheek, down her neck.

One more. Now it was how humans played this game.

Click.

What was wrong with this damn thing? Wendy shook the gun before spinning it again.

Click.

She finally lost her nerve and checked. It was loaded. It was loaded, the laws of probability had just decided to torture her.

Click.

BANG!

It was over. Wendy threw the empty gun in the trash and let it dissolve into the nothingness she’d pulled it from. A weapon that had outlived its usefulness, like she had and yet she was still here. Her whole head felt disgusting, her fur matted with ink and black carbon that smelled like a natural gas leak mixed with a smashed printer cartridge, but her ears were ringing and her head was spinning. If she tried to shower, she was pretty sure she was going to pass out. She crumpled into the bed, and lay there staring blankly at the lamp for a long time. She wanted to turn it off, because the light was making the headache worse, but it took all her willpower to just lift her arm, and sitting back up now felt impossible. She settled for pulling the blanket over her head.

The pillow was getting all sticky. Wendy flipped it over, only to realize too late that now there was going to be a bright red stain on both sides.

Fuck it. Who cared? Good. If they got mad at her for ruining the pillowcase, that was just one more thing she’d ruined, and she deserved it anyway. If they got mad at her for shooting herself in the head six times… why the hell did she even care what they thought, anyway? She was just a goddamn monster, right? Just a monster that sick son of a bitch had drawn to look like a kid on purpose so that people would be manipulated into sympathizing with her. He’d made her so goddamn good at it that she couldn’t stop no matter how hard she tried to convince them of the truth, and she hated it.

So why was she lying here crying into an ink-soaked pillow in an empty room, feeling guilty that they might be worried about her, because she didn’t deserve it?

A/N: Ha ha funny cartoon character self-harming because she hasn’t been taught any way of expressing her emotions other than violence and causing pain. Wendy needs help.

I’ve had the idea of Wendy playing Russian Roulette with all the chambers loaded because she can for a while, Whumptober gave me an excuse to write it.

#Whumptober2022 #no.3 #gun to temple #Animaniacs fandom #OC #Wendy Weasel (OC)#Yakko Warner (Animaniacs)#fic #minor whump tw #self-harm fiction tw #suicidal ideation fiction tw #child soldiers #aftereffects of abuse and brainwashing #whump #my writing #gunshots #dead dove do not eat #cartoon violence

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oh-katsuki · 2 years

Text

NOVELTY. (Tendou x Reader)

masterlist | ao3

Pairing: Tendou x Reader

Summary: You walk into Tendou’s chocolate shop looking for a job.

“Tendou likes hiring foreigners. Or rather, Tendou likes collecting freaks. After all, what type of person moves to France only to work in a chocolate shop but a freak and a weirdo, himself included. He likes watching them work, hearing French words roll off of their tongues in thick accents the way they do his. It’s something of a hobby, collecting people from other places like souvenirs. He knows that the French will regard them as if they are not made entirely of the same clay, but cardboard. They will turn up their nose as soon as their mouths open to place the first icky French syllable.

Tendou offers a refuge. In his shop, the muddled French syllables sound proper and an amalgamation of languages reigns supreme even when natives come in to peer at the chocolates in the clean glass cases.”

Content Warnings: afab reader, gn pronouns, reader is american in this for story purposes, slow burn, strangers to friends to lovers, smut, fingering, oral (f!receiving), teasing, multiple orgasms, slight edging / orgasm denial, both of them have an oral fixation, slight overstimulation, spit kink, use of pet names (“pretty”), finger choking, gagging, begging, creampie, praise

Word Count: 20.2k (haha...)

A/N: BYEEE THIS FIC IS SO LONG AND IM ALSO SO SENSITIVE ABOUT IT. I HOPE YOU GUYS ENJOY IT!

Tendou Satori’s chocolate shop feels like it’s asleep.

That’s how you would describe it. The small store sits in the 6th arrondissement, only a short walk from Notre Dame and across the river from the tourist attractions that put Paris on the map. It’s two rooms connected by an open counter that shows wheels of chocolate spinning against a soft, brown wood. The space is small considering how expensive the rent is by this part of the city, Saint Germain-des-Pres, even from the outside.

It’s sleepy here, complemented by the sleepy look of its owner. Orangish wood counters reflect the warm yellow light from the light bulbs above the store and when you walk in, a small chime above the door jingles. From the outside, you can see a single glass window, stocked with pristine chocolates that Tendou replaces daily and its aura is warm and inviting, if not a bit eerie.

Upon meeting Tendou, you think it suits him.

He perks up when you walk in, a white chef’s outfit adorning his tall lanky body and a purple apron tied evenly around his slender waist. He drums his fingers against the wood when you enter, speaking a practiced bonjour that is tinged with an accent you can’t quite place. On his apron, there is a spot of chocolate, as if only moments ago he had been standing by those large wheels, scraping candy from them and into the tub they run through as they spin in constant circles.

“Bonjour, j’ai enten-” you attempt French, but it comes out warbled, an embarrassing spill of syllables that feel heavy in your mouth. “I, uhm, I saw that you were hiring. That’s what the sign outside says, right?”

You lean onto the counter as if that will make English any easier for someone who doesn’t speak it to understand. Then, you point behind you to the glass window where a clean sign reads Nous Embauchons. You think that means he’s hiring, but you aren’t sure.

“Yup.” He grins lazily, eyes following your finger before they flit back to your face. “Do you have a resume?”

His English is better than his French, though he still sports an accent. You wonder how that happened.

“Uhm, not with me.” You cringe at how unprofessional you sound.

“Hm.” He hums from behind the counter before pushing off of it with his elbows. “That’s fine. Have you ever worked with chocolate before?”

“Not exactly. I waited tables back in the States though.” You shrug, glancing around in an attempt to avoid his gaze which stays fixed on you as he speaks.

He hums. It’s a delightful sound from the back of his throat, inquisitive and upbeat. “That’s where you’re from?” He walks around the counter until he’s in front of you, leaning back against it in an easygoing manner, like the weight of his long limbs is tiring to support on his own.

You let your gaze trail from him to the soft, wood floors, worn by shoes but shining still as if they’d just been mopped. You nod, shrugging your shoulders. “Yeah. I don’t speak much French.”

“I can tell.” His lips curl up in a wry grin, his eyes narrowing in a way that unsettles you. “Why do you want to work here?”

“I’m sorry-” you clear your throat, “is this the interview?”

He shrugs again, arms crossed over his chest. You can see the heave of his ribcage as he lifts his shoulders, lanky limbs intertwined with themselves. “Sure. Why not?”

“You haven’t even told me your name.”

“Tendou Satori. Or, Satori Tendou. Whichever you prefer.” Tendou looks at you as if he’s looking over the rim of thick glasses, lips curled up before he answers the question you were about to ask with an easygoing sentence. “Nihonjindesu. It’s Japanese.”

It sounds more natural coming from his mouth and you’re able to place his accent now that he’s told you. Tendou eyes you for a moment as you give him your name like he’s studying you, and it makes the hair on your neck stand up. Despite the sleepiness of the shop, Tendou is remarkably perceptive. You get the feeling that he’s never known a normal like yours.

—

The first time you come in for your shift, Tendou’s shop is awake. Compared to the sleepy feeling of the last time you were here, it’s thrumming uncharacteristically, though you’re not sure what his usual is.

There is music —spanish, you think— playing from speakers embedded into the walls and you wonder briefly how they put them in. Did they pull out a part of the old wall, ripping at the beams within it in order to place them, or were they here when Tendou bought the place? Part of you thinks it’s a shame to change something about such an old building. There is a distinct sadness in modernizing.

He’s in the room adjacent this morning, standing in front of the wheels and filling plastic containers with liquid chocolate that will solidify in a few minutes. Tendou turns when you walk in, calling out yet another bonjour with an added ça va?, to which you respond with a quiet and poorly pronounced oui, ça va. His hat sits on red buzzed hair, cut short by clippers that you imagine hum loudly when he drags it along the curve of his scalp. He smiles as you trip over your words, putting down the tub of chocolate and wiping his long fingers on the towel in his apron pocket.

“First day jitters?” He asks throwing you a cheeky look, his top lip curled up like a cheshire cat.

That’s an excellent way to describe him, the Cheshire Cat. You can imagine cat ears sprouting from his head, the pink and purple patterns swirling in the back of your mind as you shrug your shoulders plainly.

“Not really, just not sure where to clock in.” At this, Tendou lifts his head like he’s remembered something and points to the wall just out of view. When you round the corner to look, you can see an old fashioned time stamp machine screwed into it, hanging by a door. Beside it, there is a holder with one additional card in it for a coworker you have yet to meet. You wonder briefly what they are like, if they are a boy or a girl or neither. If they are French or from somewhere else, if they are as odd as Tendou is with matching Cheshire Cat ears.

By the time you’ve written your name on the card and punched it in, Tendou has returned from the opposite corner of the room with an apron in hand. It’s folded in his grip, the fabric pinching where his lithe fingers hold it like cracks in glass.

“Wear this while you work. It gets a little messy in here.” You nod, thanking him briefly.

After you’ve secured the apron around your neck, Tendou ushers you into the main store. At first, with the way he’s flitting his wrist back and forth, you think he’s telling you to back up. But then it registers to you that he’s telling you to come to him. The action is simple enough, normally what an American would use to tell someone to get lost or move back. If he flipped the action upside down so that his fingers pointed towards the sky, it would be the motion for come here. A culture slip, the kind you’ve been experiencing a lot lately. You chide yourself as you hurry to his side.

“You know what this is?” He asks, raising an eyebrow and leaning his weight on the adjacent counter. With a large hand, he motions to the cash register.

“A register.”

“En Français?” He smirks and you can see the bottom of his front teeth through the way he tilts his head, teasing you.

You ponder for a moment, heat rising to your cheeks like warm water below a pot lid. “Une caisse.” You sound bad saying it.

“Bingo!” You flinch at how excited he gets. Yes, today Tendou’s chocolate shop is very much awake. “A cash register and you” he pauses, pointing at you with a long finger, “get to work it.”

Tendou is like an espresso shot, or a regular shot. Energy hums through him, the kind that hits quickly and without warning, leaving you loose and jittery. Through the day he bounces between the front room and the factory room, pouring chocolates into pink plastic molds and then filling them with custards and ganaches until they are images of culinary perfection. You can hear them click from their cases onto baking trays lined with paper and then listen as they are shuffled away onto baking racks to be dealt with by someone else. He hums with lively energy, occasionally looking up from those large wheels of chocolate at you as if he had forgotten that you were there altogether.

He has to help you a few times with the register, encroaching in your space as he apologizes to a customer, leaning his frame over yours in a way that is intrusive but not unwelcome. Tendou smells like chocolate, you wonder if the smell lingers on him permanently– if it clings to his clothes even after they’ve been run in the wash and hung to dry.

The music continues on the speakers through the day and you can hear Tendou humming from the back room, swaying thin hips back and forth to the beat. He’s a little off, like the music takes an extra second to reach him, but its warm and bounces richly off of the honey-wood walls and floors till the shop thrums with an electric energy characteristic of him.

—

You meet your coworker on your next shift. Her name is Atsuko and she, like Tendou, is from Japan. When she enters the shop, Tendou begins with the usual French but quickly switches to Japanese, smiling widely as she responds with equal energy. It would seem that she has Cheshire Cat ears too. You wonder just when you will sprout them.

Atsuko wears large black boots that bang across the floor. They’re platformed, adorned with buckles and silver chains that jingle with each step and when they catch the light, it’s like she’s cast in a spotlight. Her brown hair’s cut just above her shoulders in a straight line so blunt that if it were a knife it wouldn’t be able to cut butter. She wears a skirt, short and black to match her shoes, and her top is a dusty brown just lighter than her hair— it compliments it.

Atsuko is from Osaka and you only know this because Tendou pointed it out. According to him, Atsuko speaks differently, though you are not familiar enough with Japanese to be able to tell. He laughs and says that she speaks like the equivalent of someone from the American south, to which she responds that at least she doesn’t use Sendai-ben. You think you understand a little better now.

