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karahalloway · 2 years

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(Less Than) Noble Intentions: Chapter 12 - Ennobled

Fandom: TRR

Pairing: Drake Walker x F!OC (Harper Gale)

Series Summary: The social season may be over, but Harper Gale's problems are just beginning. With everyone at court a potential suspect, can she and Drake survive the engagement tour and get to the bottom of the plot against her and clear her name? An AU take of TRR2 featuring my OTP - Harper & Drake.

Masterlist: (Less Than) Noble Intentions

Chapter Summary: Harper and Drake have a rude awakening… and Christian unveails an unexpected surprise.

Word Count: 6,400

Rating/Warnings: M (swearing, some smuttiness, angst, aggravation)

A/N1: So... I know people were hoping for Part III of Extraction, but a few weeks ago, I got hit with the scene that starts off this chapter, so I ended up writing out the whole thing (and starting on the following chapter as well, because that follows directly after the events of this chapter). Hopefully this doesn’t cause any major disappointments! 🙃 My plan is to get back to Extraction and/or Sleepless in New York after I post Chapter 13... She said... hoping that the fickle muse will be cooperative🤞

A/N2: Big thank you to @angelasscribbles for pulling me out of a massive tagent / rabbit hole that I accidentally threw myself down half-through this chapter, and for brainstorming the second half of the chapter with me! Also, big shoutout to hubby (who is worming himself into my writing process more and more as time goes on - the sneaky rascal! 🤣) for helping me out with a bunch of details for this chapter!

A/N3: Finally, special shoutout to @thegreentwin for insipring the bonus content at the end of the chapter. If you have not read The Rebel Prince, please do so! It is cute, funny, insightful and the gossip magazine covers that accompany several of the chapters are something else!

Chapter 12 - Ennobled

Bzzt... bzzt...

The loud buzzing rattles me from sleep. Scrunching my eyes together, I snuggle deeper into Drake's chest, hoping that if I ignore the ominous sound, it will just disappear.

Bzzt... bzzt...

But... no such luck.

"Sorry, baby..." mutters Drake into my hair. "Need to check who that is."

"Can't it wait...?" I groan, tightening my hold on his hand.

After gluing Drake's arm back together, putting our blood-splattered clothes in the sink to soak, and having a long, hot shower to wash away the stresses of the day, we hadn't ended up falling into bed until close to midnight. And I even though I had slept quite well — thanks to Drake's comforting presence by my side — I’m not ready to wake up just yet because I know that if I do, then this brief, peaceful interlude is going to be over.

"Probably not, by the sounds of it," he admits as his phone buzzes adamantly again.

"But it's still dark..." I protest.

"I know. But it could be important..." he murmurs, laying a soft kiss on my shoulder as he draws his free hand up my body.

His fingers coasting over the exposed skin of my stomach causes my body to arch back against him. "More important... than what you've obviously got in mind?" I ask as my backside brushes against the tell-tale bulge of his morning wood.

Bzzt... bzzt... bzzt...

"Evidently..." he sighs, dropping his head against the crook of my neck in defeat.

Untangling himself from me, he rolls over with a grunt of disapproval to check his phone.

I flop face-first into the pillow. "Will we ever be able to just wake up at a normal time like normal people...?" I grumble against the silk-clad goose-down.

It’s bad enough that I can literally count on one hand the number of times Drake and I have been able to fall asleep in the same bed since we've become semi-official. But even when we have managed to carve out some much-needed couple time, we aren’t even allowed two minutes to enjoy waking up together because one or both of us is always needed for some urgent thing at stupid-o'clock in the morning.

"Probably not while the tour's underway," he admits, falling back into his space next to me. "And definitely not while the Beaumonts run your schedule..."

"Is that who it was?" I ask, twisting around to settle my head against his shoulder with a frown. My bleary eyes widen as they land on the time at the top of the screen. "Are they being serious right now!"

"You know they don't sleep," he reminds me, scrolling through his texts.

"But it's not even 5am!" I protest. "What the hell could they want at this time?"

"You, apparently," he observes, tilting the screen so I could read the messages.

"Wow..." I breathe. "Our room switch caused quite the Beaumont meltdown, huh?"

"Seems so..." he agrees, locking his phone and dropping it back onto the bedside table. "But at least we know it's a solid countermeasure."

"Yes, and no..." I grumble. "They still woke us up, didn't they?"

"True..." he concedes, turning to face me with that impenetrable look of his. "But they're not in here with us."

"Don't count your blessings yet, bud," I warn as he snakes his arm around my waist. "They could get desperate and start searching all the rooms in the manor."

"That's why I locked the door," he states, pulling me on top of him. "So, unless they've got a battering ram, they ain't gettin' in."

"Mmm..." I purr, luxuriating in the feel of his solid warmth beneath me. "I love the way you think. But shouldn't we put them out of their misery?"

"They've survived this long," he declares roughly, splaying a possessive hand on my ass. "They can wait five more minutes."

"You sure?" I gasp as he pushes me down against his now very indisputable arousal. "It sounds like Bertrand is about to have a coronary."

"Max likes to over-exaggerate..." he murmurs, threading his other hand into my hair to draw me closer. "Plus, my alarm hasn't gone off yet, so..."

Beep...beep...beep...beep...

His head drops back against the pillow. "...motherfucker."

"You were sayin'...?" I ask sweetly, reaching over to turn the blaring off.

"Can't catch a fuckin' break..." he grits, digging his fingers into the softness of my backside, as if this will help alleviate his aggravation.

"Says the person who had to be convinced to stay last night..." I remind him, bopping him on the nose.

"Because I knew how goddamn hard it was gonna be to leave in the morning," he growls, flicking his tongue over the underside of my finger hungrily as I trail it past his mouth. "Especially since we never finished what we started back at Maddi’s."

"I thought we did finish..." I tease, rocking my pelvis against him. "Very loudly."

He swallows a groan as I feel his length nudge me through his boxers. "And was it enough?"

I flick my eyes up to his coyly as I continue to trail my finger down his chest. "Wasn't it?"

"Like hell."

In the next instant I find myself pinned beneath him, a leg hooked over his arm and his mouth claiming mine as he drives purposefully into me.

"Drake..." I moan against his lips, feeling him grind against the damp lace of my underwear, teasing me with the promise of fulfilment.

"Fuck, Harper," he growls, nipping my bottom lip. "You have no idea... how much I want you... how much I always want you."

"You have me," I assure him, wrapping my other leg around him, wanting to feel all of him with all of me. "And I'm not going anywhere."

"Having you... doesn't make me want you... any less," he huffs, meeting my eyes with his molten espresso gaze as he continues to move against me. "If anything... it makes me want you more. Christ, I want you... And it's never enough."

He’s right. Our much-too-brief reunion two nights ago hadn’t been nearly enough to make up for the time we'd had to spend apart. And the undeniable urgency of his need sparks my own desire alight faster than dropping a match into a propane tank.

"So, have me," I urge breathlessly, sliding my hands down his back to grip his ass, as he did with me.

He rams into me once more with a guttural sound before pulling back, breathing hard. "Don't tempt me, girl. I'm barely holding it together as it is. If we start, I'm not gonna be able to stop."

"Then don't," I prompt, coasting a hand around his waist to slip it beneath the waistband of his boxers.

A low groan rattles in his throat as he grits his teeth, fighting for control. "Trust me. If it were up to me, we wouldn't. Not until I've fucked you six ways to Sunday on every available surface in this room. And then some..."

His eyes meet mine with a darkly feral look that instantly drenches whatever part of my panties remained dry... before he drops his gaze ruefully.

"...but we can't. The Beaumonts are already going ape looking for you, and the rest of the court's about to descend on us. And we both know that you ain't exactly quiet when we get going..."

"You complainin'?" I ask cheekily, wrapping my fingers around the protrusion straining the front of his boxers.

"Never," he grins, bucking into my palm. Turning serious, he adds, "But you screaming the manor down isn't conducive to our plan to get your name cleared. So, we gotta wait."

"Can I convince you to stay five more minutes...?" I counter sweetly, giving him a meaningful squeeze. "Seeing as we're now both very much up?"

"And who's fault is that?" he smirks, diving down to scrape his teeth over my t-shirt clad breast.

"The Beaumonts'," I gasp with a jolt as he catches my nipple with his teeth.

He scoffs dryly, moving lower. "The only thing those two'll get pointing up in their direction is my middle finger."

My giggle scuttles into a moan as he skims his lips and tongue over the sensitive skin just below the hem of my t-shirt. "So, does that mean you'll stay?"

He pauses above the lace of my panties, the basic instincts of his physical desire clearly at war with the cold, hard logic of his self-imposed sense of responsibility.

"No..." he sighs begrudgingly, dropping his head. "As much as I want to, you know I can't. I need to make myself scarce before the staff start their rounds."

"Eugh... Fine..." I grump, my hands falling off him with a dejected thud. "But, you better make this up to me later, bud."

"Don't worry," he drawls, his breath fluttering over my heated skin. "I will. And by the time I'll get done with you, girl, you won't be able to see, let alone walk straight..." He rakes his tongue over my damp underwear to underscore his intent. "And that's a promise."

I reach for him with a mew, desperate for more...

...but all I grasp is air.

"Damn you, Walker..."

"Think of it as foreplay, Gale."

Opening eyes, I see that he's already on the other side of the room, rummaging around his duffle for some clean clothes.

I snort caustically. "Of course you'd call it that..."

He meets my less-than-amused glare with a brief, nonchalant smirk. "Hey. You're the one who started it."

"Me?" I gasp, snapping upright in disbelief. "You're the one who woke up horny!"

"And why d'you think that is...?"

My breath catches in my throat at the intensity of his gaze. "I—"

Bzzt... bzzt...

"You best find out what the Beaumonts want with you before they call in search and rescue," he advises, unfurling a fresh pair of jeans.

"Fine..." I grumble, shunting myself onto the other side of the bed like a land-locked seal to grab my own phone out of my bag.

Stupid Beaumonts... Stupid scandal... Stupid rules... Why can’t I just have sex with my boyfriend like a normal person...?

Lolling back onto the pillow, I unlock the screen, and nearly die of shock when I see how many missed calls and texts I've gotten.

"Jesus Christ...!"

"Everythin' okay?" queries Drake.

"I have twenty missed calls!" I exclaim. "Twenty! In the space of fifteen minutes!"

"They're nothing if not persistent..." he observes dryly, pulling on blue plaid shirt.

"That's one word for it," I mutter, hitting dial on Maxwell's number.

The line barely has a chance to connect before my sponsor's overtly excited voice assaults my eardrums. "Harper! Thank God you're okay! Wait... Are you okay? Why were you not picking up? Where are you? Bertrand and I have been going mental—"

"I'm fine..." I reply with deliberate slowness, hoping that he'll take the hint and tone the volume down...

...but, I’m going to have to keep on dreaming.

"Awesome!" enthuses Maxwell. "Bertrand will be thrilled that he can stop tearing his hair out!"

I massage my eyes, realising that I’m going to have to take control of this conversation. "Great. So, where's the fire?"

There's an audible intake of breath on the other end of the line. "Fire? What fire? Oh, my giddy aunt! Bertrand! Harper's trapped in an inferno and sh—"

I suppress a sigh. This is way too much nervous energy for this early in the morning...

"I mean," I emphasise painstakingly, "what's the massive emergency?"

There is a long pause, followed by a sheepish chuckle. "Oh. Right. Whoops! Silly me! This is why Bertrand doesn't trust me with House Beaumont stuff. He says I'm always—"

"Give me that!"

I groan wearily. Great. Now Bertrand has the phone...

"Where in the blazes are you?" the elder Beaumont snaps down the line without preamble.

"In my room," I reply, pushing myself up.

This is not a conversation I’m having lying down... Literally, or metaphorically.

"I can assure you, that you are not," he hits back. "Maxwell and I have searched every inch of your room, and unless you have managed to squeeze yourself between the floorboards — which would be a mean feat, indeed! — you are to cease this childish game of hide-and-go-seek and—!"