“He’s weird, huh?” She says to you. Her English is not as good as Tendou’s. Atsuko’s accent sits heavier on her tongue, mixing syllables with tinges of japanese pronunciation, but her grammar is correct. You appreciate her effort wholeheartedly.

She leans against the counter beside the register, her short and thick brown hair falling in tufts around her face, framing her cheekbones like a picture frame.

“A bit.” You shrug, glancing to where Tendou whisks chocolate in the kitchen.

“Yeah, but he’s a good guy— Ī yatsu.” Astuko smiles. It’s toothy and you can just barely see where her gums meet her teeth. She waits as if she wants you to try saying it and when you do, she smiles again, wider this time.

Atsuko spends half of her shift by the register with you. She is responsible for boxing chocolates. She’s meant to be in the back with Tendou and when she is, she speaks Japanese with him. It’s almost melodic to listen to her timbre of foreign words while watching her place small sweets in paper foils. Then she boxes them away so that you can pull them out a moment later when someone wants a sample or places an order. The boxes crowd the shelves behind you and every now and then, after she slides one into place, she’ll lean against the shelves and give a small glance between Tendou and you as if she knows a secret.

Atsuko fills you in on it during your lunch break, which you took together despite Tendou’s insincere protests. She tells you, in earnest and between wry smiles, about Tendou and his chocolate shop.

Tendou likes hiring foreigners. Or rather, Tendou likes collecting freaks. After all, what type of person moves to France only to work in a chocolate shop but a freak and a weirdo, himself included. He likes watching them work, hearing French words roll off of their tongues in thick accents the way they do his. It’s something of a hobby, collecting people from other places like souvenirs. He knows that the French will regard them as if they are not made entirely of the same clay, but cardboard. They will turn up their nose as soon as their mouths open to place the first icky French syllable.

He’s had somewhat of a revolving door of people who work at his shop. Some come and work for a long while, months or years of consistently coming in until they find a calling and eventually migrate, and others only stay for a short while. They walk in through the doors and work four-hour days until they, like the rest, move on elsewhere.

You will probably be the latter.

Tendou is the only constant in this place. Even his menu shifts, his assortments of truffles changing on an almost monthly basis. He doesn’t really mind it though. It means that he gets to collect more people, add to the bank of language and knowledge he keeps stored on the shelves of his mind, collecting people and cultures like figurines that attract dust in an attic.

You admire the curve of her cheek as she talks, the way they take on a slightly pink tint through the tan tone of her skin. You think it looks soft and you momentarily wonder if chocolate has properties that are good for skin because she and Tendou have been sneaking bites of it all day. They smile at each other through candy-coated teeth, giggling in the backroom as if they were girls who had just shared a secret, before swallowing their bites whole and returning to the individual tasks they were completing.

“Do you plan on staying?” You ask her, leaning forward and resting your elbows on your knees. Out of the corner of your eye, you check the clock. In 10 minutes it will be time to return to work. Tendou will reopen the shop (because he closes it for lunch) and you will stumble your way through muddled french hoping that the huffy Parisian understands.

“No.” She answers quickly, leaning her cheek on her hands. “I’ll be moving back to Osaka at some point. Parents need some help at home.”

You furrow your eyebrows, prying a little further into her life. She tells you candidly that she has three other siblings, all under the age of 14, and that they are having a hard time managing everything at once. Atsuko tells you that before she moved to France, she acted as a babysitter and watched over them.

“It sucks but I love them. So I’m gonna go back.” Atsuko smiles at you again, though it’s not as toothy this time.

You nod, exhaling deeply and she does the same, mimicking your movements in a way that feels silly. Her Cheshire ears show again and you laugh, rolling your eyes.

—

Sometimes, it rains in Paris for two weeks straight. Your shoes always get wet, soaking through to your socks in a way that makes them frustratingly damp. You know that when you take them off at the end of the day, your toes will feel sore from the moisture.

Rain collects on the sidewalk in small puddles, in dips where the sidewalk is older, worn from the steps of people who have occupied the city far longer than you.

During these weeks, when the rain is relentless, Tendou makes hot chocolate, drizzling some of his own chocolate mixtures into a cup and swirling it with milk and some heavy cream– the way the French make it. He hands it to you and Atsuko, closing the shop for extended periods so that the three of you can drink it in peace. You wonder how he has customers anymore with how odd his hours are, changing constantly to suit his fancy.

“You like it?” He asks, leaning sideways slightly to peer into the cup you have just sipped before turning his gaze upward at you. Tendou asks every time and the answer is always yes. He makes good chocolate, sweet and slightly bitter.

“Best hot chocolate I’ve ever had.” Atsuko responds and he tosses her a nasty look because he wasn’t asking her.

He looks back at you expectantly, waiting for his usual answer like a dog watching its owner prepare a food bowl.

“It’s great.” And then his lip curls up in a smile the way they usually do and you can’t fight off your own. It aches in your cheeks, making them sore with mirth as you sip and look over at the rim at Atsuko, who swirls hers around in a circle in the cup.

You feel closer to them now, mainly to Atsuko, who has become something of a confidant since you started working. You think it’s sad that after this, you won’t be able to see her, though maybe you will if she ever decides to come back to Paris and stay. You don’t think she will. She seems the type to not return somewhere unless she has to. Meanwhile, you just sort of end up places.

Atsuko finishes her hot chocolate and slaps Tendou on the back. He wobbles like a toothpick, struggling to balance his still-full cup of chocolate without spilling.

“She told you she’s leaving, right?” He says once she’s out of earshot.

“Yeah. Do you know when?”

Tendou shakes his head solemnly, as if in mock mourning. “Nope. But when she does, she’ll finally have a place to speak her dialect freely.”

“I still don’t understand that.” You laugh, taking another sip and letting the chocolate melt through you.

“Yeah well, you’re from America so… I wouldn’t expect you to.” Then, he leans his head down so his face is below yours before he smiles. “It’s funny though, trust me.”

Tendou creeps you out. Not in the classic way in which you think you might need to call HR (if this small chocolate shop even has one), but rather, in a way that makes you think that maybe you should wear nice lingerie under your work uniform because it feels like Tendou can see through clothes and walls. He’s got eyes like that. Big and double-lidded with a heavy crease where his eye curves into his skull. They’d almost be bulbous if it weren’t for the lazy way they seem to remain half-closed, trailing slowly from object to object as if he were taking in each minute detail and committing it to memory, then forgetting it the moment his gaze shifts.

Your attraction to him begins as something of a novelty, like an odd trinket you find at a garage sale, complete with chips and cracks that make it fun to hold between your fingers. You imagine rolling the physical object of your attraction in your hand, caressing your fingers through the dips and grooves of old painted glass. You wonder if your attraction to Tendou is smooth like it, or if it runs like sandpaper across your knuckles.

It’s nothing you can place and you’re not sure what brings the butterflies in your stomach to life, but you feel them when he looks at you. Tendou drags his tongue across the front of his teeth. The smooth muscle glides against them slowly like he’s trying to memorize the feeling of them, watching with those eyes that see through clothes for any indication that you’re nervous. If he sees it, he’ll pounce on you, and picturing it in your mind, you imagine a cat pawing unceremoniously at a feather on a string.

“I believe you.” You snort, sipping your chocolate again to avoid his eyes.

“You should. I’m a funny guy.” Tendou’s voice takes on a pleasant lilt, curling up at the ends of the words like wallpaper from an old room.

You laugh again, this time a little harder, and wipe the corner of your mouth with your sleeve. Tendou watches as you do and you think to yourself that if your situation were different, he might have licked it off of you.

—

You arrive earlier than usual for your shift. 10 minutes to be exact. You pull open the front door of the shop with a heave, the bell chiming distantly as you peer in through the opening into the backroom. Tendou is there hunched in front of a laptop, frame curled in an awkward way so that his back is arched like a cat— you think that the only thing missing are his cheshire cat ears. His eyes are wide as he peers at it, lips curled in a smirk. He doesn’t notice that you’ve come in and you manage to make it all the way to clock in before he does, turning quickly to face you.

“Look who it is. Coucou,” It’s an informal way to say hello, but it’s him and it carries that overtly animated tone he seems to often take. And when he says your name in the same tone right after, it drips like honey from his mouth. Sickly sweet at the edges where affection meets a casual greeting between friends.

The greeting is as unusual as he is. It’s something you’d say to a child, similar to peekaboo or baby talk, and Tendou says it with a wry smile. His eyes are glossed over, like he’s just woken up or been awake for far too long.

“Salut, what are you watching?” You lean against the counter, into his space a little. Tendou turns the opposite way you’d expect him to, twisting his body further so that his shoulder blade presses into the counter behind him. He smiles, leaning his head back to look at you fully and it gives you the urge to reach up and scratch your fingers against the grain of his haircut.

“Volleyball.” He drags out the word like it’s a secret. “My friend’s playing.”

“You like volleyball?” You raise an eyebrow, leaning forward unceremoniously to squint at the screen. It’s an overhead shot of the court and Tendou points to where a man stands on it, broad-shouldered and stone-faced.

“Mhmmmm. Used to play in high school.” He gives you a shit-eating grin like he’s just proved something to you. “Guess what position.”

You roll your eyes. “I haven’t got the faintest clue about volleyball.”

“Too bad.” Tendou’s lips curl up again, his eyes narrowing to slits. A cat and a feather. “You have to guess or I won’t tell you.”

“Fine…” You avert your eyes, suddenly warm inside like a pot of steady-boiling stew. “Uhm… ball… hitter.”

Tendou makes the sound of a loud buzzer, his already raised hand coming down to push on the side of the table as if there were a button there to trigger the noise. It grates on your ears, loud and embarrassing. “Wrong. Outside hitter is a position though, so good guess.”

He laughs, turning his attention back to the screen. You want to slap him upside the head for teasing you like that. Maybe you’ll hear marbles rattle around or maybe chocolate will begin to pour out of his ears.

“You neve-”

He cuts you off, eyes slinking across his lower waterline as he leans his head onto his forearms, hands already sticky with sugar. “Middle blocker. Siiiince you wanted to know so bad.” Tendou gives you the Cheshire Cat grin, syllables lazy and drawn out. His voice feels like it drowns you. You feel like Tendou has filled you up and holds you under, caught beneath a shining claw.

“Right.” Your cheeks heat and you turn your attention back to the screen. Tendou lets his gaze linger on you for a moment more before it meanders to converge with yours, blinking slowly as if he were switching gears.

“My friend’s serving.”

You watch the screen. On it, the broad-shouldered man tosses a ball into the air, running forward with heavy thuds until he jumps and slams the ball to the other side of the court. It hits the linoleum with a slap and you flinch at the thought of watching it whizz by you, a blur of white and blue. You notice that the man is left-handed. He looks down at it, curling his fingers into the center of his palm as if he were sizing up the lingering sting before offering a nod to a teammate.

Tendou’s lips have curled up again, watching the way you stare wide-eyed at his companion.

“That looks like it hurt.” You wince, imagining the sting in the tips of your fingers, the way it would move from your palm outward like fire consuming grass.

“He’s used to it.” Tendou says it matter of factly, smiling slightly.

You tear your gaze from him, returning it to the laptop which now displays the score. It reads 2-1 in blocky yellow letters. The lights from the electric scorekeeper flicker slightly as if it were a player trembling under the weight of the broad-shouldered man’s serve.

They play for the Schwieden Adlers. It’s written in a cursive scrawl under the scoreboard that reminds you of baseball matches back in the states, the “s” curling under the rest of the word. “I didn’t realize the Adlers were a Japanese team.”

“Huh, really?” Tendou snorts, standing to his full height. “I guess I kind of get it. But no, they’re Japanese. Wakatoshi and I went to school together.” He shakes his head, adjusting his apron and grabbing his chef’s hat. Tendou plops it onto the top of his head, covering his red buzzed hair with the stark white. “Honestly, you can be such an airhead, huh?”

He reaches out, placing his palm flat on the top of your head and shaking you slightly. His eyebrows are raised and you find yourself dizzied by the way he’d set you up. Tendou corners you until you’ve only one way to go, directly through him. Just when you think you’ve gotten past him, he’s suddenly in front of you and you’ve no choice but to chug full steam ahead. A difficult task when you’re up against a 6’3 middle blocker, whatever that means.

“You’re an asshole.” You laugh, still standing by the computer screen as he moseys to the front of the shop and pulls open the glass door. The bell chimes again and you turn away to tie an apron around your waist, pulling the fabric between your fingers and beginning to knot it around your waist.

“Tsk, tsk, swearing at your boss? I knew you weren’t a goody-two-shoes.”

You don’t have to look at him to know that he’s once again sprouted cat ears.

—

You ask Atsuko to teach you Japanese a month into working in Tendou’s shop. It’s not because you have trouble communicating, or because anyone’s English is less than satisfactory, but instead because you feel like your weight is not being pulled. Somehow, it makes you feel out of place to be the only one who cannot switch like a light.

“Japanese? Why not French?” She questions, leaning against the counter beside you. Atsuko tilts her head, raising an eyebrow.

“Uh-” You glance to where Tendou stands, his back to the both of you and blissfully unaware of the conversation. “I just want to learn. Y’know, speak with you guys in a way you’re comfortable.”

She follows your gaze, the corners of her lips pulling up. “Ahhhh, I see.” Atsuko lowers her voice. “You want me to keep it a secret from him?”

She uses her thumb to motion to Tendou and you feel your cheeks heat up. It’s true, you’d wanted to learn without him knowing. Maybe because you know he’d tease you, but mostly because you’d like to see the face he makes when you speak to him in his mother tongue. You wonder crudely if Tendou would blush the way you do.

“Yes, please.” You give her a small smile, trying to fight off the embarrassment rising in you. You shouldn’t need to feel embarrassed, but you do. Surprising anyone with something like this feels a bit exposing, especially when it comes to Tendou.

“Look at you, being so polite. And don’t worry, I’ll teach you standard Japanese.” She laughs and at this, Tendou looks behind him. You meet his eyes for a moment before looking back to Atsuko who has leaned forward to lower her voice while looking at Tendou. “We’ll start with ‘teach me’. Oshietekudasai.”

You repeat it to her and she slaps you on the back. “Your accent sucks.”

“What are you two giggling about?” Tendou calls from the back, suddenly feeling very left out. You can hear the curiosity in his voice.

“We were just saying that your hat is stupid and you look like those inflatable things at car sales on TV.” Atsuko tosses you a wink before walking to the back. Tendou offers a grumble and a single Japanese word to which Atsuko shrugs and laughs. They speak for a moment more in Japanese before settling back into a routine.

The shop grows quiet again save for the soft sound of music playing from the speakers and you can hear them shuffle in the back. You busy yourself with making sure the glass cases are stocked, repeating the new word you’ve learned to yourself like a mantra. Oshietekudasai.

—

Atsuko teaches you Japanese on your breaks and during lulls in the day for two months. You’re having trouble picking it up, never having been very good at learning a new language and if you thought French was hard, Japanese is another beast entirely. Atsuko tells you that she doesn’t have time to teach you to write or read Japanese lettering, smiling fondly when she says that even people raised speaking Japanese have trouble with kanji.

Still, you pick up new words and can place them in Atsuko and Tendou’s sentences now. You can tell, through context, what they’re saying. It’s only a faint idea, but now you can pick up on the subject of the sentence and it's enough to make you smile to yourself.

But Tendou and Atsuko’s conversations remain largely secret and when Atsuko begins coming into work less, you take it upon yourself to learn. You think she may leave soon, that her gradually more erratic schedule means she will soon go back to Japan. None of you broach the subject though. Instead, both Atsuko and Tendou behave as if this is a norm.

They mosey around the back, talking about next week or about what they plan to do after work, but they never linger for long on the subject of staying. Instead, their conversations are held in hypotheticals. You find yourself joining them, joining in on their casual dance around the subject. Together, the three of you tiptoe.

You’re not used to the bitter ache of goodbye, but it seems they are, Tendou most of all. On Atsuko’s last day, he behaves normally, sneaking bites of chocolate with her still.

“You nervous?” Atsuko asks on your last break together. You’re both sitting against the wall out back. It’s a small alleyway and the concrete is slightly wet from the rain but neither of you seems to mind.

“For what?” You laugh, raising an eyebrow as you lean against the back wall.

“To be alone with him.”

It seems that she’s picked up on the way you feel about him, as if it weren’t obvious in the way you study their language. You look at her for a second, once again admiring the curve of her cheek before shaking your head. “Not really, though I’m not sure I’m good enough at Japanese to speak to him with it.”

Atsuko laughs at this, throwing her head back. “You’re not. But you’ll get there.” She sighs and pulls her feet closer. Her boots jingle when she does. “I’ll keep teaching you though. We can talk on the phone and stuff.”

“Oh good, whatever would I do without you telling me how bad my accent is?” You smile and she gives you her signature toothy grin.

“Someone has to do it!” Atsuko pauses, inhaling. “I was nervous to be alone with him. Don’t know why, but I was. It was like I was having my first day at work all over again.”

You think for a moment about Tendou, mind wandering to where he’s probably sitting in the back of the shop watching a volleyball game he missed. He’s the type to make people nervous. It always seems like he just knows things, like he can read the people around him like a book. You think that maybe Atsuko is a book that doesn’t want to be read while you, on the other hand, feel like blank pages. Well, save for the one with his name on it, scrawled in cursive lettering that bleeds affection for the tall red-haired man.

“I’ve got one more word to teach you. It’s how you tell someone you like them.” She smiles at you knowingly, her lips curled at the edges. She’s teasing.

“Why would I need to know that?” You laugh, trying to brush it off. It feels a bit pointless, Atsuko has most likely assumed your feelings for some time now.

She shrugs lightly. “Maybe you won’t, but it’s good to know. Fun to say too.”

You wait expectantly for the word and when she says it, you think you know what she means. Suki. Atsuko breaks down the syllables into two, su- and ki-. They roll off her tongue gently in two succinct sounds and you mimic it the same way. It feels like, in breaking down the word, she has broken down its meaning and stamped it into your brain. Like she’s put a label on the garage sale trinket you’ve been holding in your hand since that vague attraction to Tendou took root in the tips of your fingers.

When you go back inside, Tendou looks up from where he sits hunched in front of a laptop. He’s right where you expected to find him. “Ready?” He asks, already walking to the front of the store and unlocking the door. You both hum your responses.

Before Atsuko leaves, she helps you set up a LINE ID. You’ve never used the app, nor do you plan to use it for anyone but her. She tells you that this way, you won’t need to wrack up international charges to talk and you smile at her. Atsuko’s ID pops up in LINE as your only contact. Her profile picture is cute, taken in front of Notre Dame Cathedral.

When she leaves, she leaves like it’s any other day, walking out of the front door with her big heavy boots in a similar fashion to the way she walked in on the first day you met her. The bell above the door jingles and you think for a moment that maybe to Tendou, that sound isn’t as cheerful as it feels to you.

—

Working alone with Tendou is different than when Atusko was there. At first, the shop feels too large and then it quickly becomes too small. You are painstakingly aware that Tendou is no more than ten steps from you and it’s as if he is constantly encroaching on your space. His presence is large and looming, one that makes you consistently aware of yourself and of him.

Occasionally, he will peer up at you from the wheels of chocolate, offering you a coy smile that rattles through your very being. He does this especially after you help a customer, French still clumsy but smoothing out. Like stones pushed by the tide against the soft sand. You think it’s because you’re getting better, getting used to being here. You can feel the confidence with which you speak to them, the way clarification becomes more natural to you when you do slip up.

Tendou starts bringing in sweets to work, usually things he’s picked up on his way to the shop. He rides up to the front of the store on a bike with a box balanced precariously in one hand. Inside, you find pastries and cakes, things for you both to enjoy far too early in the day.

Today, he’s brought you a fist-sized pastry topped with cream. It’s soft and almost too ceremonious for what it is—which is essentially a cream puff. Still, you smile, taking the box.

“Y’know, if you’re not careful, you’ll spoil me rotten.” You laugh, looking at the dessert. “Looks good though, thanks.”

“You’re already spoiled rotten.” He laughs. “Besides, I’ve got a sweet tooth.”

Tendou peers at you, smiling lightly. You’re not sure where “sweet tooth” and “spoiled rotten” connect, but with the way he’s looking at you with those eyes that can see through clothes and walls, you’re almost sure he doesn’t mean it about the dessert.

“I’m just gonna eat this and pretend you didn’t insult me.” You roll your eyes, picking up the treat and biting into it. It’s sweet, as expected, but somewhat light. You’d expected the cream to be too heavy, but instead, it is delicate. The flavor spreads across your tongue and you smile delightfully when you look at him.

“You like it?” Tendou asks, the familiar question dripping from his lips.

He says it like he’s looking for something, like he wants to hear you respond in a certain way. You don’t know what it is, but there’s that word again. Like… suki. You’ve turned it over so much in your mind that now the English word reminds you of the weighted Japanese phrase. You wonder, briefly, how it sounds when he says it.

“It’s really good.” You smile, brushing off the thought.

“I have good taste.” He says coy— almost playfully— and you have to furrow your brows for a moment. Tendou gives you a sideways look accompanied by that slick smile you’ve become so accustomed to, almost like you’ve been playing a game of cards and he has just pulled an ace.

“I hope so. You make chocolate.” You laugh.

“Mm, I have good taste in more than just chocolate.”

Tendou watches you for a minute, like he’s scanning for something deeper than just the way you bring the cream puff to your mouth again before he stands to his full height and claps his hands together quickly. “Well! Time to get started!”

He startles you and you’ve little time to protest that you haven’t finished your treat before you’re setting it down in the back and following him to the baking trays.

Since Atsuko left, you’ve taken over her job. Now, you spend most of your time in the back with Tendou and only leave to help customers at the front. It feels a bit like a cat chasing a mouse, walking between this room and the next with a cheery call of bonjour but for now it works.

You wonder when and if he will hire someone else. If he does, will they look at you like you’ve got a striped body and cat ears? Will they wonder how you and Tendou got to be so similar, even if you can’t see it yourself?

You have to think: when had you stopped being Alice and adopted the Cheshire Cat’s wry grin?

—

“Gueeeessss what?” Tendou pushes the door to the shop open with a swift movement. He’s just come back from his lunch break, smiling widely.

“What?” You ask, unable to push the smile from your face at his tone.

“Wakatoshi is gonna visit.” He crosses his arms over his chest like you understand what that means.

“Uhm… who?” You raise an eyebrow.

“Ushijima Wakatoshi? The guy? You know… The volleyball player?” Tendou looks at you expectantly as it clicks into place and you smile widely for him.

“Oh! Him! Nice, why’s he coming?” You question, leaning against the counter.

“The Adlers are playing some French team this week. He’ll be here this weekend.”

“You gonna go to their game?” You busy yourself wrapping the chocolates in front of you. Today’s foil is a periwinkle blue and you wrap each piece delicately.

“Only if you come with me.” Tendou grins at you, shifting his weight in a strange wiggle.

You think for a moment about the clip you saw of Ushijima playing, the way the ball sounded hitting his hand and then the floor with two large booms. A shiver runs up your spine at the thought of being around someone who grew into adulthood with Tendou, someone larger and stronger than him, with the same slightly twisted sense of humor— possibly the same cheshire ears too.

You look at him, smirking lightly. “Now why would I go anywhere with you?”

“Because you think I’m great and a decent guy.” He nods his head sagely before opening one eye. “And if you say no, I’ll use the excuse that I’m your boss and you have to.”

At this, you laugh. It’s not as if he has to convince you. You’d already agreed to go in your mind the moment he proposed it, though you do wonder why he wants to take you.