"No."

I swear I hear the sound of Bertrand bursting a blood vessel. "I beg your pardon?"

I set my jaw determinedly. "First of all, I am not hiding. I switched rooms because someone — whether intentionally, or not — assigned me to the same room as last time, and there was no way in hell that I was going to sleep in the bed that I nearly got raped in."

I give him a moment to let that sink in.

"Oh. I-I see..." The consternation in his voice is palpable. "Erm... Yes. Of course... How crass of me... I—"

"Second," I continue, leaning into Drake as he bends down to drop a good-bye kiss into my hair, "you better have a damned good reason for waking me up before the crack of dawn—"

"It is hardly—"

"—especially since you told me in the car yesterday that today's event doesn't start until mid-morning, and we'd agreed in Ramsford that the way-too-early-o'clock wake up calls would stop."

"Unless there are extenuating circumstances," he reminds me.

"What kind of extenuating circumstances could there possibly be at four-thirty in the morning!" I cry exasperatedly.

"The kind that requires you to be dressed and presentable at six o'clock sharp."

I frown. "Why? What's happening at six?"

"You are meeting with the Royal Press Secretary. He has request—"

Not bothering to wait for Bertrand to mansplain how early morning appointments work, I pull the phone away from my ear and put myself on mute. Glancing up at Drake, I ask, "Did you know about this?"

He turns back from the door he’d just been about to open. "Know about what?"

"That I'm supposed to be meeting with the Royal Press Secretary this morning."

His grip on the door handle tightens. "No."

"Didn't think so," I mutter under my breath as I resume the call.

"—especially since His Majesty will be in attendance, and you will—"

My eyes widen. "Christian's going to be there too? Does that mean they have a lead on Tariq?"

I flick my gaze up to Drake's questioningly.

He shakes his head. No clue.

"I was not informed of the purpose of the meeting," replies Bertrand tartly. "I was simply tasked with ensuring your attendance. Now, since time is of the essence, we need to—"

"I am perfectly capable of getting myself ready," I inform him flatly. "So, just tell me where to go, and I'll meet you there."

Bertrand sucks in a scandalised breath. "That is highly improper! A young lady of your station should be escorted to the venue by her—"

"This isn't 1785, Bertrand..." I remind him exasperatedly. "My reputation isn't going to be ruined because I was found wandering around unsupervised. At least, not any more than it already has been by Tariq and his co-conspirators."

"Granted," he concedes. "But this isn't just about your reputation. It is about your safety as well. I gave my word to His Majesty that House Beaumont will look after you, and since you have a rather irksome habit of slinking off by yourself—"

"I don't slink off...!"

"Yes. You do."

I throw my head up in surprise.

Drake is leaning against the door with his arms crossed in stoic agreement. "You're a nightmare to run security for. Almost as bad as Leo."

"No, I'm not!" I protest. "I don't deliberately try and ditch my detail!"

"No," he concedes. "You just try to knock 'em out."

I feel the heat rise up my cheeks.

"Not to mention, you ain't exactly great at gettin’ where you're supposed to be without incident, or staying put once there."

"Well, no one told me that court was going to be such a literal minefield..." I gripe.

He cocks a brow. "Does the phrase 'be careful' mean somethin' different in Montana?"

"You could've been more specific!" I cry.

"Who are you talking to?"

Oh, shit... I'd forgotten about Bertrand.

"Erm... Doesn't matter," I say dismissively. Bertrand doesn’t need to know that Drake and I spent the night together, even if we didn't do anything besides sleeping. Returning to the topic at hand, I say, "And anyway. I have Allard and Schweitzer looking out for me, so I don't—"

"Who are conspicuously missing from outside of your room," Bertrand points out. "And any other room in the wing, for that matter. Therefore, I repeat: you are to cease this childish game of hide-and-go-seek and reveal to us your whereabouts, so we can find you and make you ready for your appointment, post haste."

"Wait..." I interject, suddenly realising something. "If the meeting is at six, what's the crazy rush? And why were you trying to wake me up at 4:30am?"

"Because the meeting is in Valtoria."

"Valtoria?" I ask, struggling a bit with the unfamiliar combination of vowels and consonants on my tongue. "Where is that?"

"Approximately thirty minutes away, so if you wish to partake in breakfast prior to our departure, I suggest you get a move on. I expect to see you in the entry hall by twenty-five past at the very latest."

The call clicks off.

Lowering the phone in a bit of a daze, I glance over at Drake.

He's typing away furiously on his phone with an expression that could've rent stone.

Pushing myself to my feet, I walk over to him. "Hey," I say softly, laying a hand on his wrist. "There's no need to crack your screen. I'll be—"

"That's not the point," he grits, fingers flying over the keyboard with a vengeance.

"Then, what?"

He sends off the text with a forceful jab at the screen. "Gee, I don't know... How 'bout the fact that I — the head of your protection detail — am only finding out about this meeting less than an hour before it's supposed to happen? Through the Beaumonts, of all people? Or the fact that the venue for said meeting happens to be a château that hasn't been lived in for over a decade, and which hasn't been vetted or swept by me or my guys? And let's not even get into the fact that this meeting isn't even in Chris' official diary, let alone his private one."

"Maybe because he doesn't want Madeleine finding out about it...?" I offer.

He scoffs acerbically. "Or me."

"I'm sure he just—"

Drake's phone pings with an incoming message. He glances at it briefly. "Un-fuckin'-believable..."

"What's wrong?" I ask as he starts throttling out a pissed-off response.

"Jurisdictional bullshit..."

I frown. "What do you mean?"

"Apparently," he grits sarcastically, eyes not leaving the screen, "I didn't need to be notified of the meet because Chris' personal Guard are handling all the security arrangements. So, my involvement would've been redundant."

I raise a brow. "Are the Guard normally this territorial?"

"No," he scoffs bitterly, sending the text off. "You can't run a tight ship in terms of security if the different teams aren't in sync. They should've roped me in from the get-go."

"Maybe they just forgot...?" I suggest hopefully. "You used to be part of Christian's detail, so maybe whoever organised this just assumed you'd be passed the message?"

He shoves his phone back into his pocket with a non-committal grunt. "You better get ready. We don't want to keep His Royal Majesty waiting..." His voice drips with acrimony.

"Hey..." I say, reaching up to stroke his face. "Is there something else that's—?"

He pulls abruptly away. "I'll see you there."

Before I can say another word, he's out the door without so much as a backwards glance, duffle forgotten on the floor.

I heave a sigh.

This morning just keeps getting better and better...

"Wow..." I breathe, stepping out of the limo. "This place almost puts Riverrun to shame!"

The venue of today's impromptu meeting could've been pulled straight from a fairytale. The soft light of the rising sun colours the cream walls of the neo-gothic château’s sandstone a pale pink, making them glow with a seeming inner warmth. A long row of pear trees — heavy with fruit — line the gravel drive leading up to the romantic, fortress-like structure, behind which stretched pine-covered hills as far as the eye could see.

So idyllic is this place that I am half expecting a unicorn to come strolling out of the woods to the accompaniment of ethereal elven lute music.

"Riverrun?" queries Bertrand from the other side of the limo, snapping me out of my awed gawking. "That is not a domain that I am familiar with..."

I whirl around to face my sponsor disbelievingly. "Wait... You're a Harry Potter fan, but you haven't seen or read Game of Thrones?"

Bertrand tugs at his collar. "Wh-who is this Potter fellow that you speak of? I am afraid I do not—"

A snort of amusement escapes me. "Save the histrionics for the aristos, Bertrand. Maxwell's already let me in on the secret of your guilty little pleasure."

Bertrand's eyes widen in shock before he snaps his customary sneer back into place. "I thought we agreed to keep that information private!" he hisses, rounding in his brother.

Maxwell shrugs, totally non-pulsed by the unspoken threat of imminent punishment and/or death for his treacherous transgression. "It is private. Harper's basically family, isn't she?"

Bertrand opens, then and closes his mouth. "I... I suppose she is," he admits begrudgingly. "But I feel I should reiterate that—"

"My lips are sealed," I assure him with a wink, miming the closure of a zip over my mouth.

"Good," he grumbles. "See to it that it stays that way. We are having a bad enough time as it is as a result of this Ana de Luca piece about our finances without the nobility—"

"Ah, here you all are!" exclaims Christian with a grin, jogging down the manor's steps.

Today — in contrast to yesterday's garden party where he'd been in a suit — he is dressed quite casually in beige slacks and a pale blue button-down that he'd rolled up at the sleeves. And, for once, he looks happy and at ease — like the guy I met in New York, instead of the more serious royal that I've become accustomed to seeing since arriving in Cordonia.

"So glad you could make it!" he continues, giving each of the Beaumonts a quick shake and a familiar slap on the arm. "I know it was rather short notice, but given that the apple picking doesn't start until later in the day, I wanted to take advantage of this rare break in the itinerary to bring you out here."

"Of course, Your Highness," nods Bertrand dutifully. "The Beaumonts are always at your disposal."

"And why are we here exactly?" I ask, as Christian leans in to drop a kiss on my cheek by way of greeting. "Not that I'm complaining... This place is breathtaking and all, but wouldn't it have been easier to meet at Applewood, given that—"

"Ohmygiddyaunttheyhavepeacocks!"

Maxwell barrels past us in a blur, nearly knocking Christian over in his haste to get to the pair of indigo-coloured fowl that have wandered casually out onto the other side of the drive.

"He really does have a thing for peacocks, doesn't he?" I observe, watching Maxwell throw himself onto the ground, so he could start snapping eye-level selfies with the majestic birds.

"Quite," agrees Christian with a wry look, smoothing his hair back down. "So did the previous duchess, I believe."

Something about his tone gives me pause. But before I can formulate a response, Bertrand's already kow-towed himself in front of Christian.

"Your Highness, I am— What just happened was—" He hops stessily from foot-to-foot, evidently caught between the twin desires of wanting to apologise for Maxwell's clearly unacceptable behaviour, and marching after his brother to pummel him senseless.

"It is quite alright," Christian assures him with a gallant smile. "One cannot begrudge a man for pursuing his passion with such uncompromising enthusiasm."

"Even so, I— He should not hav—" Bertrand forces himself to draw a breath. "Please excuse me."

Turning on his heel, he rushes after his brother, hollering blue murder. "Maxwell!"

I glance up questioningly at Christian. "Should we...?"

"They'll be fine," he assures me, taking my hand to loop my arm through his. "Shall we?"

"Don't you want to wait for them?" I ask as he begins leading me towards the manor's heavy-looking wood and wrought-iron doors.

"It looks like they'll be otherwise occupied for some time," he observes dryly, as Bertrand tries to shoo the offending fowl away, much to Maxwell's dismay. "And, I must admit, I was looking for a convenient excuse to divest ourselves of their company, anyway."

"Oh?" I query. "Was there something you wanted to talk about?"

"Show you, rather," he corrects. "I was hoping to use the time to give you the grand tour. There is one room in particular that I think you'll be interested in seeing."

"Grand tour?" I query, confused. "I thought we were here to meet with the Royal Press Secretary."

"We are," he assures me. "But he is arriving a bit later."

I squint suspiciously up at him. "So, why the crazy morning rush, then?"

"Yes. We're all dying to find out the answer to that question, aren't we?"

"Jesus Christ!"

The sound of the unexpected voice nearly sends me up into the rafters.

Recollecting myself, I spin towards the source of the interruption… and spot Drake in the shadow of the doorway, leaning against the wall with an accusatory scowl on his face.

"How many times do I have to tell you not to do that!" I snipe, heart still hammering from the sudden spike of adrenaline.

"Should pay more attention to your surroundings, girl," he advises nonchalantly, keeping his eyes fixed on Christian. "Especially since we have no idea what you're walking into."

"My personal Guard have already done a full sweep of the property," Christian assures us. If he is surprised by Drake's presence — or his thinly veiled insinuation — he doesn't show it. "I can assure you that it is perfectly safe."

"For you, maybe," responds Drake, peeling himself away from the wall to stand in front of Christian with crossed arms. "But not for her."

Christian meets Drake's steely glare unflinchingly. "Why would Harper not be—?"

"Because if shit goes south, your team's priority will be to get you out. Not Gale. She'll be left high and dry."

I feel myself pale. "What?"

Christian's shaking his head. "If you're suggesting that I'd allow—"

Drake scoffs derisively. "Don't pretend you don't know how this works, Chris. Your safety trumps everything else, including — and especially — whatever noble intentions you may have. They're not gonna let you jeopardise an evac by bringing extra bodies along, nor are they gonna let you play martyr. When the life of the King is on the line, everyone else becomes expendable."

My eyes widen in sudden realisation. "That's why you got so pissed earlier..."

Drake nods. "Had I not happened to've still been in the room when Gale got the call from the Beaumonts, she'd've been rolling up here with zero security."

Christian's brows furrow. "But I gave her additional Guard for her detail."

"Who I've assigned to perimeter work. And with Allard and Schweitzer off-duty last night, not to mention Gale's habit of keeping important information to herself—"

"Hey!" I protest. "That happened one time!"

"Three times," corrects Drake. "And counting."

My jaw drops in disbelief. "You're counting?"

"Always," declares Drake without skipping a beat. "But that's not the point. Point is, this entire SNAFU could've been avoided if I'd been looped in from the start. Because the whole reason she got assigned her own detail in the first place was to avoid the same kinds of slip-ups that led to Tariq ending up alone with her at the Jamboree. But I can't coordinate her security if I don't know what the fuck is going on."

Christian's Adam's Apple bobs as he digests Drake's words. "No. You are right. And I can only apologise for—"

"I don't care who's fault it was," cuts in Drake brusquely. "Just make sure it doesn't happen again."

Christian nods. "I will. Though, that will involve notifying all the Guard commanders of your new status. And since you were previously operating under the official radar—"

"Tell whoever you need to tell," Drake responds. "Gale's safety is more important than me staying covert. I'll even put on the uniform if needed."

"I don't think that will be necessary," Christian assures him with a smile. "Especially given that you hate wearing formal jackets on the best of days..."

Drake pulls a face. "They're always too tight around the shoulders."

"Then there is no need to compromise your comfort," Christian tells him with a clap on the shoulder, instantly dissipating the previous tension. "We want you paying attention to Harper, instead of fiddling with an ill-fitting piece of apparel."

"Shame," I murmur, meeting Drake's eye coquettishly. "I think you'd look hot in uniform."

He quirks a brow at me. "Does someone have a secret role-play fantasy they want to act out?"

"Don't put words in my mouth," I quip back. "And anyway. I'm not sure it counts as role-play if you actually are a Guard..."

"Maybe not," he admits, mocha eyes boring into mine. "But it'll sure as hell make the experience that much more immersive..."

"Only one way to found out, cowboy..." I purr, feeling the heat that he'd ignited in me earlier this morning burst into flame again under the intensity of his gaze...

...which immediately gets doused by the sound of Christian's polite cough.

"Erm, I hate to interrupt—"

I snap back from Drake in mortification, my cheeks flaming. Oh, my God, I can't believe we just engaged in dirty talk in front of the King of Cordonia!

"—but time is getting on," he continues, somehow managing to maintain a stoic façade despite what he'd just overheard, "and if we are to make it back in time for the apple picking, we should proceed with the reason for our visit."

"Which you still haven't shared..." Drake points out, completely unfazed by the fact that his friend had shared in our saucy moment. If anything, he looked annoyed at having been interrupted.

I peek up at Christian expectantly, also curious to hear his answer, even though I’m still dying inside.

He meets my gaze with a knowing look. "To show Harper her duchy, of course."

My jaw drops to the floor. "My...what!"

"Your duchy," Christian reiterates calmly. "Since you — as the Royal Consort — are now a de facto member of not only the court, but of the royal household as well, it is only proper that we bestow upon you the accordant lands and titles that normally complement such a high-ranking position."

"But I'm only pretending to be the Royal Consort," I remind him dazedly, my mind still whirling from this unexpected revelation. "You don't need t—"

"Actually, I do," he insists. "Granting you a duchy helps legitimise your new status both domestically and abroad, and aids in improving your image in the eyes of the press. After the double blow to your reputation caused by the candid photos of you and Tariq, and the revelation about the Beaumonts' financial situation, an uplift to your reputation is very much needed. Especially since you will be meeting with foreign dignitaries from next week onwards."

"Tell me about it," I mutter with a roll of my eyes. "But I don't really see how this helps... Doesn't this just make it look like you're playing favourites? And make people resent me more? I mean, I did something 'bad'—" I emphasise the interpretive nature of the word with air-quotes, "—and now you're rewarding me for it."

"Or," counters an unfamiliar voice, "—and this is the way we plan to spin it — you did nothing wrong and these royal favours are simply a public demonstration of the King's continued affection for you. As well as an official snub to your naysayers."

"Jonathan!" exclaims Christian with a wide smile as he turns to face the newcomer. "You got here earlier than expected."

"On the contrary, You Highness," replies Jonathan, who — based on his smartly tailored pinstripe suit, slicked back hair, and clipped accent — I am guessing is the Royal Press Secretary. "I am already running behind. So, if you'll pardon me, I have a press conference to organise. M'lady... Sir..." With a curt nod of his head, he's already disappeared inside the manor.

I stare at the spot he just occupied in stupefaction before finally finding my voice again. "What press conference?"

"The press conference where we will officially announce you as the new Duchess of Valtoria," explains Christian, looping my hand through his arm again to lead me after Jonathan.

"But—" I look back at Drake beseechingly, seeking back-up...

...and nearly lose my footing when I see the look on his face.

Oh, no...

I thought I'd seen Drake angry before — when he'd realised what Tariq had done to me… when he'd faced off against Bastien as the Guard dragged me from the Coronation Ball… and when he'd ripped into Christian at Ramsford for sending me away in the first place.

But this... This is something else.

This is beyond simple rage, or mere indignation. This is an expression that could've frozen all nine circles of hell... And it gives me the shivers, even though I’m not the target of it.

Christian — for his part — is completely oblivious to Drake's state of being, pulling me eagerly through the doors of the manor, as if he were a kid about to step through the gates of Disneyland for the first time.

I try to disentangle myself from him, wanting to rush back to Drake, wanting to stop for a minute so I could process what the hell was happening, but the next thing I know, we're over the threshold...

...and I am literally rendered speechless by the sight in front of me.

To say that I have stepped into a dream is an understatement. Someone has spent a literal fortune renovating the inside of the manor. No trace of the original gothic-style fixtures or furnishings could be seen. Instead, gilt and marble stretches as far as the eye can see in a fresh, modern take on Louis XIV's opulent style.

"Wow," is all I can say, taking in the pièce de la résistance of the place, which is a bifurcated grand-staircase that any real or wannabe princess would kill to make an entrance on.

"Makes an impression, doesn't it?" chuckles Christian softly from next to me.

"That's... one word for it," I reply dazedly, craning my neck around, trying to take it all in.

Had someone actually lived here? This place feels like a temple or a museum, rather than someone's house... How do they keep everything so spotless?

"The former Duke and Duchess were keen patrons of art and architecture. During their life, they helped fund several important renovation projects in the kingdom. And I am told that their private art collection is one of the finest on the continent."

"They definitely had a unique style," I agree, tracing my eyes around the intricate loops and swirls of the marble inlay at the foot of the staircase.

"Yes. They certainly did."

Turning my head, I see that Christian is surveying my reactions with an intent expression.

"Do you like it?" he asks, eyes searching mine as he waits for my answer.

"It's out of this world..." I admit carefully, fully conscious of Drake's blistering presence behind me. "But—"

"Let me show you the rest of it."

Before I have a chance to blink, he's swept me down the entrance hall.

We spend the next thirty minutes traipsing through more lavishly decorated rooms than I could count. There is a drawing room. A sitting room. A reading room. A study. A library. A games room. A spa. A home cinema complete with popcorn machine and reclining armchairs. Two ballrooms. An art gallery. A massive kitchen. A formal and an informal dining room. Twelve bedrooms, each with king size beds. A wine room — yes, a whole room devoted to housing all manner of one-of-kind, expensive wines that puts even Olivia's impressive collection to shame. Not to mention an entire wing of the upstairs seemed to function as an oversized closet for all the clothes, shoes and other fancy accessories that a nobleman and his wife apparently require to make themselves presentable at any given time.

But just when I think my head is about to burst from the never-ending display of wealth and extravagance, we arrive at a room that truly takes my breath away.

"Welcome... to the observatory," declares Christian grandly, sweeping his arm out.

"Is that... a telescope?" I breathe, eyes glued to the centrepiece of the oak-panelled attic room we are stood in.

"It most certainly is," affirms Christian with a wide smile, taking my hand to lead me up to it. "The former Duke was a keen—"

Bang!

The sound of the door slamming shut reverberates around the space, making me jump.

I glance behind me... and my stomach drops.

Drake is nowhere in sight.

I stare at the door in confusion, trying to figure out what could've caused him to storm out like this all of a sudden.

Yes, he'd spent the entire duration of the tour following behind Christian and me in tense, judgemental silence, but I'd thought that was because he was pissed about not having been given the heads-up about the upcoming press conference, and he was worried about a potential security breach...

...but then it hits me.

The stars.

My chest constricts in anguish. "Christian, I'm sorry..."

Wrenching my hand from his, I whirl around and sprint towards the door. Yanking it open, I fly down the narrow spiral staircase of the turret that housed the observatory, trying to catch up with Drake.

But — as always — he's much faster than me, and there's so sight or sound of him.

I reach the bottom step, panting, and finally spot him at the end of the hallway.

"Drake!" I call, dashing after him.

But if he hears me, he doesn't slow down. If anything, he only seems to speed up.

"Dra—!"

"Ah, there you are!" Bertrand appears in front of me, blocking my path. "I was asked t—"

"I can't," I gasp, dodging around him to get to the front door that Drake had just stormed through. "I need to—"

But I feel Bertrand grab me by the wrist.

"Now is not the time for personal sideshows," he declares, dragging me back the way I'd come... and away from Drake. "The members of the press are already here, eager for the briefing to start. And it would be rude to keep them waiting. Especially since we need to rough your appearance into shape first."

"But I—"

"And I'm sure Mr Walker has important matters to attend to as well. He appeared to be in quite the hurry."

I clench my eyes shut. If only you knew the half of it...

Gritting my teeth, I snap my wrist from my sponsor’s hold like Allard had taught me, and peg it towards the door, determined to catch up with Drake.

But just as I reach the threshold, I hear the sound of tires spitting gravel, and I realise that I'm too late.

He is gone.

The story continues in Chapter 13 - Invidia

A few notes for your attention, as per usual 😇:

Apple picking: Yes, this chapter (and the next) reference ‘apple picking’ as the next event on the engagement tour calendar, instead of ‘barn raising’. This is deliberate: barn raising is very much a Midwestern US tradition (with some mentions of it taking place in England), and definately not something that would happen in a Mediterranean country, especially as part of a high-profile royal tour. Since apples feature a lot in canon, I decided to just keep things close to home, and - since this part of the story takes place in August - that ties in nicely with the traditional timing of European harvest festivals.

Valtoria: For anyone who is interested, I have used Chateau Amboise - located in France’s Loire Valley - as my stand-in for Valtoria.

SNAFU: For anyone not familiar with military slang, SNAFU means ‘situation normal: all fucked up’ and basically is a sarcastic way of saying that everything has gone to shit (though a SNAFU is generally more salvageable than a complete FUBAR i.e. a situation that is ‘fucked up beyond all recognition’.)