“Relax, I’ll go, but I’m not gonna understand any of it.” You warn.

“Don’t worry, I’ll teach you.” He grins and you consider letting your secret slip for a moment and asking him to do it in Japanese.

However, when you arrive at the stadium, you find yourself more intimidated than you thought you’d be. The place is crowded, people bustling into the large doors and through ticket turnstiles. You find yourself growing anxious as you wait outside for Tendou, dressed in clothes that begin to feel out of place.

Today, you dressed nicely—nicer than you’d like to admit—and for a reason that you wish eluded you. You feel out of place standing alone, staring at the response from Tendou on your phone that reads ‘i’m here, where r u?’ in a way that makes you able to hear the way he’d draw out the syllables. You scan over the crowds, looking for any glimpse of the tall man with buzzed red hair.

“Coucou.” He’s behind you.

“Je-sus! You scared me. Don’t do that.” You slap his chest and he snickers.

“What? You’re not gonna greet me just because we’re not at work? Hidoi.”

“Hi,” you roll your eyes and gather yourself, “and I’m not mean.”

An odd look creeps onto Tendou’s face,, he furrows his eyebrows before a small smile unfurls across his lips. “But you so are. Keeping secrets is not a very nice thing to do.”

“What on earth are you on about?” You give him a confused look.

“Nothing, nothing. Just my spidey senses tingling.” Tendou closes his eyes, nodding his head slowly.

“You’re insane.”

Tendou gives you a small smile, a knowing one. “So I’ve been told. Come on, let’s go inside. The first set is gonna start soon.”

You don’t know what that means, but you follow anyway, sticking close. As he walks, you take note of what he’s wearing, a purple hoodie with black straight-leg jeans. On his feet, he wears worn black converse that you’ve seen him wear in the shop. You notice that there is a scuff of chocolate on the front of his left shoe.

“You want to buy an Adler’s t-shirt?” Tendou points to the stall and you give him an odd look.

“Uhm, I think I’m okay…” You laugh slightly.

“What? You don’t want to wear my best friend’s merch?” Tendou narrows his eyes, grinning at you as he walks.

You give him a pointed look. “Weirdo.” You say it with more affection than you intend and Tendou clicks his tongue.

You need to walk a little faster to keep up with him, watching his slightly hunched figure. Every now and then, he looks behind him to make sure you’re still following and when he meets your eyes he gives you a pleasant little smile.

Tendou guides you past crowds and to the first level of seats. You both take a seat in the front row, Tendou pointing to the two that belong to you. It’s a bit intimidating to be so close to the court, but you’re excited at the prospect of seeing Ushijima’s serve up close. You watch as the teams take time to warm up and beside you, Tendou perks up.

“WAKATOSHI!” He calls loudly. You can feel the stares from those around you but you don’t mind, not when it’s Tendou. “GENKI?”

At this, the broad-shouldered man turns slowly and scans the crowd. Tendou waves his arms in response and when they spot each other and makes a heart shape with his hands. Ushijima nods his acknowledgment. What you’re surprised to find is that two additional people on the court turn their heads, one tall with dark hair and another rather short with stark white hair. They look shocked, eyes wide until their gaze settles on Tendou as well.

The dark-haired one walks to Ushijima and taps him lightly, pointing to Tendou. They have a small conversation before the dark-haired stranger walks over to the white-haired one and points to you both. At this, the two of them wave and Tendou gives a surprised giggle. It’s cute.

“You know more than just Ushijima?” You question, looking at the other two players as they turn their focus back to their team.

“Mhm, but I never played with them, played against ‘em though.” He watches them run through warm-up exercises. “The constipated looking one is Kageyama Tobio and the creepy white-haired one is Hoshiumi Kōrai.”

You follow his gaze, brushing off his insults to them with a sideways glance.

The game starts promptly with the French starting roster being introduced since they have home court before the first set begins. Tendou explains the rules to you as the introductions drone on, telling you that volleyball games are five sets. He explains that you cannot hold the ball, that there are certain cases in which sets exceed 25 and 15 points, and that each play can only include three hits.

It’s complicated and you don’t quite get it, but as the first set begins and ends with the Adlers’ taking it, you start to understand a little better.

Ushijima’s serve is even more frightening up close, it thunders and you swear that the force of it rattles the stands. Though, watching a full game, you realize that he’s not the only one good at serves. On this court, they are par for the course and you’re mesmerized by the way players handle them.

At one point, during the forth set— match set for the Adlers—Ushijima ‘stuffs’ (Tendou’s term for it) the opposing team's hitter and beside you Tendou breathes out. “They’re monsters…”

“Monsters?” You ask, still watching the court.

Tendou leans sideways, close to your ear with his head facing the court. You can feel the heat from his body. “It means they’re really good.”

You wonder if anyone described him that way back when he played.

The French team takes the fourth set and the fifth set drones on. You can feel how tense the room is, the way both the fans and players are on the edge of their seats. Your eyes follow the ball as it whizzes through the air. Point to the Adlers, point to the opposing team, and so on and so forth. It has you tensed up, shoulders stiff as you root for men you’ve yet to meet.

When the Adlers win and the cheering is done, you expect the tension to die down, but it doesn’t. Instead, you feel it shift in manner, manifesting as both pride and disappointment. The French team crowds around their coach defeated and panting, while the Adlers crowd theirs triumphant. Tendou’s eyes slink to the French team.

“That’s a tough loss.” He says quietly.

You turn, waiting for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. Instead, he just looks at them for a moment more—as if he can remember the feeling of that frustration—before turning back to you.

“Mind if we wait around a bit for them?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Not at all! I expected to.”

“Good. I want you to meet Wakatoshi.” He stands from his seat. “We can wait by where they exit, come on.”

I want you to meet Wakatoshi. You’re not sure why it sticks with you, but it does. You wonder why he was so adamant about you coming, why he wants you to meet his best friend so desperately. Your thoughts run away with you briefly, pocket becoming heavy with the trinket you’ve been carrying with you. In your mind, you reach down and pull out the metaphorical object, turning it over once again.

You follow him, trailing behind as he walks around to the inside of the stadium where a door leads to locker rooms. There are fans there, most likely people who have been following their progress through their careers. Although, there are fewer people than expected considering it’s an away game. You imagine what it must be like for the Adlers when they play on a home court. In your mind, hoards of fans gather in front and the athletes are separated by a thin red rope as if they were merchandise that normal people are not allowed to touch. You and Tendou lean against the wall just behind the crowd, waiting patiently for a star athlete that Tendou knows well.

“I see why you like volleyball so much.” You breathe out. “It had me on the edge of my seat.”

“Right?” He responds excitedly. “It’s like you can feel the energy whenever the balls in play.”

“Mhm and you can kinda see the energy move a little. Like the players when they hit it.” You smile, heat flooding your cheeks. “Does that sound weird?”

“Nope!” He pops his p, eager and giving. Relief settles across your chest, momentarily relieved of potential embarrassment. “You gonna become a volleyball nerd now?”

You sneer at him, tilting your head side to side. “Maybe.”

“Bet you regret not buying a jersey.”

“Actually, I think my wallet is thanking me for that.” You sigh.

“Whoops. Forgot you were poor for a sec.” Tendou laughs.

You shove him. He wobbles like a house of cards. “I am not poor.”

“Stingy, then.”

You mock him, pulling an ugly face. “Pay me more and maybe I won’t be.”

You both stand for a second before bursting into a small fit of giggles. Tendou pays you well, both of you know that, but the joke is funny. In fact, just about everything is amusing when he’s involved. Tendou manages to make the mundane spontaneous. His cheeks flush pink, pretty across his skin and your chest swells a bit at the sight.

“Tendou-san.” It’s the dark-haired player, Kageyama.

He’s bigger up close, with broad shoulders and a nice face. He’s good-looking, really good-looking. You stand for a moment, looking at him and letting yourself take in his features. They’re gentle and sloping, less sharp than Tendou’s. You think for a moment that maybe you should be flustered.

“Kageyama-kun!” Tendou tosses his arms up in an overexaggerated response. Then, Tendou begins speaking Japanese. You quickly lose the pace of the conversation because Tendou misses all of the usual greetings and skips right to something that clearly makes Kageyama embarrassed. It makes you smile fondly to yourself because by now, you are all too familiar with Tendou’s manner of speaking.

They talk for a moment longer before Tendou turns to you and you catch up with the conversation when he introduces you. That’s a phrase you can recognize.

“Yoroshiku.” Kageyama responds. You do the same, mirroring his actions and the greeting. Tendou gives you another look from the corner of his eye before turning fully to face you.

“Kageyama doesn’t speak a lot of English.” Tendou explains, arms moving in a large motion towards him.

“I speak enough.” Kageyama gives an irritated response and his accent is thick, coating the words. “I’m Kageyama.”

“I know.” You laugh slightly, clasping your hands in front of you. “Tendou told me about you when the game first started.”

Kageyama looks at Tendou who offers a shrug. “They had to know. You were whispering about us.”

“Omae da!” It’s the little white-haired one this time. He speaks faster than Kageyama, a cocky ball of energy, and you notice that his eyelashes are white too. They sit defined around striking blue eyes and when his gaze shifts to Tendou, you find that they hold a certain intensity. You wonder where he puts all that energy with such a small body. Tendou runs through your introduction again, to which you respond the same way you did to Kageyama.

“Are you waiting for Ushijima?” Kageyama poses the question in English, glancing between the two of you.

“Yup.” Tendou pops his p, something he seems to do a lot.

“He should be out soon,” Kageyama says to both of you. Then, he says goodbye to Tendou in Japanese before turning to you. “It was nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.” You respond.

The one named Hoshiumi follows Kageyama, offering you both a wave and what you recognize as a casual term for goodbye.

“They seem nice.” You say, turning your attention back to Tendou.

“Yeah, Kageyama’s kind of a shithead though.” Tendou snickers, giving you a cheeky grin.

“And you’re not?” You respond, rolling your eyes and laughing.

“At least I admit it.”

You know when Ushijima leaves the locker room because it is followed by a collective, high pitch squeal. It sounds almost as if someone has left a kettle on to boil, the whistle blowing in a steady and high pitched note. Tendou turns his head, standing fully to peer over the shoulders of others and spot his friend, who takes a little longer to reach you because he is taking stiff pictures with those who ask.

When he finally does approach, you suddenly understand what all the screaming was about. Ushijima is tall, broad, and handsome. He has a piercing stare and a presence of the utmost confidence. It makes you want to shrink away and clasp your hands in front of your waist as if he were someone of higher status. Then, Tendou reaches out and they grab each other’s hands in a firm shake. He breaks the imaginary barrier you’d built in one swift and comfortable movement.

They exchange a few words before Ushijima looks to you and you prepare yourself for another Cheshire Cat. You steel your nerves for a wry grin to pick you apart. But instead, what you’re met with is something far more confusing—a stone wall.

Ushijima looks down at you before turning to Tendou and speaking in a deep and smooth voice ‘is this them?’. It’s not in English, but you understand it clearly because Ushijima speaks slowly and clearly. Tendou gives an affirmative response and your brows knit at Tendou who gives you a small smile, his eyes crinkling in the corners. You have the urge to cover yourself because Tendou is giving you the look that sees through clothes, like he knows something you don’t. You think for a moment about what you’re wearing underneath and Ushijima turns his attention to you once again.

He’s a bit awkward, offering you a handshake and a firm but polite greeting. You can sense his awkwardness, the clumsiness with which Ushijima maneuvers social situations. Though it’s odd because it’s not as if he doesn’t understand but rather than he is so formal it makes for a slight misstep between those he has just met and himself. It’s now that you realize that they are not the same, but parallel. Ushijima may not be a Cheshire Cat, but he belongs in Wonderland.

Still, Tendou gels easily with him and you smile fondly as they fall into casual conversation. It’s interesting to see Tendou like this because up until now, you’ve only seen him interact with yourself, Atsuko, and customers—all of which he might view as temporary. But now, Tendou and Ushijima are permanent and tangible. Well, as tangible as the two can be.