Security: Everything security-related that Drake mentions in this chapter is accurate. A security team is exclusively responsible for their own principle, and - in a crisis situation - each team would focus on evacuating their principal, and their principal only (at the expense of everyone else). It would not matter if the principal wanted to save someone else - s/he would not be allowed to, because such actions would be deemed to compromise the principal’s safety, and potentially undermine a successful evacuation. Therefore, on this basis, Drake storming off is probably not 100% realistic (especially if he is literally the only person present from Harper’s detail), but I HC that he’d radioed for Allard and Schweitzer to come up as well (and I will mention this in the next chapter probably), but this is a work of fiction, and I don’t always need to let facts get in the way of a juicy bit of dramatic tension 😅

Picture credits: Valtoria - Harper

Permatags (let me know if you want to be added):

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(Less Than) Noble Intentions only (let me know if you want to be added!)

@thetruthisthatiloveyou @anakjaybon-blog

#harper gale #drake walker #drake x mc #less than noble intentions #the royal romance #trr fanfic #maxwell beaumont #bertrand beaumont #king liam #choices fic writers creations #cfcw fic of the week

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technopathicredhead · 7 months

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"We're awake at 4am, what should we do?" (from Ravi ) from @acourtcfmuses

"I'm either asleep, or in crunch mode at stupid o'clock in the morning. and that's what time this is." Ruby mused with a shake of her head, trying to figure out something they could do at this strange hour of the morning

and all she found herself doing was missing cons. With the wall up she couldn't take a trip to see her friends like she used to, and while some smaller artist driven ones had started up, and those were nice, they didn't have the same energy as some of the bigger ones.

"Best idea i've got is blanket fort and board games"

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cullxtheherd · 1 year

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i have? so much crap i gotta do around here but zero motivation. muse page??? ? still lookin like HOT garbage with all placeholders/experiments, whoops! annnnd it's meds/nap o'clock so ksjdnfsk. stupid phone games until pass out time i guess.

i hope you all are having a wonderful time and that you have a fantastic weekend!!

also: i am definitely looking for new writing partners!! whether that be RP or a trial writing/co-op story basis kinda' thing i am so super down just hmu cause like skdjskjs i just sit here all day and do mostly nothing anyways

#also if you game on pc and want to just let me know

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ducknotinarow · 9 months

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87 MikeyCasey 🍷💖

| Send a "🍷💖" and My Muse will drunkenly flirt with Your Muse

Mikey wasn't some yoke who thought love and romance was a waste of time course not, he kind of just thought dudes and dudettes should love freely, and love who they want. Why he support Donatello with his crush on April, and later Yvonne. Even if he was a dweeb even after getting the girl. Mikey supported Leonardo with his attractions and of course he supported Raphael in his whole thing with Casey. Heck he support Casey on their own end as well dropping hints on what to do to impress Raphael when they asked him. Mikey just loved seeing them all happy in truth it's all he wanted for them all. Even if it came with some annoying things but guess that was part of the whole falling in love deal.

Mikey wasn't really a romantic himself, he wasn't a downer on love either though course not. Just never really felt the own cupids arrow effect. His love tended to be more towards Pizza if anything with how much he can rave on about a slice alone. Guess it was only a matter of time till he did feel a little ping in his heart himself. Now he sort of was getting why Donatello was so stupid, why Raphael was so strung up. Literally out of the blue or would cyan fit better? He giggles a bit to himself at that as he laid out on the couch a few cans of beer had been buzzing in his system. Had him lost in his own world. Aware of someone walking in he dose move to sit up, near throwing him self over the back of the couch when he eyes Casey.

"Yooooo Casey Jones!" Mikey happily greets them waving his hand well trying to he didn't have the best control over the limb in the moment. "Looking for Raphael? He ain't back yet, Leonardo dragged him out for second. Should be around soon-ish o'clock though dude ya can chill till then." Mikey offers as he moves forward forgetting he was on the couch as just letting himself hang over the back. "Hey where my legs go man?" the concern was at least visible. Letting himself stay like that for a moment longer as blood rushed to his head he just thought about her some more. A slightly shuffle of Casey's feet reminded him he wasn't alone as he moved to sit back up, a bit to fast.

Everything felt like it was spinning, he tried to hold his head to help but it didn't so he just laid back down and let his eyes close a moment. "Ugh think i'm gonna hurl." He complains just a little

Head turned to the side, seeing Casey again he simply smiled and lifted his hand up. "That is a great color on ya dude." Trying to point at Casey's torn and tattered crop top. "Looks real good on ya." Mikey comments before looking back up to the ceiling for the time "it's a really nice color ya know? I always liked orange like a lot a whole lot but I think cyans better now." Mikey contuines to speak up its nit even about Casey but one couldn't be blamed for thinking it was considing how Mikey was talking after all.

"Like dude don't get me wrong I know Raphael's like hung strung on you. We hear about it all the time but. I think if you were green and had shell? Be even better with that blue." He laughs at nothing really. Thinking about Venus in mind when he was going on and on about the color and how Casey would look better that way even. "Don't worry though you make the color work best ya can at least. Well maybe Raphael said something about liking it better on the floor before?" In his drunk state that was going over his head so he just shrugs.

"Don't worry I would trust what he says you look fine, very fine. Ya knkw when ya clothes ain't all torn up like that but you work with what you got Case. Clearly if you got Raphael all about you that is." Mikey tries to assure trying to oat Casey's arm for comfort. "Not everyone can be Venus though but ya know ya Casey and Raoh lokes ya fine as is that all that matters." He scrunched his face a bit now."wait what we talking about? Something about Raph?" Moving quickly to sit up now

"Hey if that idiot brother of mine said anything about you that upset you tell me I'll set him stright, well not straight I don't think he even knows what that means any more. But I'll give him a firm talking to that for sure." Holding his head once again "ugh I really need to stop drinking dude it dose not agree with me I think." Slowly turning greener as he tries to stand up off the couch. "Casey better move outtanthe way I'm not sure I'll make ot clear."

#muse| hamato michelangelo #madamkezzie #aflockoffeathers #[ rokin and heads a rollin’ aflockoffeathers]#[87 verse]#drunk flirting meme #meme answers #ic reply #stayed qeued #tw: alcohol mentioned

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cursivebloodlines · 9 months

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I am home from work which means clowning hours have begunnn. I'm going to try and do the replies I've been neglecting for ages - 95% of Aaron's and Logan's, because they're the muses I've been struggling to write a lot with so I'm gonna just try my best. Esp at least half of the replies I currently owe are Aaron lmao!! I'm so sorry to anyone currently waiting replies from either of them. My muse for the other 4 is fine, it's these dimwits who want to be awks. But I'll try my best! Especially as I won't really be around much tomorrow because I'm in London. Though the journey there/back I'll be lurking to keep myself occupied lmao. and I will probably be around when I get home, which won't be until after 10pm BST probably, maybe even closer to 11. Then clowning hours will depend on whether or not I'm too exhausted or not (and then as always I'll be playing Fortnite with Luke at some point dlgsdgasdg)

I have to be out the house for 7:15amish tomorrow but knowing me I'll probably still be clowning until stupid o'clock because it's the weekend ahahahah

TLDR: I'M HOME AND ATTEMPTING THINGS

#ooc ;; jade talks for england #i also need to update my draft count lmao

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notbigondoors · 2 years

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✏️ (for Wanda and viz)

Send in ✏️ and I’ll use this (improved) incorrect quote generator featuring both our muses!

Vision: *walking around disappointed after visiting an aquarium* Wanda: Vision, what did you think a tiger shark was?

Wanda: Did you know you remind me of all 26 letters of the alphabet? Vision: What? Like J F K W S Q X- Wanda: No, like, U R A Q T. Vision: Awwww!

Vision: Good morning! Wanda: Is it? Is it really?

Vision: *closes a cabinet* *a crash is heard behind the cabinet door* Wanda: What was that? Vision: The sound of someone else's problem.

Vision: Slash gamemode creative. Wanda: Dude, this isn't Min- Vision: *starts levitating*

Vision: Where have you been all day? Wanda: Oh, just dealing with things way beyond my maturity level.

Vision: You use humor to deflect your trauma. Wanda: Awww, thanks- Vision: That’s not a good thing. Wanda: All I’m hearing is that you think I’m funny.

Wanda: I think it’s time I get my life in order. Vision, narrating: But she did not get her life in order. In fact, she got drunk last night and fought a raccoon.

Vision: Talk dirty to me, baby~ Wanda: The dishes. Vision: Wh- Wanda: They’ve been there for 4 days and it’s your turn to wash them. You still haven’t cleaned them and I have asked you to do so several times.

Wanda: When I was your age- Vision, mocking Wanda: When I was your height. Wanda: Wanda: Listen here you little shit-

Vision: Truth or dare? Wanda: Truth. Vision: How many hours have you slept this week? Wanda: Wanda: Dare. Vision: Go to sleep. Wanda: I don't like this game.

Wanda: Trouble at 2 o'clock! Vision: *looks down at their watch* Vision: Now, how do you know that?

Vision: I feel like doing something stupid. Wanda: I’m stupid, do me.

Vision: Why do you not believe that ghosts are real? Wanda: Never seen one. Vision: Okay, I mean, there’s a lot of things that you can’t see that are real. Wanda: What can’t I see? Vision: You can’t see gravity. That’s real. Wanda: Yeah, I can drop an apple. Vision: Fuck.

Vision: Are you drinking enough water? Wanda: Sometimes my tears get in my mouth.

Vision, near tears: Please, Wanda, I don’t speak meme! I don't know what a 'yeet' is!

Vision: What are you in the mood for? Wanda: World domination. Vision: That's a bit ambitious. Wanda: You are my world. Vision: Aww... Wanda: Vision: Wanda: Vision: OH.

Vision: Oh, fiddlesticks! That really ruffles my feathers! Wanda: Please, just say fuck.

Wanda: The first time Vision opened a box of Cheerios and looked inside he yelled, "OH WOW! DONUT SEEDS!"

#{ out of equations } ᵒᵒᶜ #{HAHAHA WHY ARE THESE SO SPOT ON}

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maliciouslycreative · 3 years

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So I get home from my sister’s place (literally the only person I’ve gotten to see really since like fall last year) and turns out she just got a notification that she had a close exposure with someone that tested positive. So now she’s in isolation and getting sent for testing and if she tests positive I get to isolate. We’re both super diligent about following protocols and we’re both partially vaccinated so I have hope that we’ll be fine but it’s still so scary and frustrating. We’re not even sure where she had the contact, the most likely place is her work but it could possibly be somewhere else.

As if this allergy season wasn’t stressful enough, now I have to worry about this. :(((

#malicious musings #i'm just so sick of this #we've been so careful #and still #fucking stupid people doing stupid shit and putting us at risk #i've been in such a bad place lately #and getting to see her a few hours every once in a while has honestly helped me so much in pulling through #so this hits pretty raw #sure hope my work isn't shitty about this #wish she hadn't been told at ass o'clock so i could have contacted them tonight and talked to someone #and i get in to work before any managers start #sooooo yah #*shrugs*#idk #sure hope i can sleep tonight

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ioannemos · 3 years

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1. What’s a unique skill they have? Is their [sic] any reason why they can do it?

jason is good at precision knife throwing bc he's a soldier and had both access to a lot of different knives and a whole lot of time sitting around waiting for orders. it's the same reason he can recite several long poems and can do that thing like a handstand but on your elbows for a worrying amount of time

christine has an unerring ability to dowse any large, crowded room for the most uncomfortable person and if she's somewhere social like a party she can always fix it. always. (it lowkey sucks when she's in public tho bc she can still sense them but the circumstances are a little more in flux and while she isn't shy about approaching strangers, she also doesn't want to make people uncomfortable)

2. What are their favourite possessions? Why? (sentimentality, history, price, etc)

christine has a few trinkets, like porcelain figurines and little carved statues, that her closer friends gave her while she was married to her first husband. they were from the more welcoming women among the higher social class she unexpectedly found herself in, and most of the gifts came after they got to know her better and realized she was uncomfortable with some of the more ostentatious gifts that went around at Christmas

q doesn't have a lot of possessions that it would devastate him to lose, but he intends to be buried in jeans, a band t-shirt (most appropriate would be Candidates for Death, obviously, but THREAT, Reasonable Disappointment, Wooden Caskets, or I Dared would also be acceptable) [none of these are real bands so far as i know], and most importantly the worn out, faded, patched, repaired by hand windbreaker that used to belong to his dad. he'll also be wearing his mom's necklace, and the casket will include his childhood stuffed rabbit. other than that, they can launch his casket into space, sink it in the ocean, set it on fire, or make it out of glass and display his corpse to the world for the rest of time (though the band t-shirt is meant to discourage that idea)

7. What’s their “type”? What romantically attracts them to another person?

q is drawn to girls who are unapologetically themselves. outright boldness is more obvious, of course, but he's had some crushes on girls who were quietly uncompromising too. goodness is not a requirement, tho: some of those girls were snobs, brutally honest, and/or downright vicious at times. it was their unflinching self confidence he found attractive

jason likes guys with strong convictions, gentleness, and a good sense of humor

13. How forgiving are they? What do they consider unforgivable?

david isn't so much very forgiving as very tolerant, as some people have found to their chagrin. between being functionally illiterate bc of his severe dyslexia and growing up with a brother who was certainly autistic even if never diagnosed, he's extremely sensitive to and intolerant of any kind of mockery of physical or mental shortcomings, difficulties, etc, as well as any complaints about accommodations for such things

sam will forgive and never mention it again once, which is not the same as forgiving and forgetting. do it again, he's watching you. few people are bold enough to do something three times. as for what's off the table, it may be old fashioned, but the quickest way to get on his shitlist is to harm women, children, the elderly, and animals. even joking about such things moves you directly to the watchlist

16. What food do they absolutely hate?

q hates caviar. it's fu*king fish eggs. why. if asked he'll usually say bbq chicken wings tho to avoid the awkward question of where a bike messenger has had caviar (and in fairness he does also hate bbq chicken wings bc they're messy, too much work for too little meat, and he straight up doesn't like the flavor of bbq)

sam has had plenty of bad food in his life but nothing has turned him against entire fast food chains like fake mexican

christine hates even the smell of corn dogs so much that sometimes she can't stand to eat cornbread or hot dogs by themselves

jason also dislikes fake mexican but he doesn't hate the chains' butchery the way he hates the cafeterias' sacrilege

michelle has given up on finding a frozen lasagna that doesn't make her gag

david is very ambivalent when it comes to food but there's just something about dried fruit that he doesn't like

muninn would probably have to be held at either gun- or knifepoint before eating either coleslaw or instant mashed potatoes (most potatoes are on thin ice with him but instant mashed potatoes especially)

41. What would they dress up as for Halloween?

muninn would have to be coerced to wear anything other than a shirt that said something like "this is my human costume." supposing you were capable of such coercion, he'd go with jason voorhees or something like it (recognizable without showing his face). he would definitely not be more easily persuaded into being darth vader, nope, nuh-uh, no way, don't be ridiculous, he's not a nerd

michelle l o v e s halloween. she goes as someone or something different every year and isn't picky in the slightest (tho she does tend to prefer the costumes she worked on for months beforehand, of course). famous women, terrible puns, genderbent versions of pop culture characters... she's gone as audrey hepburn one year and a hot dog the next and probably had about as good a time

59. Do they love or hate surprises?

michelle definitely enjoys surprises more than most, with one glaring exception: if you were to throw her a surprise birthday party, you'd be lucky if she talked to you again within three months (michelle had Bad Experiences with birthday celebrations when she was growing up)

david doesn't hate surprises but he does not enjoy them either

64. Describe what their social media would be like.

sam didn't have much time for social media before the allwinter. if he had tho he would've posted tons of humorous and heartwarming stories and pictures of beautiful places and anyone who was comfortable being tagged. he'd share news articles he found relevant or interesting, including a lot of obscure/niche content and "today i learned"/"today in history" articles. overall it would be a friendly, informative place

muninn doesn't have any social media accounts anymore either but when he did his official accounts were deserts of information, both bc he didn't get much out of them and bc he had a public service job, so he could get fired for saying something like "wtf is wrong with people." he also had a twitter account under an obvious pseudonym solely for cat spotting, "wtf is wrong with people" tweets, and screencaps of texts between him and his borderline insane cousin

94. What does their room look like?

q keeps his space more contained than tidy. he has relatively few possessions, tho, so tidiness isn't difficult to maintain either. once he relaxes a little, he puts up posters of his favorite movies or video games and buys nice furniture

sam has relatively little in his bedroom. a small stack of books on the side table, maybe a soothing picture on the wall. minimalist, darker neutral colors

christine is a human disaster area. her bedroom is always in an absolute state. sam struggled with this after they got married

jason is also a minimalist but more from not giving a fu*k. cheap bedframe, no other furniture, cheap sheets. if he has curtains rather than blinds, they were a gift. he does have a nice mattress, tho

michelle has organized piles. these are clean clothes, those are dirty clothes. gold earrings are here on this section of the crowded dresser top, gold bracelets in this pile, gold necklaces in that pile. her silver jewelry is on top of that dresser. if there's a system for how her shoes rotate between the closet floor, the shoe rack outside the closet, and the random piles that appear and disappear without warning, david has yet to intuit it and is not exactly proactive about learning

david is here too but with significantly lower investment. is there a bed that fits two? is there somewhere for his clean clothes to go? yes? okay

muninn used to have a very depressing bedroom: clothes left lying around, bugs in the light fixture, sheet thrown over the curtain rod, sheets left unchanged for far too long... he pretty much just has a bunk now, but it's made, usually, with sheets that were changed within two weeks, and he'll take the family and reduced privacy over nobody and a whole house

#thank you #morfinwen #let's talk #ask #asked and answered #writing is hard #my muse is a monster #q free #of: heaven and earth #muninn #au: allwinter #i wrote this at stupid o'clock in the morning oops #personal #abbie needs a twitter

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echotunes · 2 years

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top 5 shows or songs?

guess what i'm gonna do BOTH because it's fun

shows:

Good Omens: my most beloved. I like it so much. I like pretty much every character, I love the humour, the story, the acting, the opening is a fun little tune, the book was great too, so. yeah <3

Haikyuu!!: the volleyball people will always have a place in my heart <3 I have quite a few good memories associated with it, and the show itself is so good too on so many levels - characters, character dynamics, voice acting, soundtrack, it's all so good and I still enjoy losing my mind at the bird imagery and certain dialogue lines and moments ("we're the protagonists of the world" and the "I'm here" scene in that first practice game come to mind off the top of my head) and some of the general themes that keep showing up (like the "together we're invincible" thing) and just. hwagh. volleyball anime good

Our Flag Means Death: I love the gay pirates so much. The show is silly but also serious in a similar way to Good Omens, and every single character is so likeable. Like I'm not even gonna start listing off characters I like because I will end up with the entire crew they're all so <3 yeah <3 also just WOOOO GAY PEOPLE!!!!! (and also this show put me back on a "oh shit maybe i like men" kick. not going to elaborate but yeah)

My Hero Academia: (YEAH I KNOW I'M SORRY) I liked this show for years and similarly to Haikyuu i have a lot of good memories attached to it, specifically because I spent a lot of time in lockdown rewatching it with ny best friend on Discord screenshare and coming up with stupid jokes and it was so so much fun. that's one big reason why this is on the list. the other reason is that I just like a lot of the characters and all the superpower stuff is cool

i have been sitting here for like an hour writing the rest of the post and trying to think of another show and I genuinely cannot think of another show I've seen that I liked enough to give it a place on a "top 5 shows" list. like there's definitely a couple other good anime series (Noragami, Demon Slayer, Given) but those were never on the same level as the other ones on this list y'know? and I was never really one for cartoons, and I haven't seen a lot of tv shows (I did like Siren but season 3 ruined it for me. why did they break up the polycule. that was literally not necessary to do) other than the ones already mentioned on this list. so I'm gonna leave spot 5 blank

songs: this one is kinda hard because my music taste changes all the time but I'm gonna just make this a mix of my all-time favourites and songs I currently like. also gonna limit myself to one song per artist to allow for some variety

Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy by Queen: I like this song so much <3 it makes me happy, there's this one fantastic Good Omens animatic, the "1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 [ding]9-o'clock" bit is so good it scratches a little itch in the back of my brain. it's good. I like this song :D honourable mentions by Queen include Bohemian Rhapsody (absolute classic, we played it in orchestra a couple years ago, very fun) and Don't Stop Me Now (upbeat! energy! also a classic! like it lots)

Supermassive Black Hole by Muse: this is one of the current favourites! It's a banger, it reminds me of [redacted] space opera AU, it's good <3 Starlight from the same album is definitely an honourable mention too

Sex with a Ghost by Teddy Hyde: another current favourite, it's just a banger I don't have much to say about it. I like the piano

Shut Up and Dance by Walk the Moon: I've been doing ballroom dancing (whether Discofox counts as a "ballroom" dance is another question but I learned it in my ballroom dancing class) and this song is SO MUCH FUN to dance a Discofox to, and also we've played it in orchestra which was fun as well, and ALSO it's just a very nice upbeat song :D it's on my feel good vibes spotify playlist and I like listening and dancing to it so it deserves a spot on the list honourable mentions from said playlist include Build Me Up Buttercup by The Foundations and Sugar Sugar by the Archies (both of which are not related to this song in the slightest but I like them and they would be on my grandma's kitchen radio which is a nice bonus association so I wanted to mention them)

Concrete by Lovejoy: yeah! tbh I didn't think I was gonna be putting Lovejoy on this list because their music isn't necessarily my favourite kind of music but this is a really solid song! I do quite like the rest of their music too (Oh Yeah, You Gonna Cry? and the It's All Futile! It's All Pointless! remake and also Sex Sells and Cause For Concern are some of my other favourites) but Concrete is my favourite by them I think :D

there's a bunch of other songs that I also like for various reasons (for example The Haunted Phonograph by Thoushaltnot, Mama and Welcome To The Black Parade by MCR, Oh No! and Hollywood by MARINA, and Bang! by AJR) but I think this is a solid list of favourite songs so. yeah :D

#thank you for the ask ven :D #echo.txt #echo.asks #melotuzu #ask games

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razrbladekiss · 3 years

Text

Tyrants | Chapter Five - Consolation

WORD COUNT: 5.8k

WARNINGS: Mentions of murder, grief, the aftermath of that death...all that Jazz! Plus a lil moment I’ve been fucking itching to include.

Chibs's breath was stuck in the middle of his throat, jutting thickly the more he thought about Opie cradling Donna's sallow cheeks as she bled out onto the gravel.

It'd cut deep, this one.

So many bodies he had bared witness to over the years. So many lives lost and souls snatched and whatever else right before his undaunted eyes--but nothing really hurt as much as that.

Because he knew what it was like. How it maimed a man. How it felt like his world was hurtling toward the chasms of hell during the moments after arriving at the scene and seeing his wife there. Dead.

Cold and dead and lonely. And completely gone.

Guilt resided, too. It was true tangible remorse for the simple proficiency of; that should've been me.

It happened with Diane--it happened to Chibs's wife, the mother of his kid, and the one true light in his life right after Isla. And it should've been him.

It was brutal, the way it happened tonight. It was fierce and heartless and Chibs knew in a flash that those bullets struck the wrong skull.

He couldn't bear the reverberation anymore, the gutturals from Piney's son who'd just lost his wife for no good reason during a drive-by in their quaint little town. The town that'd swelled wickedly with corruption these last few weeks.

Stahl was at the scene before he left. Looking pensive, actually. She looked guilty.

Chibs's basic instinct had landed the blame at her door--put the blood on her hands--but he kept his mouth shut for fear of what'd happen next. He didn't think that SAMCRO could handle this.

Because this wasn't a product of Mayan or Niner rivalry. He wasn't stupid--he knew that his President had something to do with this.

This was cultivated from the seeds sown by June Stahl, the pips planted so very deeply into the mind of Clay Morrow which forced him to believe that Opie Winston was a rat.