“Are you enjoying Paris?” Ushijima asks you after introducing himself, voice baritone and level.

You nod. “Yeah, though it’s mostly because of Tendou.”

It’s not a lie. Tendou and his sleepy chocolate shop are probably the reason you like Paris as much as you do. That’s not to say it isn’t a lovely city, but you are out of place here, a black sheep within the confines of the city. The French are not as kind to foreigners as Tendou is, they turn up their noses at you when you speak, hearing the accent and deciding for themselves that you do not belong; that you are an invader. Tendou’s place is different. Just like Atsuko told you, it is a refuge.

“That’s not surprising.” Ushijima says.

Tendou exchanges a quick glance with him before speaking again, his voice bright as he exaggerates embarrassment. “You’re too nice to me, Wakatoshi!”

“It’s true. I’m not surprised that they’re at ease around you.” Ushijima has a way of speaking that implies everything is already out on the table. He speaks like he holds no secrets, like the pages of his book are open to read.

“I think I give them a hard enough time.” Tendou, on the other hand, speaks like he’s got secrets. Honeyed words fall from his lips like riddles and something about the way he says things makes you think the answers might taste sweet. It’s as if they would melt on your tongue should you choose to indulge them. His eyes slink along his waterline to look at you in one fluid motion and heat floods your face.

You shake off the feeling with a laugh, avoiding both of their gazes for a moment before speaking. “I’m really glad to finally meet you, Ushijima. I watched one of your games a few months back. You’ve got one hell of a spike.”

“He was one of the best spikers in Japan back when we were in school!” Tendou chimes in, tossing a long arm over Ushijima’s shoulder.

“Thank you.” Ushijima offers a simple response. It’s self-assured and strong, like he’s heard it many times and is reaffirming the compliment with his response. “Tendou was quite good at blocking too.”

Someone calls Ushijima’s name, a teammate no doubt, from the doors leading to their bus. He nods in acknowledgment before turning to both of you. “My team is waiting. I have to go, it was nice to finally meet you.”

You smile back in response, nodding. Finally? It was nice to finally meet you?

Tendou hugs his friend goodbye before turning to you with a wry grin. His lips curl up at the corners, teeth visible. Your mind runs with the possibility that Tendou has spoken about you before, that he has divulged things about you to Ushijima when he recounts his day. You take a moment to understand fully that you are as much a part of Tendou’s life as he is yours and with the way it sends you spinning, you’re dizzy.

“Ready to go?” He asks, eyes narrowed in a way that you find endearingly familiar. It’s as if he can tell that you’ve just been caught off guard. Tendou starts walking before you have a chance to respond and you jog to catch up with him.

“Ushijima’s nice. Very uhm… big.” You say once you fall into an even step with him.

“Haha, yeah,” he looks down at you, hands shoved into his sweatshirt pocket, “you like big guys?”

You furrow your eyebrows at him, shaking your head and shoving him to the side. He wobbles like a crumbling tower before bumping you with his shoulder. “I’m not gonna divulge that information to my boss.”

“Poor taste is a fireable offense.” He closes his eyes and nods like he’s considering something. It worries you the way he doesn’t slow his step even when he can’t see.

“So is being a weirdo.” You retort.

Tendou clicks his tongue, dipping his head down so that it’s level with yours. “But I like weirdos.”

“You like a lot of things.”

Tendou just hums at this, lifting his head up toward the sky and exhaling. It’s cold out, but not cold enough to see your breath, and he seems disappointed at that revelation. He walks with his head angled upward, staring at the glittered night above you.

“He said you were good at blocking.” You say after a moment, breaking the silence that had fallen between you both.

“Huh?” He turns to look at you.

“Ushijima.” You clarify. “He said you were a good blocker in high school.”

“Oh,” Tendou snickers, dipping his head further into the neck of his hoodie, “yeah. They called me the Guess Monster.”

“Guess Monster?” You laugh incredulously. “Why?”

“Because I’m good at guessing.” Tendou looks at you over his cheek, a smug grin on his lips.

You don’t want to think about what that implies. Your pocket becomes heavy and you reach into it as if you might find that little trinket. As if you’d be able to pull it out and showcase what you’ve created in your mind. It’s weighted and heavy, and though the object that is your attraction is not actually in your pocket, you think that if you dig around enough, you’ll find it.

Or maybe, Tendou has already taken it and put it on one of his shelves. Maybe he has filed it away with the other things he’s collected from the people who come through his doors and you have yet to realize you lost it.

So you remain silent with him and let him walk you back to your apartment. The streets are still loud, traffic buzzing by you both and disturbing the muddied puddles in the road. They ripple with movement and reflect the streetlights. When they fall completely still, you imagine that if you stepped in one, you’d fall right through— Alice slipping through the rabbit hole.

Paris is beautiful at night. It’s a city that lives up to the photos of it but it is not a place where you stay. It does not feel like a home unless you are in the confines of Tendou’s chocolate shop, surrounded by music in all languages and the sound of idle chatter coming from the back room.

You wonder what Atsuko is doing right now. If she is waking up and making breakfast for her siblings. Would she expect that Tendou would have brought you to meet Ushijima? Would you come into work tomorrow and be greeted by her familiar feline smile as she asks about how it was? Would Tendou have brought her too?

“Did Atsuko ever meet Ushijima?” You speak without thinking.

“Huh? Oh, only on the phone.” Tendou shrugs, keeping his eyes ahead. “He played a few games here but we never got the chance to go.”

You nod, but there’s curiosity clawing at your throat. The cat you adopted from Tendou and Atsuko is awake and aching to know. It paws at your stomach, turning and twisting with the way a question scratches at the bottom of your throat.

Your apartment is a short distance from the shop and you begin to lead the way. As the streets become more familiar, so does the feeling in the pit of your stomach. It’s the kind of curiosity you want to push away, anxious and all too eager. It winds your stomach into coils until you can’t contain it, until you are asking before you can stop yourself when you arrive at your apartment entrance.

“Why did you bring me? To meet Ushijima, I mean.”

“Because…” Tendou looks down at you, still hunched over himself, weight shifted forward. He looks around him for a moment, like he’s trying to think about it or memorize the area around him. Then he looks at you with those eyes that see through clothes.

“Omae ga suki.”

You pause, or rather, you go rigid in your skin. The word hums through it. “What?”

“What?” Tendou laughs, looking at you lowly. It’s like he’s trying to pretend he hasn’t said anything, or rather, he’s acting like you didn’t hear him. Like you didn’t understand him. He grins down at you, eyes narrowed and teeth peeking below his upper lip. “I said because I thought you’d like it.”

He’s lying. He’s lying and you know it.

You know it because you’ve spent hours turning over that word in your mind, reading about it’s context, learning about how and when and why it is used. You know the word by heart because Atsuko carved it into your skin. She taught it to you with purpose, with the intent of gluing it to your being just in case. You know because you’ve felt it.

Omae: a casual word for ‘you’ and commonly used by men, ga: a word used to connect two different words or ideas, suki: to like, to love.

Omae ga suki: a confession.

—

You are late to work for the first time since Tendou hired you. You scurry in through the door, bell chiming as if to announce your tardiness, and Tendou looks up from where he pipes fillings into molds. There is music playing again, but the chime of the bell is louder, ringing in your ears as you smooth the front of your shirt, walking into the back room and past Tendou to clock in.

“You’re late.” He sing-songs.

“I know, I’m sorry I…” got too nervous to leave the house. “Got caught up.”

Tendou eyes you for a moment before shrugging. “Oh well, c’est la vie.”

You nod, trying the apron around your neck with deft fingers. You’re used to it now, the movement of looping it behind your back in one swift motion. It feels familiar and you distract yourself with the tangle of your fingers in it.

His wishy-washy attitude has you on edge. Tendou is making sharp turns, sneaking up behind you and sending you out of your skin. He glances every now and then at you from behind the wheels of chocolate, especially when you ring up customers. You can feel him watching the way you handle them, the way you smile and tell them to come back soon in now-practiced French.

“You’re nervous today.” He says at one point, leaning beside the register. His voice takes on a pleasant lilt, almost teasing.

“Am I?” You laugh it off, busying your hands with straightening the objects on the counter.

“Mhmmmm.” He hums, drawing out his syllables. Tendou leans forward onto his hands, hunching his figure over so that his chin rests in his palms and his face is below yours.

The strange thing about working for someone around your age is the way that, after a while, you settle into a normal that’s free from the strains of business hierarchy. Tendou, for the better part of a month, has felt more like a friend or peer than he has a boss. It seems he deliberately acts like so, waving off questions and handing more responsibility to you until you find yourself answering questions for him, a less formal way of teaching but it works for the both of you. But it’s also because of this casual setting that you think Tendou will not make the first move. He may reiterate the words he spoke the night of Ushijima’s game, but that final step needs to be taken by you. He may say it out loud, but as far as he knows, you know nothing.

It makes you nervous because you do know. That object of your attraction has somehow come to life and now, instead of being a trinket in your pocket, it sits on your shoulder. It whispers in your ear the things you like about him. His lithe fingers, his smile, the way he talks to you like you’re precious. The physical being that should now be called your affection— because this trinket is no longer just attraction and nor is it a novelty— is tethered to your shoulder in a way that makes it ache. You wonder if it will go back to being glass if you look at it. If you touch it, will it go still and silent, only thrumming to life again when you look away next?

You grab the object, willing it to rigidness in your grasp and pocket the small beast. You imagine how it’d feel in your fingers, returning to glass as Tendou encroaches in your space.

“Well, at least your French is getting better.” He hums, leaning against the counter beside you. “You been working on it?”

You look to him, steeling your nerves and meeting his low-lidded gaze. Tendou is looking through you. It feels like he’s reading the blank pages of your book, flipping through to find his name. “Something like that.”

“So studious.” Tendou laughs before slapping your shoulder lightly. “Seriously though, let me know if you need to go home or anything. I don’t want you getting too stressed out.”

You laugh, easing into your routine. “And leave this place to you? You might burn it down.”

“I’ll have you know I own this place.” Tendou leans forward. “Well… I rent it.”

“Your poor landlord.”

—

You decide to call Atsuko in the morning before your next shift. The call rings three times before she picks up, greeting you with an unfamiliar japanese phrase.

“‘Suko? It’s me.” You speak into the phone, meandering around your kitchen.

“Whose me?” Her smile reads through the phone, the familiar upward tilt of her words giving away the cheeky grin you know she’s wearing. You say your name into the receiver and she laughs. “I’m kidding. No one else calls me ‘suko. It’s not really a real nickname here. What’s up?”

You consider spilling immediately. You consider telling her about the volleyball game, about Kageyama and Hoshiumi and Ushijima. You consider detailing the way Tendou confessed only to lie through a sly grin about what he said. But instead, you exhale and pad to the couch, sitting down. “Nothing really, just wanted to talk.”

“Hm, just wanted to talk, eh?” You can imagine the way she’s closing her eyes in mock consideration. “Well, if we’re going to talk, we should do it in Japanese, no?”

“Fine, but don’t blame me if I misunderstand gravely and assume you’re dying.” You laugh.

Atsuko tells you about her day in slow spoken Japanese. She works her way through sentences at a pace that you think must be infuriating for her, but she does it nonetheless. The more shocking thing is that you understand for the most part and are able to form warbled responses which she occasionally giggles at.

She tells you that soon she’ll have to walk to pick up her youngest sibling from school, that things are good in Osaka but were better in Paris. Then she tells you that she misses you and Tendou and that she wishes she could be there when you inevitably reveal to him that you have been learning their language.

“On that subject…” You say, switching back to English.

“I knew you had something to tell me. You’re so sneaky.” Atsuko laughs into the phone. “Did you accidentally spill the beans? Get a notification about your Japanese streak in Duolingo or something?”

“No… but that would have been easier to explain.”

You hear her shift on the other end of the line, like she’s sitting up from a reclined position. “What happened?”