And he wasn't. He'd never sell his club out--no matter the damage, the pain inflicted upon him--and he'd never dream of pinning the fault on his brothers.

But he had to look a little bit closer to home if he wanted those answers. If he wanted to know just who sniped Donna--a completely innocent woman caught in the most ferocious of crossfires--he had to turn to someone that he knew was culpable of such activity.

Chibs's heart ached. It impaired him so very deeply that the only thing he could visualize on the ride back to Jax's house was her face.

Her face that dripped blood. Saturated crimson plagued his thoughts and forced his stomach to churn vociferously. He felt sick now.

He felt sick because Opie had lost his wife, Piney had lost a crucial member of his small family, and her kids had lost their mother. The woman that had worked so tirelessly to provide a life for them, to love and care for them unconditionally no matter what.

Opie was strong, he knew that--but he didn't know if he was strong enough to handle this. This crippling weight, this hurt and the idea of what could've been done differently.

Because so much could've happened to prevent this.

His tongue had become inoculated with bile, acrimonious ire for whoever the fuck was to blame for such unnecessary brutality--and, really, Chibs knew that he didn't have to look much further than Isla's favorite blue-eyed heathen this time.

And that broke his heart because of the pedestal she held that man upon. The pedestal she'd always held him atop, so fucking highly, too.

She knew that he was bad--an inherently bad human being--but he was just Tig. Her buddy. Clay's right hand that, really, he'd always count on. No matter what. And he'd always deliver the king's request, too.

Tig was the one that Isla called when her car broke down on the freeway and she needed to get home in time for Gemma's dinner.

The one she turned to for cheering up because he always knew how to crack a smile and get through to her.

The one that she strangely respected the most. Nobody really recognized what it was about that man that had Isla overjoyed when in his presence, she just was. And that was part of his charm.

But her father was anxious, now. Worried that she would take this news--if it came to light--badly. Because it was going to break her heart, regardless.

It was how she would handle it, which was the true hardship.

"Christ." Chibs's voice struggled to materialize, gesturing to his daughter passed out on Jax's couch. "How long's she been sleepin'?"

Mascara and eyeliner and whatever the fuck else she'd painted onto her face had started to melt away, trails of black and grey faintly running her cheeks.

"'Bout an hour." Gemma responded, sniffling back the putrid emotion she'd so obviously let flood the moments leading up to their arrival.

Jax's stomach was doing backflips at the thought of Isla crying herself to sleep in his living room--after everything that he'd put her through, too.

He feared that this was going to be the tip of the iceberg. That this was going to pulverize her sanity and compromise everything she had sought to fight off these last few days.

And he couldn't help but harbor those same suspicions as her father, either. Jax wanted to keep his mouth shut until he was certain that this was an inside job, but he was teetering toward that conclusion regardless.

It was the only viable explanation.

He, too, worried about what this would do to her. That finding out Tig was the potential culprit and reason why Opie's children were officially motherless.

"How's Ope?" She continued, already knowing the answer but asking anyway. Jax's head shook. "Oh."

"Not good, ma. But he's home now."

"And you're sure of that?"

"Yeah--I followed him back to make sure he got there in one piece. He wanted to leave the second the fuckin' ATF stormed in."

"Oh." Gem repeated herself, running her fingers through Isla's hair as she rested in her lap. "What about Clay? Where'd he get to?"

Chibs took a seat at one of the wooden chairs that'd been positioned around the coffee table, and Jax sank into the couch opposite the girls.

It was pitiful. Darkness enveloped them as Isla slept, innocently resting as the world shattered around her.

She wasn't oblivious to the happenings. She hadn't slept through it all, but she was done. Isla had been distant for days, had been fretting over the unimaginable and Gemma was worried that she was going to make herself sick if she continued the way that she was.

So she twisted her fingers and nails through the flowing waves of golden blonde, and soothed her the same way that she always did.

The same way that she found comfort as a kid.

He sighed. Exhausted. "Dunno. Last I saw he was with Tig."

"Aye." The Scot agreed with a nod, too. Hating the thought of Trager being responsible for something like this.

But it was merely a suspicion that Chibs hoped and prayed would get debunked sooner or later.

"Did he say anything?"

"Nah. He talked a little to Unser--seems to think it was a hit on Ope gone wrong--so, I guess they're gonna be lookin' into the Niners."

"Aye." Chibs spoke again, gesturing to Isla. "Did she say much when we left?"

"Not really--she just busied herself and cleaned up with Wendy. Seems like they're getting along now."

Jax smiled a bit, happy that his best friend and the mother of his child were starting to accept the presence of one another in Abel's life.

Truly, that's all he really wanted. That and his mother finally being able to turn the other cheek, and quit castigating his kid's mom.

"Did Clay leave before you?" Gemma asked, antsy. She was itching to get home, itching to see and comfort her husband because she knew that he was going to be fretting over this.

"I told you, the last I saw, he was with Tig. Dunno if he left after us, or if he's still there."

She looked away, smoothing her thumb over Isla's cheek.

"He'll be home soon--I should take off."

"Not on your own." Jax upheld, simply terrified of what could've happened to his mother had she left alone.

As far as Jax wanted her to know, this was bad blood between clubs. This was a hit put out on an innocent bystander because they knew it'd jolt SAMCRO--and it did.

It shook them to the very fucking core, jutting them repeatedly--mere moments away from crumbling and completely disintegrating into Harley Davidson dust.

And he really didn't want to admit that this was the work of his step-father and Alexander Trager. But he feared that was the only viable explanation.

"I'll--eh--I'll take her back." Chibs offered, getting up to ghost a hand over Isla's blushed cheek. "I was gonna take her home with me tonight, but I think she's better off stayin' put."

Jax agreed with a nod, smiling weakly at his mother. Though, she knew it was a coverup. A not-so-brilliant facade and attempt at showing that he was okay during this barbarous time.

"I don't wanna wake her." She mused, pushing strands of hair from her face. "She looks so damn peaceful."

Gemma hadn't a cozy moment with Isla for a while--not since she was recovering from a broken heart four summers ago.

The last time that she turned to Gemma--the same way she would as a child--for that motherly comfort.

"I know." The older man crouched to the ground, tracing faintly along her arm. Isla grumbled, slowly rousing. "C'mon petal, it's gettin' late."

He kept a hand against her, running this thumb over the freckled skin softly. Diane's crucifix caught his eye as she shifted, impairing him that little bit more tonight.

"What time is it?" She asked roughly, feeling a sting in her throat. Isla lifted herself off of Gemma's lap, rubbing at her eyes. "Is it late?"

"It's about one o'clock."

"Shit." Her hiss was sharp, galled that she'd been allowed to rest for so long whilst there was a literal wildfire sweeping its way through the club. "Ope--oh my god--Opie. Is he okay?"

Isla knew the answer. She knew what Jax was about to say before he even opened his mouth, and so tears ensued. Crystalline hues weeped and watered, and he was unsettled.

Unsettled because she was so strong in the face of such tragedy, rarely shedding any tears before an audience.

Unsettled because, up until the Kohn incident, Jax hadn't seen her cry since she was shot in the knee after three Mayans decidedly stormed the T M lot and strived to gun down each and every person on the premises.

He never forgave himself for that, actually. Because those bullets--though completely un-fatal and leaving a simple mark that, really, Isla referred to as her battle scars--should've been for him.

"He went home. To be with the kids." Jax cleared his throat, kneeling in front of her when Chibs got to his feet and gestured for Gemma. "He's--uh--he's in a bad way."

"Understandably." She mumbled. "Any ideas on who did this?"

Your favorite son.

"No. Clay thinks it might've been the Niners--shits been off since they decided to pull their fucking guns on us after the warehouse was raided."

"That was their rationale?"

"I guess so." He added. "It'd make sense. We lost their guns, so we lost a life--"

"But Donna." Isla argued, sitting upright. "Donna was innocent."

"We know that, love, but Laroy was probably under the impression that Ope was the one behind the wheel." Her father spoke over Jax, heeding his uncertainty. "It wasn't meant to be her."

Chibs had to blow his theory out of the water, firstly.

"A life is a life. To them, so long as they've got one of ours--someone close to us--they've succeeded with somethin'--"

"All they've succeeded with is leaving two kids without a fucking mother." Isla spat, throwing away the small blanket that Gemma had draped over her as she stood up. "And you've gotta stop being so fucking insensitive."

Jax stumbled backwards, watching her storm out of the room in her pretty little summer dress. He couldn't surmise whether following behind or leaving the woman to simmer alone, was the best idea.

It was a touchy subject, the loss of a parent. It was prickly and raw and it never ceased to strike Isla's heart. Because she understood.

She understood how much it hurt. The uncertainty of it all. Not knowing what to do next. How life changes more than what anyone ever prepares you for and, really, how nothing is ever the same again.

Isla knew it all too well. She'd been there, done that, and refused to go back. But with Chibs's life, his line of work, she was never granted that security.

And it wasn't particularly the security that she wanted, more so the knowledge of what--god forbid anything--would happen to her father. Because that's what bothered her the most about Diane.

She never knew anything about her mother's passing.

Jax got a pretty tight grip on the concept, too. But it was different with Isla--it was something she never quite grasped.

"A life is a life," Gemma mocked the insensitivity from the baffled Scotsman, shaking her head. "That wasn't just any life, Chibs. That was Opie's woman, the mother of his children, and one of Isla's oldest friends--she was family. She wasn't just a life."

His lips twitched before he exhaled sharply, knowing that she was right.

Knowing that his response was much too unsympathetic and heartless and, really, he was an idiot to forget how upset she got whenever something that pertained to the death of her mother was brought up.

"Your kid is grieving. She's grieving for Ope, for Piney, for Kenny and Ellie--for herself because this--" she gestured to nothing in particular, but he understood, "--is something she knows all too well, ain't it? Diane?"

"I know." Tersely, he responded. He pulled a hand through his hair. "I fuckin' know how she feels, but I didn't think she'd storm out when I said it!"

"Well, she's always been unpredictable."

"I know." His riposte was braided with anger, pure fury.

"Then why'd you say it?" Gemma jabbed. "Isla has been about six thousand miles away from us these last few days, and you thought that saying such a stupid thing wouldn't tip her over the edge?"

She was defensive of the blonde--always had been.

And Jax was sick of it.

Sick of the back-and-forth between the two. Sick of that holier than thou bullshit from Gemma--pretending that she wasn't thinking the same fucking thing--and sick of the way Chibs cared more to argue than to go after his daughter.

"Make sure Wendy stays if you two leave--I'm going."

"Where?" Chibs demanded.

But Jax just glared at him, stuffed his hands in both pockets, and walked straight out of the house.

It was cooler, now. The breeze had hit him square in the face the second he stepped over the threshold, and it was nice. To feel a little breeze that'd inevitably take the edge off of the lament sizzling away inside of him, was nice.

It was short lived, though. The second he realized that he couldn't see Isla--that she was completely out of sight--dragged him straight back down to earth, and the panic had set in.

He trusted her, of course he knew that she wasn't going to do anything stupid because she valued her life too much, and she wanted to do great things. So many great things.

But Jax also knew her too well. Well enough to know that the first place she would've thought about storming toward was the Clubhouse--the place that she'd find Tig.

And under any other circumstances, he wouldn't have rushed to get to her before she had a chance to get to T M. But the possibility of walking in and discerning Trager's inconsolable fury--his resentment and self-loathing--was much too great a risk for Jax to take.

He had to intercept.

He had to save her before she got the chance to set foot onto the property.

But, realistically, Jax was more than aware that Isla was probably already halfway there by now, and weaving through the unusual bustle of traffic in his small town just wasn't worth it.

"Shit." He growled, hopping onto his bike regardless. Saving a sliver of hope that he'd find her tonight.

He wasn't exactly optimistic, though. Because she'd already stormed four blocks.

Isla wrapped her cardigan tightly around her body--feeling the cold a bit more than what Jax had earlier--and hastily made her way downtown.

Surprisingly enough, she didn't fear the short walk toward the garage, but it was chilling. The thought of Donna's killer roaming freely, parading around that neighborhood, was daunting.