“I think-” you reword the phrase because you know it, “Tendou told me he likes me.”

“Did he now?” Atsuko’s grinning, you can hear it. “What makes you say that?”

You recount the event from two days ago and she grumbles jealously when you mention that he took you to meet Ushijima. You tell her about the confession, saying the phrase out loud for her to hear. Atsuko remains quiet for a moment before she laughs. “That’s a confession, alright.”

“I know that. I just don’t think he knows that I do.” You give an exasperated sigh.

“Okay… well do you like him?” She asks. You know she knows the answer.

“This isn’t about me.” You roll your eyes and you’re sure she can hear it.

“It definitely is.”

“Shut up. What do I do?”

Atsuko exhales and you hear her lean back against the couch. “Nothing. If he said it in Japanese expecting you to not understand, then he isn’t looking for an answer.”

“Do you think he was just teasing me?” You hate the way anxiety creeps into your voice.

“God, no. It’s been obvious how he feels about you. I suspect you’re just dumb.” Atsuko laughs to herself. “Plus, he might be an asshole but he’s not an asshole.”

You nod as if she can see it. You know Tendou isn’t an asshole, not really. He teases and he’s a bit mysterious, but you’ve never gotten the impression that he does things out of ill will. Atsuko changes the subject, switching back to Japanese. She’s saying something about what she’s cooking for dinner tonight and you hum your responses, still preoccupied with the thought of Tendou. You imagine his slender frame leaning against the counter beside you, the way his fingers look wrapped around the handle of a whisk, how his uniform sits across the expanse of his chest.

When Atsuko hangs up, she promises to call you tomorrow and you tell her that she better make good on it. The receiver clicks, indicating the end of the call and you sit for a moment longer on your couch. When you pick up your phone, you see that Tendou has sent you a TikTok and you smile fondly to yourself.

Tendou is certainly a friend, probably more. Being young, he runs his shop more like a place to hang out, trusting you to get done what you need to get done and you always do. Your discomfort at the situation could hardly be called discomfort, but rather, the inbetween when relationships are undefined. You hate this stage, the part where you either lose a friend, gain a lover, or fuck up both and get something inbetween. It’s a fine line to walk and when you think about the situation, your stomach turns.

You decide that you will lean into it. You decide that you’ll get off the fence and embrace whatever is going on. You’ll play along when he leans into your space, touch him more and encourage him to touch you because you want him to. You want Tendou to touch you. You want him to look at you with those eyes that see through clothes and that Cheshire cat grin. In your pocket, you feel the trinket stir to life and you think to yourself that this time, you will let it.

—

You start hanging out with Tendou outside of work. The two of you go to lunch together and meet up on days that the shop is closed. You take your friendship from workplace to recreational in a matter of weeks and all the while, tension boils under the surface. It bubbles beneath the lid of the pot, beginning to steam up the glass and puff out in short spurts.

Tendou will occasionally say incriminating things in Japanese to you. He’ll mumble them under his breath when you are at lunch or while you work. He will say you look pretty or that he wants to take you out on a date. He says it all through sly smiles, like he’s whispering a dirty secret to you and you play dumb, furrowing your eyebrows and focusing on calming the beat of your heart.

You package chocolates beside him and sneak sweets the way him and Atsuko did, popping bites into your mouth and smiling at him when he asks you if it’s good. It melts across your tongue the way you think he would.

“I forgot to tell you but Ushijima is coming into town this weekend.” He says as he pipes filling into chocolate molds. “We’re gonna hang out at my place if you want to come.”

You look up from the chocolates you’re boxing, giving him a smile. “Sounds fun, though he makes me a little nervous.”

“Because he’s so big?” Tendou teases, leaning onto the arm closest to you.

You roll your eyes, scoffing. “Yeah and he’s like a rock. I don’t think I could handle making a joke to him and getting no response.”

Tendou laughs. “You get used to it. He’s a good guy.”

“I don’t doubt it, but still…” You sigh, smiling lightly.

Tendou reaches forward, his fingers lightly brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. It doesn’t stay where he’s put it. “You’ll be alright. He’s not the one that bites.”

He looks at you with low-lidded eyes, affection swirling in them and in the apples of his cheeks. You can imagine that you have a halo around your head right now, you can see it in the reflection of yourself in his eyes. Tendou looks at you with so much want and fondness that it makes you dizzy. It drips from his lips like sugarcoated candy when he speaks, bleeding into his actions. You can see the way he spills liquid sugar like ichor when he talks.

Tendou’s skin burns against yours. It lights a fire in your belly that you feel roll through you and the beast on your shoulder whispers thoughts of your desire into your ear. You both stay like that for another moment, just watching for each other’s reactions, responding to the slight catches in your breathing before you lean back on your stool and steady yourself on the counter.

“Someone needs to put a muzzle on you.” You say, laughing.

“Take me to dinner first and then you can do whatever you want.”

“Freak.” You smile at him and he smiles back, his eyes taking that familiar shape of the Cheshire cat’s narrowed eyes and you can see the way water collects at his waterline as if it were a physical response to the affection he holds for you. You feel it too.

—

You arrive at Tendou’s place 10 minutes before he told you to and you’re actually a little embarrassed about it. His apartment door is made of old wood that’s been painted blue. Apartments in Paris often look like this, keeping the style of the original architecture to preserve the familiar feeling the city has. When you knock, you find yourself fidgeting and nervous. Ushijima opens the door.

“It’s you.” He says, his baritone voice rumbling in your ears.

“Yes, it’s me. Hi Ushijima, it’s good to see you.” You smile, swallowing your nerves.

“Is that my dear friend, _____?” Tendou calls and you can see the way he peeks his head around the wall. He walks over to the door, placing his hands on his hips. “You’re such an early bird today. Were you that excited to see us?”

“Maybe Ushijima, I see you almost every day.” You’re lying.

“I’m hurt.” Tendou feigns sadness.

“I’ve heard that chocolate has properties that release happy chemicals. Try some maybe?” You laugh, stepping into his house.

“Yeah, yeah. Take off your shoes before you come in, please.” He drags out the last word in a singsong voice and you nod, doing as he asked.

You might collect metaphorical trinkets in your mind, but from the look of his apartment, you think Tendou does it for real. His space is full of odd things: decorations, figures, and souvenirs that look slightly out of place where they sit on cheap furniture. They clutter the space, making it feel smaller than it is. It’s by no means ugly, but it is certainly strange, though—like his shop—you think it suits him.

Tendou has warm brown furniture everywhere and the surfaces of them are all filled with photos and trinkets that you think he must have collected since moving here. In his living room, he has a shelf full of volleyball trophies, as well as pictures from his high school years. You wander around the room, making idle conversation as you gaze at them.

“You had long hair in high school.” You point out, leaning forward to look at a picture of him and Ushijima in what you assume are high school volleyball uniforms.

“Yeah, I buzzed it short when I decided to open the shop a few years ago.” Tendou says, running his hand over the top of his head. You think you want to do the same.

“And you look the exact same.” You laugh as you turn to Ushijima who shrugs his shoulders.

“Nah, he’s grown a few inches.” Tendou says, sitting back down on the couch. Ushijima follows.

“Only two.” He counters.

“That’s a lot of inches for someone older than 18.” You say, taking the loveseat adjacent to them.

The three of you spend the day together and you learn a lot about both of them and the nature of their friendship. Ushijima is funnier than you expected. He’s got a dry sense of humor, the kind that makes you stop and pause before bursting out into a fit of giggles that makes your stomach hurt. Though notably, Ushijima lacks the Cheshire Cat ears. Still, the both of them manage to make you nervous, especially when they unexpectedly switch to Japanese and you have to pretend not to understand.

You and Tendou enjoy a beer or two while Ushijima doesn’t partake, stating that he’d prefer water or tea because he’s in season. Tendou obliges and Ushijima makes his way around Tendou’s kitchen. It seems that he knows it well and you imagine fondly the amount of time they’ve spent here together. You find it endearing that they’ve remained friends for so long and you briefly wonder how they managed to stay as close as they are. You’ve barely spoken to your friends from high school. They only occasionally comment on posts you put on your social media and even then, it is distant.

Still, Tendou and Ushijima are like two peas in a pod. Their energy shifts in tandem, the comfort of their long friendship bleeding into every small action and each word they speak.

When they switch to Japanese, you busy yourself with sipping your beer, looking at the odd coaster that sits on the coffee table. It has a picture of a cute cartoon animal on it. Then, Tendou turns to you in your spaced out state and asks you something in Japanese.

“Do you like beer, _____?”

“Huh?” You snap yourself out of it, shrugging your shoulders. “Oh, yeah, especially with meals.”

You don’t realize what you’ve given away until it’s too late, face flushing with heat as Tendou smirks at you. He’s smiling at you like he’s looking over thick-rimmed glasses again, the corners of his lips pulled up into a wry grin that has your stomach doing backflips. It pulls at the base of your gut as if you are being stretched, and heat pools at the tops of your cheeks and behind your eyes. However, it’s not the reaction you expected from him. Instead, he looks at you like you’ve confirmed his suspicions and leans back on the couch, sipping his drink with a slow nod. He smiles around the spout of the bottle, drinking lighty from it before speaking.

“Good to know.”

You navigate through the rest of Ushijima’s visit awkwardly. You tiptoe, avoiding Tendou’s gaze and keeping yourself well reigned in. He occasionally smiles at you, the familiar mischievous smirk that send butterflies from your stomach to your throat until you are afraid that they will fly out when you open your mouth. Ushijima seems to feel the tension because much to your dismay, he leaves first.

Ushijima rises from the couch, stating that he needs to get going now that it’s past eight. You watch, half of you pleading for him to stay and the other half considering getting up and running out with him. You think that if you run fast enough, you’ll be able to make it to the street corner before Tendou catches you. But Tendou’s presence alone keeps you seated on the couch as you say goodbye, having moved at one point to the last empty seat on it. Tendou walks his friend out and they have a conversation in Japanese that you can’t hear properly before you distinctly hear Ushijima tell him to keep him updated.

When Tendou returns to the living room, he sits down beside you and smiles. “How long have you been learning?” He asks in Japanese and you know why he’s doing it.

“A while. Since a month after meeting you and Atsuko.” You respond in choppy Japanese. The syllables are heavy on your tongue and you can hear your poor accent. Tendou doesn’t laugh, instead he nods, smiling slightly.

“That’s pretty nice of you.” He says in English, switching fluidly and smiling over the apples of his cheeks.

“I’m a nice person.” You respond. Does he know that you know? Has he figured out that you could understand him the first time he confessed to you and all of the times after that? You think he must.

You can feel the tension, the lingering knowledge of the one thing left unclarified. You know its your job to clarify it, you can feel it in the way he leans forward and waits expectantly. He knows, but he wants you to say it, to confirm what he thinks.

Instead, you are pulled to him like a magnet, steeling your nerves as you slide your hand over his. Tendou’s fingers twitch at the first contact, like your skin is searing him, but he draws closer all the same.

“Do you understand it well?” He asks, his breath shaking as you move your body closer to him.

“Yeah.” You breathe out. His hand draws a line up your arm, ghosting over your skin and sending shivers through your body. You can feel your heart hammer against your ribcage and that beast on your shoulder is roaring now, screaming your affection. You think for a moment that he’s been able to hear what it says this whole time and you wonder if he’s got one to match.

“For how long?” His face is a mere inch from yours now and his breath fans out across your face.

You suck in a sharp breath and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling your body into his lap. Tendou leans back and moves his hands to your hips like it’s second nature. You can feel his waist against your knees and the press of his thighs against the back of yours.

“Long enough.”

“Yeah?” He exhales.

“Mhm.”

“I’m flattered.” Tendou says it breathlessly, like he’s truly touched by your desire to learn to speak with him in the language he grew up speaking in. He’s made space and accommodated those around him in his refuge, in the chocolate shop where he’s created something of a safe haven for people like him, but he speaks like you are the first to do the same for him. You can feel it in his fingertips and the way they squeeze lightly at your hips.

Then, he puts his lips to yours and it burns like fire. It’s gentle at first, just the press of his mouth against yours before he parts his lips to deepen it. You feel yourself sink, that tentativeness melting away as you inhale and let your lips mold against his. His hands come up to wrap around your back and you feel as he swipes his tongue at your bottom lip.

The only sound in the room is the clicking of your mouths and the roar of blood in your ears. You both grow more desperate the further you fall into it and you’re certain now that the object of your attraction is not smooth nor coarse, but scalding hot because it burns the shell of your ear when it speaks into it, when it tells you to tell him that you know.

“I understood it.” You speak against his mouth, obliging the little monster that now lives in you. “The first time.”

Tendou nods into you, lips still connected with yours. “I know.”

And the looks make sense, the way he studied you when you greeted Kageyama, the sly grin over the apples of his cheeks and the suspicious glances he gave you that night before he told you how he felt in a language you assumed he thought to be foreign to you. It is all so unbearably sexy that you find your breath stolen from you. It burns across your mind, leaving you scorched and stupid. Tendou had you figured out from the beginning, he has you figured out now, smiling into the way you deepen the kiss with a low whine.

Your need is on the table and his follows. He grows stiff under you, pressing into the side of your thigh as you kiss him, as your tongues tangle. You feel the way his desire bleeds out into the way he holds you, how his fingers crawl and press up your spine just to feel the way you shiver. They push along the line of it, finding that dip that runs along the center of your back and following it up until his hand grasps the back of your neck firmly.

“Thought you might have been keeping a secret.” He mumbles, using his other hand the guide your hips across his lap. “You’re a bad liar.”

You don’t have a response, instead tilting your head down to take more control. He lets you, groaning into your mouth as you move your hips across him. Tendou laughs lightly at you, his eyes slightly open to watch how your brows furrow in concentration.

He holds the back of your neck with a firm grip before drawing his hand from your hip to the seam of your pants. He cups your cunt over the fabric and pushes against the seam. You gasp and he lets out a low laugh when your lips still, distracted by the long needed touch. Tendou’s fingers tease over the fabric, breath low and labored to match yours. You pull away from his lips, tilting your head down to watch the way his knuckles brush against your crotch, taking your bottom lip between your teeth.

“You wanna take these off?” He asks, dragging his eyes back up to you slowly.

“Yeah…” You nod, standing up and slipping them down your hips. Tendou watches with hungry eyes, still lazy looking but full of desire. You realize that he’s been looking at you like this for quite some time. You feel heat burn at your cheeks before he beckons you back, reaching out and placing his hands on the bare skin of your hips.

Tendou keeps you standing, running his thumbs in circles over the fabric of your panties on either side of your hips. You feel him drinking in the way your skin looks, the way the cloth of your underwear pastes itself to your sticky cunt and he licks his lips, leaning forward until his face is an inch from it.

“Can I?” He smirks up at you and you finally get to run your hands over the top of his head, nodding your approval.

Tendou presses his face to your crotch and you feel his tongue snake out to press on your clit over the fabric. You gasp at the feeling of it, the way heat and warmth spreads through your folds as he mouths at you over your panties. It’s dirty and makes you feel embarrassed, but it’s quickly forgotten as he teases, working up your need for him with a skilled mouth.

He dampens the fabric further with his lips and tongue, pulling at it with his teeth before burying his face back into you. The layer between the heat of his mouth and your pussy has you keening. You press him closer by the back of his head as if it would remove your underwear with your need alone.

Tendou leans away from you, licking his lips and smiling. “You’re so pretty.”

Heat floods your face and you feel yourself grow impossibly wetter. Tendou hooks his fingers around the seam of your panties, pulling them outward and down your thighs. The fabric slides down, raising goosebumps on the surface of your skin. He sucks in a sharp breath when they finally fall, hungry eyes consuming what lies between your legs and when you step out of them, he pockets the fabric. You don’t say anything about it, biting your bottom lip as he leans back and discards his shirt to the side.

Tendou is built with lean muscle. It runs in slight lines across his body. He’s as lanky as you thought he would be, but more defined as well because you can see the outline of his abdomen when he breathes. It pushes against the skin while still maintaining a soft look. When he puts his hands on your bare hips and guides you back to his lap, you feel the way there is a give, his stomach soft to the touch. It makes you moan, running your hands from his tummy to his shoulders where you squeeze them.

He toys with the hem of your shirt next before you raise your arms to let him pull it off of you. You lean forward, pressing your skin against his and taking his lips in yours once again. Tendou deepens it immediately. He goes in open-mouthed and greedy, slowly devouring you whole like you are the sweets he loves so dearly.

You feel his fingers toy with the hook on your bra. It takes him a moment, but when you feel the pressure release, you lean back and shrug it off of your shoulders. Tendou gapes at the flesh thats been revealed to him, wrapping a hand around one and immediately taking a nipple into his mouth. You arch your back forward, gasping at his grip on it, the way your flesh dips to the curve of his fingers.

Simultaneously, he drags a finger down your stomach until it rests at the crest of your sex. You move your hips forward and he looks up at you from where he is latched to your nipple. His lips curl up in a wry smile, tongue flicking out to tweak it before he slowly draws a circle around your clit.

Your body curves to meet him. It shifts and molds until it fits against his, until your chest is pressed against his mouth in a way that makes him groan and close his eyes. Tendou sucks at your chest, his fingers squeezing at the skin around where his lips close on your nipple.

He moves his fingers back and forth across your slit, rubbing circles into your bare cunt until you reach down between you to unbutton his black jeans. Tendou grabs your wrist, leaning his cheek on your chest and clicking his tongue. His lips curl up in a little smile, small and affectionate and needy as he moves your hand up to your chest and closes your fingers around your neglected breast.

“Let’s take care of you first. We’ll get there.” He chides, his voice taking on a pleasant lilt that is delightfully characteristic of him.

You nod your response, rolling your breast in your fingers and pinching the nipple between your pointer and middle finger. Tendou’s fingers slip down and tease at the entrance to your cunt, sliding across the skin as he collects wetness on his fingers. Then, he smiles at you and places a kiss to the skin above your breast before slowly sliding a finger into you.

It’s long and he curls it forward experimentally before he finds that spongy spot inside of you. He gives you a wry grin when you gasp, looking up at you from where you’re perched in his lap.

“There it is…” Tendou momentarily pulls his finger out before adding another, his voice barely above a whisper.

He curls them forward with more intent this time, moving his fingers with the way your body twitches and shifts. His hand leaves your breast to hold your hips, moving from the side of them to your back where the heat of his palm bleeds into your skin. Tendou gasps when you do as he builds up a more purposeful pace. He mimics the sounds you make in a way that makes you feel comfortable. Not as if he’s mocking, but rather, as if his enamoration with you let’s him feel what you do. It’s like, in pleasuring you, Tendou feels pleasure himself because each time he presses his fingers into your g-spot, you feel his cock stir in his pants.

You are being picked apart slowly but surely. With each curl of his fingers, Tendou unlocks a deeper part of you, he stirs your stomach up more and weakens your muscles until you are gasping on his shoulder. He experiments with what you like, sometimes pressing and other times massaging until he finds the perfect medium that has you sighing deeply into the shell of his ear.

Your greed takes over and you reach down to unzip his pants. Tendou’s hand comes up to cup the back of your head as you palm over him. He turns his head so that his lips rest against your ear, mumbling. “Don’t wanna do this here. Let’s go to the bedroom, ‘kay?”

You pull away breathless, nodding and giving a small okay before he leans forward and kisses you. It’s chaste but needy, as if he were pressing pause without losing the tension. Tendou places his hands on your hips and moves you until you’re standing, supporting you until you gain your strength back in your legs. Then, he stands, pants still unbuttoned to make space for the bulge of his cock.

Tendou smiles at you, looking over your figure before he takes your hand and guides you through the hallway and into the door on the right that leads to his bedroom. You feel exposed standing stark naked in his room, but take a moment regardless to admire the trinkets. He pulls you to him with both hands at the foot of the bed, wrapping his arms around your waist and clasping them behind your back. Tendou leans forward to kiss you, slowly at first, working you back up until you’re pressing your body against his again.

He backs you up slowly until the back of your legs hits the mattress and then crouches as you sit before standing to his full height again. You slide yourself back against the soft fabric of his comforter until you are entirely on the bed, sitting up on your elbows as he looks at you.

“God, you are just…” He rakes his sleepy eyes over you, “something else.”

He lays down on his stomach on the bed until his face is right in front of your bare cunt. “Spread your legs.”

Tendou runs his hand up the inside of your leg and you oblige, bending your knees and parting them for him. He smirks up at you before diving in, lickin a long stripe from the bottom of your cunt to the top. He tastes and then he devours, sucking on your clit before moving his mouth down and pushing his tongue past the ring of your cunt.

His nose nudges against your clit and he moves his head side to side in order to give you much needed friction. Tendou buries his face between your legs, obscene slurping sounds growing louder as he works his tongue over you. You toss your head back against the pillows with a gasp, feeling the way Tendou smiles against you.

He stays there laid out on the bed between your legs for a while. Tendou works you up and then lets you fall back down before doing it all of again. He teases and then gives you what you want, working his tongue around the folds of your cunt in the same experimental way he did with his fingers. It makes you needy and desperate, brows creased when he steals the build up to yet another orgasm from you with a low laugh.

His hands rub up and down your thighs in admiration, feeling the skin there and burning across you until you can feel nothing but him. Even the bedspread below you is lost, replaced only by the caress of his greedy fingers until you are nearing your high.

It builds sharp and in your gut, concentrated at in the nerves at your clit and humming through your thighs. You warn him through baited breath that you’re close, voice soft and pillowy. He smiles into you again, looking at you through his lashes before he chuckles and closes his eyes. “Go ahead.”

You crest and then crash in one heaving breath, back arching up off the bed as Tendou chases you with his mouth. He latches onto your clit through your orgasm, flicking his tongue lightly as to not yet overstimulate you and then he comes up with a sigh, pulling his head back and sitting up on his elbows. His hands still rest on your thighs and he hums happily when you run your hands over his buzzcut, fingers scratching at his head.

Tendou stands from the bed and discards his pants, somehow managing to make such a mundane moment still seep with appeal. He watches you the whole time. You can almost see the way he eyes draw a line from your dripping cunt, to your heaving chest, and finally to your eyes. You watch as he palms himself through his boxers for a moment before grinning at you and pulling them down as well. Tendou steps out of them and walks back to the edge of the bed, you feel his knees hit it before he leans forward and crawls over you.

Your mouth waters at the view, at the slow and predatory way he crawls up your body before his head is above yours. He hovers there a moment and then leans down to kiss you, snaking his tongue into your mouth and pressing it against yours. You moan, and between you both, his cock jumps.

You reach down between the two of you and take him in your hand, feeling what you’ve been so curious about these past few months. He’s long to match the rest of his body and not so wide that you’re intimidated. Tendou’s cock curves to the side, you feel it when you pump your fist up his length and follow the path of it. Above you, he screws his eyes shut and let’s his head fall forward to glance down between you.

He moves his hips so that the head of his cock is nudging your clit, holding his weight up with both arms on either side of you and expecting you to guide him where he needs to go.

When he presses the head of his cock against the entrance to your cunt, you gasp, letting go of his dick and bracing your hands on his shoulders. Tendou smiles down at you in that mischievous way that is characteristic of him, like he knows something you don’t. It makes you nervous and needy, arching your back up to take in even a fraction more. Then, he bottoms out slowly, pushing into you with a low groan that tapers into a whine.

“You’re so warm.” He says it with an airy tone, something between teasing and disbelief and you screw your eyes shut in embarrassment.

Tendou pulls his hips back slightly, starting slow and fucking his hips into you with careful precision, like he’s trying to memorize the feel of your sticky cunt before he’s ruined it. It’s so slow that you can hear the way his cock slides through your wetness, cheeks burning.