But she wasn't scared.

Or, at least, Isla wasn't scared until she heeded the red and blue flashing lights right in the middle of the intersection. The apparent murder scene.

Her heart sank, actually. The organ dropped to her stomach, pulsating slowly--barely--at the sight of Charming PD, CSI, and her. The group scattered, conversing, and speculating.

It was horrible. Sick.

She'd seen this before. She'd seen deaths and murders, and whatever came during the moments following. But she hasn't felt this way before.

The incapacitating throb. The discomfort and grief for such a horrendous--albeit freak--accident. And she wasn't stupid. She was as cognizant as her father and as empathetic as Jax, and she knew just as well as those two that this was not a purposeful attack.

Whether it was a consequence of Mayan or Niner misconduct, it was a wrongful onslaught that was about to cull an entire family. An entire charter.

If it hadn't already, that was.

She choked around the swell in her throat, padding along the sidewalk. She took her time, but she wasn't slow by any means. She had a place to be, and a specific person that she had to see--to talk to because she didn't know how to cope with this.

And it wasn't exactly her place to mourn for Donna. She hadn't been involved with her for some five years and she felt bad about the pair unable to rekindle their friendship. She felt bad about grieving the loss of Opie's wife--about taking the focus away from him.

But it hurt. It hurt so much--it sliced deeply, through flesh and tendon and bone--and she knew that Tig wouldn't judge her for this inveterate sorrow. He wouldn't see her as selfish or stupid for wanting to project her sincerities, her emotions.

Her heels clicked across the yard and she smiled a little bit when she passed Juice and Tig's bikes beside one another, letting her know that she wasn't going to be alone in there.

She was scared now, though. Because she hadn't talked about this yet. Hadn't talked about how she felt and how she was going to approach Opie the next time she saw him.

"Juice?" Isla squeaked from the doorway, waiting for him to turn around and run to her, or something. But he didn't move, didn't lift his head.

It was dreary inside. The lights had been dimmed, the men surrounding the tables and bar were downtrodden, and Isla felt as though she'd just walked through the gates of hell.

The vibrancy and boisterous nature of SAMCRO had come to a complete standstill, and she was actually yearning for the sleaze that usually enveloped the space.

Her sigh was defeated, forlorn. She sniffed as her nose ran, making her way to the bathroom to go and clean herself up--because she knew that she looked dreadful, and didn't want anybody to really see her that way.

"Is anyone in here?" She asked softly against the locked door, knowing that the answer was yes and that Tig was the occupant--but she persisted, anyway.

The mellifluous rhythm bled through the oak, jolting him still as blood poured from the gash in his head, and shattered glass surrounded his frame and the sink.

He ran his tongue over his bottom lip, glaring monotonously at himself in front of the mirror. Glaring at the fucking monster that was about to welcome Isla into open arms, comforting her because he knew that she'd need it.

"Yeah," He opened up, smiling down at her. "But I'm done, if you wanna--"

"What happened to you?" She put a hand against his chest, pushing him back into the room. Her brow furrowed when he didn't respond. "Tiggy?"

His entire body winced at Isla's soft touch. At the way her pink nails traced over the patch of skin on his chest, uncovered by his shirt--the shirt he was going to burn after tonight.

She gently gripped at his chin, turning his face to the right to get a better look at the incision on his left. Her eyes filled again, lips turned downward.

"Let me clean you up."

"You don't gotta--"

"I do." Isla cut him off, blinking away her tears. "If it doesn't get treated, it might get infected."

Like father, like daughter--always the first person to tend to an injury. She was so loving, so benevolent. Nothing like him, he thought.

Tig watched her maneuver around the tiny bathroom, admiring her desire to patch him up. To care for him and help make him feel better.

Not much would've helped at that moment, but she was trying her best.

"How'd you get over here?" He asked, leaning against the sink.

"I walked--"

"You walked?" Pissed, Tig spat. "Jesus fuck, Isla, you can't walk these parts alone, anymore."

She looked up at him from the spot she was crouched at, sifting through a small first-aid kit in the cabinet. "Who said I was alone?"

"Were you?" His eyes narrowed. She got to her feet, putting the small plastic box beside him, looking his face over a few times.

Her head shook. "Nope. Never alone with these thoughts."

Tig couldn't not chuckle at her response, but he was still worried about her. He didn't worry often--he was too selfish for that--but anything to do with his favorite blonde saw him panic like a madman.

"And the voices, too." She mused, breaking out into a genuine smile the first time all evening. "They always keep me real good company."

"Yeah?" Isla's head bobbed, cupping his chin again. "Me too--me 'n you don't seem to be too different after all, baby."

"Never said that we weren't." She poked her tongue out a little bit, surveying the damage. "Never said that we were the same, either."

"We're not the same." He confirmed, curling his hand around her wrist as she held an alcohol pad above his cut. "We are not the same, Isla."

Her head tilted, trying to discern what he meant. But she couldn't, and it caused an uncomfortable shiver to flicker down her spine.

"This might hurt." She whispered in an attempt to dissipate the small tension, gently running her thumb over his chin.

The other was--alongside her pointer finger--tapping the small antiseptic against the wound. She frowned the more he winced, though Tig's smile and hold on her wrist was still present.

"I like the pain."

"I know you do, Tiger." Isla joked. But she couldn't help wondering how the fuck he managed to do this to himself tonight.

Why he would do this to himself tonight.

"I don't wanna have to stitch your pretty face up," she pursed her lips and got him to hold the cotton in place.

"You think I got a pretty face?"

"The prettiest." Her retort was instantaneous, missing that usual glint of something resembling a joke.

She was serious--she wasn't engaging in that usual banter with him today. She was too run down for it, actually.

"Gonna have to give you a couple of butterfly stitches, if that's okay?" Isla looked up at him, holding out the small bandages with a smile. "It won't hurt. And they'll probably dissolve in, like, a week or so."

"Go for it. I love when you play nurse."

She lightly whacked at his chest, laughing as she got him to sit on the closed toilet lid to get a better reach. He wasn't tall, but neither was she. Isla needed him to lower his height if she wanted to successfully repair him.

The comfort, the aid and assistance had him forgetting about tonight--had her forgetting the real reason for her impromptu arrival to the clubhouse--but not forgetting about the newfound misery that encircled SAMCRO.

"You alright?" He asked when she hadn't made a movement, when her eyes seemed to focus on the shelves above the tank of the toilet. "I can do it myself, if you don't wanna--"

"I wanna." The smile she produced was fake--uncomfortable as tears rolled down perfectly blushed cheeks.

It broke his heart. Everything she was doing and saying--and even feeling because her pain was palpable--was breaking his heart and Tig felt like hell for doing this.

"I'm sorry," she stuck the first stitch to his forehead carefully, getting him to rip off the back of the second because her fingers were too shaky to get a solid grip.

"Don't be." He handed it to her. "It's been a tough night."

Her laugh was humorless, dull. "You can say that again, Tiggy."

"You wanna talk about it?"

"Not really." She sent him an apologetic look, but he got it.

Isla trusted him with her life--for some reason--but she found it hard to open up sometimes. In regards to something this serious, she struggled to get a solid handle on her emotions and how to express them.

He understood her, though. Understood her well enough, her mannerisms and thought processes, and he just wondered if she felt like divulging her pain tonight.

She didn't, though. And Tig didn't particularly mind that. He didn't want to feel that twisted pang of regret, the vehement churn of his stomach whenever she said Donna's name--which she was yet to do, and she probably wouldn't at this point, either.

"I just wanna cry." She stated plainly, not even reluctantly anymore.

Like Gemma, he hadn't seen her cry for a long time. And it wasn't a nice visual, actually.

But he was supportive, and just wanted her to do anything that'd make her feel somewhat better--so he encouraged it.

Isla put everything down, gave his face the once over for the last time, and set herself on the tile with her back to the door.

"You wanna cry? Do it, baby. If it'll help, just do it." He assured, getting to the ground beside her. "I know you don't like doin' it in front of me, but I won't tell anyone, if that's what you want."

"You make me seem like a battle ax." Isla quipped, sniffling. "I don't care if anyone sees me cry--everyone knows that I do. It's just..."

"Showing vulnerability ain't a nice thought. I know."

God. She hated how well he understood her. How he knew what she was going to fucking say. All the time.

Tig wound an arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him. Instinctively, she rested her head against his shoulder.

"I get it." He stated mindlessly, pushing tousled blonde strands from her forehead. "But y'know you can always trust me, kid. I'll never tell anyone that you feel emotions--"

"I'm literally the most emotional person you all know." Isla protested weakly, hoping he didn't mind the feeling of her tears bleeding through his shirt.

He didn't.

"I just don't really like crying. It's not a true testament to my character--I'm supposed to be the happy one around these parts. The sickeningly optimistic Irish girl--"

"You can still be a crier, too."

"I know." She finally wrapped her arms around his middle as they sat together. "But people just don't take girls seriously when they cry. And I don't want my position here to be compromised, I guess. I don't want my dad, or Gemma, or Clay to think I can't handle being around the club anymore--because I can. And I always will."

"They wouldn't think different of you for that." He promised, rubbing circles over her shoulder the more he felt the navy cotton dampen. "This is a real tough thing, Isla, nobody is gonna chastise you for shedding a tear. They'd probably think different of you if you didn't cry."

"You think?"

He nodded.

"Crying shows that you got empathy and a heart. We all know your heart is bigger than..." Thick eyebrows crumpled together before he let out a little chuckle. "Bigger than Clay's ego. It's huge, your heart."

"Well, it's gotta be. If I wanna love all of you--warts 'n all--my heart has gotta be huge."

"Exactly," he drew out his response, earning a laugh and something reminiscent of an optimistic smile from her.

Trager never saw himself as the kind of man to make a girl smile or laugh after a little pep talk--after or before incredible sex, perhaps, but never as a result of his unusually comforting nature.

But he just had that effect on Isla--something she wasn't able to extrapolate verbally. Something she wasn't sure she'd ever be able to comprehend, either.

"You've just gotta try not to make yourself too vulnerable, that's all, 'cuz people will get used to coddling you. And I know that's now what you want."

"That's what I mean." She frowned, pulling herself away a bit. "I don't wanna be seen as inferior for being able to cry about the things that you, or Gem, or dad, are able to keep a poker face over. I'm just...I'm just thin-skinned sometimes, and I'm yet to be desensitized to this stuff, I guess."

"You're not thin-skinned for crying tonight." He scolded, knowing that she didn't want to elucidate her thoughts about the happening, but he just couldn't help himself.

"Desensitization don't mean shit when you've lost someone you care about--it's always gonna hurt, sweetheart. Always. And there ain't nothing you can do to stop that."

He was the one with misty eyes, now. He was the one trying to bite back tears, trying to conceal the spread of his sadness--the uncomfortable soreness in his chest. In his heart that wasn't anywhere near as big and full as hers.

"You're never gonna grow immune to grief--I promise you'll always feel that. Whether you show it--how you show it--is another thing, though."

"You feel it?"

"Tonight?"

"In general."

She couldn't seem to recall the last time that she saw him cry--if she'd ever seen it, actually. Aside from this moment, of course.

Tears fell to the apples of his cheeks and she, without any reluctance, used the pad of her thumb to brush them away.

And he got it, now. The idea of showing vulnerability being a fucking liability. Because the pity washing over her soft, beautiful features made him feel fragile.

"All the time. All the fuckin' time."

"It really never goes away?"

"No." Tig sniffed harshly, forcing a smile. "But you learn to cope. You learn that it ain't the end of the world and that life just goes on after death."

"Profound." She chuckled once again. "That's some deep, deep shit, Tigger. Almost made me forget about how much I wanna hysterically break down."

"Do it. That'll make me feel better about my injury."

"Your self-inflicted injury." Isla stated knowingly, but she didn't clarify just what she meant.

Because it could've been an array of things, but he liked to think that she was just referring to his little forehead aperture.

"I like it. It makes you look badass." Isla held a hand out to Tig when he pulled himself upward, and she wanted to follow suit.