His movements are laguid and measured, careful to hit the deepest parts of you and when you feel his hips flush against yours, pressure builds in your throat. But you know you need more. Your body is aching for it, cunt pulsing around the steady and short fucks of his cock. When you choke out a moan, low and shaking, he peers down at you with that same wry smile.

“You like it?” He asks. It’s such a familiar question, the same one he asked you about the treats he brings to the shop but it bleeds with something ulterior. It drips from his lips like sugar and forces its way into your mouth, eliciting a needy yes that comes out as more of a whine than a comment. “You want some more?”

He teases, still fucking his hips at that maddeningly slow pace. You dig your nails into his shoulders, looking at him with bleary eyes. “God, yes. I want more. I like it so much.”

Tendou clicks his tongue, rolling his head back on his shoulders. You feel something shift, the tender romanticism that was present before turns into something else and the air grows thick like syrup before it leaves your lungs entirely. He peers down at you and smiles in a sickeningly affectionate way, one that bleeds admiration before he pecks your lips once and sighs out a needy okay.

Then, he shifts his weight and drags a hand to the underside of your thigh, hoisting it up and pressing it to your chest. He buries himself deeper before pulling nearly all the way out and pushing back in sharply. You feel it in your stomach, that deep pressure as he gives you more of what you’ve been craving. You cry out, eyes screwing shut as you choke back a mix of relief and desire.

Tendou raises his eyebrows at you in mock shock, teasing once again. “Oh, yeah?” He does it again, harder this time.

“Yeah,” you grab at his back, begging for more, “yeah.”

And finally, Tendou starts fucking you like he means it. He pulls his hips back and snaps them into you with deep groans, rubbing against the gummy spot inside of you. It sends you reeling, pulling at the skin on his shoulder blades with need. It twists your stomach into knots and has your eyes fluttering shut at the feeling, just trying to take it as best you can. Tendou is overwhelming and everywhere, he presses your knee to your chest and groans deeply when you clench around him.

You lean forward, mouthing against his shoulder before he laughs. “You need something to suck on?” Tendou coos, like the same way he’d say coucou, and then he smiles. “Try this.”

Then, his puts his mouth to yours and sticks his tongue out. You suck on it, whining as he fucks his hips into you. Your teeth graze the smooth muscle every now and then and he closes his eyes and furrows his brows when you do, groaning deeply as you work your lips around the slick muscle.

Tendou kisses you with an open mouth, hot and needy. It’s like he tries to suck the air from your body, hips still moving at that hard and steady pace that sends you a little further up the bedspread. Each pump has him hitting the deepest part of you and you feel the heat building and spreading through your body.

It clouds your mind as he suffocates you with the press of him against you and his lips on yours. When he pulls away, you chase him with your mouth, gasping at the heat that gathers in your face as well.

“Shhh, I’m gonna get you there. Don’t worry.” Tendou’s voice drips with honey. It spills liquid chocolate and coats you over until you are candied.

He wraps your leg around his waist and then reaches up to slide a finger across your tongue. Tendou presses down on your mouth in fascination, watching the way drool pools in the dip his finger creates. Then, he leans forward and kisses you, taking the spit from your mouth with a deep groan.

“Fuck…” He breathes and then, he sticks his tongue out and lets it fall back into your mouth. You take it back with a needy moan, eyes fluttering shut.

Tendou slides two of his fingers back across your tongue, his hips beginning to stutter as he watches the way you suck them. He experiments here too, seeing how far back he can push them before you gag, gauging if you like it and then he decides that you do.

“You get so tight when I do this.” That sick sound comes from the back of your throat again, the one he likes, and then tears collect at your waterline. “Like having something in your pretty mouth?”

You nod around his fingers and he smiles down at you. “You’re so sweet.” The words send butterflies crawling up your spine and you arch towards him.

Tendou bleeds affection. His hands smear it on your body and his lips whisper words of adoration that are a stark contrast to the way he’s fucking you. You wrap both of your legs around him, sucking on his fingers as he tells you about how good you feel.

“Seems like you’re gonna come again.” He chides, letting his head dangle as his fingers pry open your jaw. He shakes it slightly. “You’re clamping up on me. You wanna?”

You moan your response, words incoherent around his fingers. “Please. I wanna come.”

“Yeah? Look at you. You’re so polite.” He buries himself deep in you. “So well behaved when you’re like this. Where’s your attitude?”

You choke out a sob, trying to hold off on coming undone around him. Your thighs squeeze at his waist in a silent plea and he grins at you and pulls his fingers from your mouth. “Okay, come. I wanna feel it.”

Tendou closes his lips around yours, swallowing your moans as you hit your high. It rolls through you, deeper than the first and bubbling over at the base of your stomach. It sets your blood ablaze and you feel the way you lose yourself for a moment, unable to kiss him back and instead whimpering into his mouth.

“There you go… There it is…” Tendou pulls back, talking you through it. He’s elated, you can hear it in his voice, the strain from both joy and pleasure. “Just like that, pretty. That’s how I like to see you.”

He stills his hips, kissing you once and mumbling against your lips. “You’re so pretty when you come.” You can only nod through bleary eyes, chest heaving. “Come here.”

Tendou unwinds your legs from his hips and flips you over so that you’re on top, straddling him.

“I’m gonna come soon, okay? Want you to stay just like t-that when I do.” Tendou’s communicative, holding your hips and fucking himself up into you.

You’re overstimulated and sensitive, nodding and wrapping your fingers around his on your waist. Tendou gasps, screwing his eyes shut as he focuses on chasing his high. You see it build in him like it’s too much, those low groans giving way to needy whimpers. His fingers dig into your hips and you feel him twitch in succession before he babbles.

“Where do you want it?” His teeth are gritted.

“Inside.” You breathe out. “I want it inside.”

Tendou’s eyes widen and he whines, tossing his head back against the pillow. “You’re on the pill?” You nod desperately and he bites down hard on his bottom lip. “Fuck, okay… Shit.”

His hips stutter up and then he holds you down hard on his cock as he spills into you. Tendou seems to lose his mind, first trying to watch as he fills you up before letting his head fall back and whining. You moan with him, twitching and squirming at the fill and press of his cock.

Tendou’s fingers relax on your hips one by one. You put your hands on his chest, bracing yourself and feel as his body untenses in the wake of his orgasm.

You breathe there for a moment and collect yourself, the both of you slowly coming back to your minds. When you open your eyes, you find that Tendou is already looking at you. His lips curl up in that wry grin, teasing and you laugh and hang your head down slightly. The beast on your shoulder is silent and satiated but ever present. You feel it when he reaches his hands up to your shoulders and pulls you to lay down on top of him.

“We’ll clean up in a bit. I just want to sit here right now.” Tendou exhales. You nod against his chest.

“Hey,” You start to ask a question.

“Hi.” He responds and you roll your eyes, resting your chin on his chest.

“How long have you known that I was studying Japanese?”

“Hm.” Tendou pauses, thinking for a moment. “Well, it wasn’t like I knew. I just suspected. But probably since I met up with you at Ushijima’s game.”

“That long ago?” You sit up higher and Tendou smiles at you. It curls at the corner of his lips, eyes forming joyful curves above the slope of his cheek. “God, that’s embarrassing.”

Tendou shakes his head. “Not really. I thought it was kind of nice. I don’t think anyone has done that for me before.”

“Really?” You ask, craning your head to the side.

“Yeah.” He exhales. “In high school people found me a bit odd and then when I moved to France I spent so much time trying to make a place where people could be comfortable that I kind of forgot to check if they thought about mine.”

Tendou isn’t saying this as if he’s sad, but rather, as if it’s a fond memory. He speaks as if the work he put into making his chocolate shop a refuge is a point of pride. It should be. Somehow, Tendou has managed to create a space that is a lot like him. You hum.

“I call you weird a lot. I’m sorry.” You breathe out, resting your cheek on his chest.

Tendou laughs, wrapping an arm around your back. “Don’t be. Besides, I think I did pretty well for myself when it comes to you.”

He looks down at you with a mischievous grin, licking his lips a little.

“You’re awful.” You laugh and turn your head away from him.

You feel Tendou’s chest shake with a laugh before he turns your head back towards him with his hand and kisses you. This one is slow and gentle, indicating his intentions behind this encounter. You will have to talk about it later. You know that at some point, you and Tendou will have to discuss where to go from here. But for now you let him sit you up from the bed and guide you to the bathroom where you’ll shower together and just talk.

You run your fingers along the ridges of his body, feeling the weight behind them and watching him sway like he is made of cards. As the water runs over you both, Tendou tells you about his collection, about the people who have come and gone from his shop. He tells you about the figurines that he’s collected in his mind and the ones that he’s excited to collect in the future.

And when he leans down to kiss you, slow and wet and through a cheeky smile, you think that he tastes sweeter than you expected.

—

The bell chimes when you walk into his shop. It dings pleasantly and in a familiar way, ringing through your ears. Tendou is standing by the register beside a new face. They look nervous, watching him with furrowed brows as he explains the register to them. A new hire.

“There they are!” Tendou bounces around the counter and up to you. “This,” he motions to you with two hands, “is your coworker. They can help you with stuff around here too.”

Your new coworker is from Britain. They have curly brown hair and introduce themselves as David. You smile, following suit before walking to the back of the store and clocking in. You hear Tendou instruct the new hire to practice ringing up an assortment of chocolates before the familiar click of his shoes against the soft wood floors. He comes up behind you, smiling when you turn around.

“Hi.” His words bleed affection and he leans forward to peck your lips.

You smile at him, cheeks heating. “Hi.”

“You look pretty today.”

“You say that every day.” You roll your eyes. “Thank you.”

Tendou hums that familiar delightful sound from the back of his throat before turning on his heel. Then, he swivels around one more time and places one last chaste kiss to your lips before walking back to David, calling out to him. “You done?”

It’s been a month since you started officially dating Tendou. One month since you slept with him and decided the next day that you’d date him. In that time, Tendou has hired David and he is nervous like you were.

You walk over to where they stand behind the register, leaning against the counter while wearing Tendou’s wry grin. Now, you fit into the scenery here. You’re well situated amongst the honeywood floors and the music on the speakers playing foreign songs. Regulars know you by name and you’re certain that, when your new coworker looks at you, he sees matching Cheshire Cat ears to accompany your mischievous smile.

It’s just Tendou and you once David clocks out. And when it’s your turn, you clock out then sit beside Tendou and watch as he tries a new recipe.

“What’s that flavor?” You ask, peering over his shoulder as he pops one into his mouth.

“Cinnamon ganache. Wanna try?” He grins at you and you nod.

Tendou leans forward and kisses you. He tastes like chocolate, a warm mix of spices. It’s a good flavor, slightly sweet and slightly bitter. You can’t help but laugh at the sudden way he puts his lips on yours, licking them once he pulls away.

“It’s good but I want a whole one.” Tendou smiles at you before handing you one.

Tendou’s chocolate shop is sleepy to match the sleepy look of its owner. It hums with calming energy, with the cultures of the people who come through the doors. Here, an amalgamation of languages reigns supreme. You speak all three and you find that you fit here beside him.

You watch as Tendou pipes fillings into molds, occasionally glancing to the side to peer at you through his lashes and you fill in the gaps in your story to come. Those who work here might not be permanent. Some stay and some go. You are certain that you will be the former.

You think to yourself that you will marry Tendou and the little beast on your shoulder, the thing that was once the object of your attraction—a niche object like the ones you pick up at garage sales—hums its satisfaction. You will stay and speak three languages with him, come to love this city the way you love this shop, the way you love Tendou.

And you remind yourself each morning when the bell chimes as you walk in, that you will be a refuge to Tendou the way Tendou’s shop is a refuge to you.

Tendou likes collecting freaks. Of the scores of figurines and people on his shelves, amongst the chocolates and the recipes and the secrets to playing a good game of volleyball, you are his favorite. Dusted and at the forefront of his mind, seated beside him in the spot by the window in the little chocolate shop at Saint Germaine-des-Pres.

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