"Does it make me look hot, too?"

"Absolutely." Again, it wasn't laced in a tease. It was honest, and the small smile she produced was sincere. "Be careful with it, though. Try not to get it wet or anything, because it'll dissolve too soon--"

"I've had them before, y'know?"

"Why is that so hard to believe?" Isla rolled her eyes. "You're a super scary, malicious, calculating guy when you've gotta be. But I know that you're accident prone."

He curled his eyebrow upward. "Scary?"

"Totally. I've seen you hold a gun to a guy's head." A chill impaired her, frightening her. "Shits terrifying, Tig. Remind me to never get on your bad side."

"You couldn't even if you tried."

"You think?" Her qualm was unexpected, almost challenging him as she unlocked the bathroom door and stepped into the hallway. "I think I could."

What's she playing at? She was sobbing two minutes ago.

Oh, I get it. This is her facade--actin' all care free, and shit.

Tig followed behind--every step--as she clicked along the wooden floor of the clubhouse.

"You couldn't. Trust me." He stated lowly, reaching for her hand when she stuttered a little.

Isla noticed her father next time Juice, drinking at the bar with their backs to the duo. She didn't want to see him, right now.

Talking to Chibs would've ignited whatever fucking fire inside of her that'd started to blaze out of control earlier tonight, and she'd worked hard to contain this inferno.

"What you can do, though, is turn your pretty little ass back around, and go get some rest in the dorm. It's been a long night."

She didn't refute, she didn't try to get out of it because she didn't want to. Isla couldn't bear the thought of waltzing past her father, talking to him about her tiny outburst, and resuming as normal.

Because she couldn't do that. Not tonight, anyway.

"Tig?"

"Uh huh." He responded, his eyes glued to the back of Juice's cut as he slammed yet another shot back.

Probably wondering what the fuck had gone down tonight.

"Can you stay with me?" Her retort forced his focus to land on her, and the defenselessness--sheer exposure--in her attitude.

It wasn't the simple fact of wanting to be alone.

She couldn't be alone. Not anymore.

Ringed fingers squeezed her hand reassuringly, guiding her into the back room, holding her close. Because that's what she really, truly wanted.

"'Course I can. Anything for you, Isla."

#tig trager #tig trager x oc #tig trager fic #tig trager fanfiction #sons of anarchy fic #jax teller #jax teller fanfiction #jax teller x oc #sons of anarchy #sons of anarchy fandom #sons of anarchy fanfiction

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seanfalco · 3 years

Text

The Rehearsal | Misfits Timeline Anomaly’verse

an oc x oc collaboration between @seanfalco & @super-unpredictable98

Word Count: 4.2k Warnings: Light smut, jealousy

[ masterlist ]

"Good morning, loves of my life, or should I say good afternoon?" Lydia exclaimed, crawling in bed as she arrived home after her costume fitting.

"Wha-? Did you leave?" her Nathan murmured, staring in confusion at his fully awake fiancé.

"I was in East Village, doing work stuff and getting some food to make breakfast for you lot. Who's hungry? Who's ready to unpack a little bit with me?"

The other Nathan groaned and rolled toward his pillow, but Win stretched, sitting up, the sheets slipping down from her bare chest. "I'll help you, Lollipop," she murmured, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

"Amazing!" Lydia leaned in to kiss her. "I bet when the food is ready these two will come running..." she rolled her eyes. Lyddie was about to leave the room and get back to unpacking, but Win's bare chest had her quite distracted.

“They always do,” Win laughed, noticing the way her girlfriend’s eyes lingered. “See somethin’ y’like babe?” she asked with a grin.

"You know I do..." Lydia lowered Win to the bed once more, kissing each of her breasts softly. "Okay, I think I lost my train of thought a little bit, but... they just look so nice."

“We still need to get them pierced t’match yours,” Win teased, stretching her arms above her head as Lyddie pushed her back. “I’ll go topless to the kitchen if you want,” she joked. “That way we don’t disturb the boys.”

"Yeah, that'll definitely get me motivated to work," Lydia laughed. "You'd look so hot with piercings... ugh, I have to stop thinking before I get way too horny to function," she shook her head, placing one last kiss on Win's chest before jumping out of bed.

Win laughed as she followed, grabbing a shirt as she went. “So what are we making this morning?” she asked.

I was thinking you could help me set up the kitchen, I wanted to make an American breakfast, eggs, bacon, pancakes, the whole thing," Lydia said, grabbing a box of kitchen utensils to put on the table.

“That sounds delicious,” Win exclaimed, reaching into the box to unpack, doing whatever she could to help Lyddie.

"So, how was your first night of sleep in the new flat?" Lydia asked, separating the ingredients she would need. "I think I was born to sleep with the sounds of the city."

“I think I slept okay, though I was rather worn out,” Win chuckled. “It’s a little louder than I’m used to, but I’m sure I’ll get used to it,” she said opening drawers as she pulled things from the box.

"Yeah, hopefully you will before we go back to England." Lydia missed home a little bit, her friends and family, but she was also so happy to be there. "I think you guys should come with me later, you know? It's our first general rehearsal, with costumes and all, it's still gonna be a couple of months before my big night, but I'd love for you guys to see it."

“That sounds like fun!” Win exclaimed, pausing to wrap her arms around Lyddie. “I’d love to watch your rehearsal!”

"The cast is gonna love to meet you," Lydia pressed her forehead to Win's. "They are really sweet."

“Aw I’m excited,” Win murmured, pressing a kiss to Lyddie’s lips. “I’m really happy to be here with you.”

Lydia's heart melted at the words, she felt slightly guilty for dragging Win away from everyone and everything so it felt really good to hear that. "I love you," she whispered before going back to making breakfast.

Win smiled as she got back to work unpacking and by the time Lydia had breakfast made she had almost all of the dishes put away and both Nathans had appeared.

"Breakfast today is only for people who were helping me unpack," Lydia teased, setting the table.

"Gonna let us starve to death?" her Nathan gasped.

"Don't worry, you're immortal."

“That doesn’t mean we still don’t suffer!” Win’s Nathan complained with a pout.

"Awww poor Natty," Lydia gave him a plate and kissed his forehead. "Next time get your ass out of bed and help me, will you?"

"We'll make it up to you," Lyddie's Nathan flashed her a sleepy smile.

“Uh huh, I’m sure you will,” Win exclaimed, pouring everyone a glass of juice before taking her seat.

"I was telling Win you should come watch me today," Lydia said, mindlessly pouring syrup on her pancakes. "It's gonna be fun."

"We should go, there's loads o'strippers in th’show, we'll get t'see it up close," Lyddie's Nathan whispered to his clone.

“I’m in!” Win’s Nathan exclaimed, shoving half a pancake in his mouth as Win gave him a disgusted look.

“Make sure t’chew your food, before y’choke,” she said, shaking her head ruefully. “I really don’t wanna watch you die before ten o’clock.”

"On another note, please shove more food in your mouth," Lydia tilted her head, watching him mesmerized. "But yeah, careful... choking.... chew..." she mumbled.

"Wow, didn't think it was horny o'clock already, my watch must be broken," her Nathan mocked, snapping his fingers in front of her eyes to get her attention.

Win rolled her eyes and got back to her plate, giving Lyddie a playful pinch to snap her out of her daze.

"Okay, okay," Lydia huffed. "But you know, since we did the kitchen, the boys should organize the bathroom, I think it's only fair..."

“Ugh, I s’pose,” Win’s Nathan groaned. “What time is your rehearsal?” he asked quickly, hoping to distract her from the thought of unpacking the bathroom.

"It's at four, plenty of time for you two to work while Winnie and I watch some TV, snog a little..." Lydia noticed his attempt to deflect.

“Mmm sounds perfect t’me,” Win mused, squeezing Lyddie’s thigh beneath the table.

"Just don't blame us if we accidentally ruin your makeup, we're pretty clumsy..." Lyddie's Nathan shrugged.

"Ha ha, you got powers, you twat! It's gonna take, what, two seconds to get everything done?" Lydia teased, placing her hand on top of Win's

“Oh yeah,” Win’s Nathan mused, as if he’d forgotten about their powers. “Do we get a reward for helpin’ out?”

"A reward for doing what you were supposed to do all along....?" Lydia mused. "Yeah, I suppose you each get a kiss," she drawled.

“That’s all?” Win’s Nathan groaned. “Do we get t’choose where?” he asked hopefully.

"Maybe," Lydia winked at Win. "I'll think about it, if you ask nicely." She didn't know who she was trying to fool, but it felt nice to wind them up.

“C’mon Lyddie, I think the boys should clean up the dishes for us too,” Win said, a smug look on her face as she nuzzled into the crook of Lydia’s neck before pulling her to her feet to head to the living room.

"Yeah, that would be so nice," she murmured, following Win to the couch. "Nothing makes me hornier than clean dishes..."

"Now you're just abusin' your power, that's not fair!" her Nathan protested.

“Y’better get workin’!” Win called from the living room, “if y’want her t’still be horny by the time I’m done with her!” she joked, pulling Lydia to the couch with her.

"You are a genius, why didn't I think of that before? That's why I love you so much," Lydia took Win into her arms and kissed her temple gently. "Oh, I missed American television..."

“Is that the only reason y’love me?” Win teased, grinning to herself as she settled down in Lyddie’s arms to focus on the tv, while the two Nathans bickered over who was gunna do what in the other room.

"No, of course not..." Lydia chuckled, watching the boys being chaotic over a simple task. "I love you 'cause you're sweet, and a great person, and cute, and sexy, and beautiful, and you have nice tits, and you have that cocky charm I can't resist... those are some of the reasons."

“Oh really?” Win mused, grinning as she pulled Lydia in for a kiss, her tongue sliding against her lip, begging entrance.

Lydia hummed in response, kissing Win back, whatever was on the tv or whatever stupid fight the boys were having was instantly forgotten.

“I can’t imagine my life without you in it anymore Lyddie,” Win whispered between kisses, each one becoming more heated than the last.

"You don't ever have to, I'm not going anywhere, you're stuck with me," Lydia didn't expect the romantic confession in the middle of snogging, but she loved to hear it.

“Good,” Win murmured, kissing her way down Lyddie’s neck, her hand wandering.

“Hey now! Cut that out!” Win’s Nathan cried from across the room.

"Why? Finish your chore first," Lydia moaned, sliding her hand down to Win's ass. "And you'll get some attention too."

"How can we concentrate while you're doin' that right in front of us?" Lyddie's Nathan whined.

“We could go in the bedroom so we don’t distract you, if you’d rather,” Win replied, nipping at Lyddie’s neck, her hand slipping under the front of her shirt to fondle her.

"Ugh! You two are the worst!" Lyddie's Nathan waved his hand and made the dishes disappear.

"Natty, did you just get rid of it?" Lydia tried not to completely lose her mind shivering under Win's touch.

"No, it's in the cupboard... can I join now?"

“What about the bathroom?” Win asked innocently, eyeing him sideways, arching into Lyddie’s touch, quite aware of how they looked at the moment and how crazy it must be driving him.

"Jesus! Nathan!" Lyddie's Nathan shouted angrily, heading to the bathroom.

"You better be fast, I'm getting very impatient..." Lydia started grinding against Win's thigh, she was trying to put on a show for them, but at the same time she just wanted to shag her already.

“What do you wanna do, babe? Wait for the boys or not?” Win asked with a laugh, feeling rather impatient herself.

"It wouldn't hurt to start without them," Lydia's hands snaked under Win's shirt with a mischievous grin. "They can join when they're done, you just look so hot, I don't wanna wait."

“Y’hear that boys? Lyddie can’t wait any longer!” Win laughed before turning back to Lydia. “God, me either, I want you now, Lyds,” she mumbled, tugging at Lydia’s knickers

Lydia laughed as she heard clattering in the bathroom. "Put that shit down, y'wanker! No, let me do it!" Lyddie's Nathan exclaimed in a rage.

"I want you too," she whispered, brushing her lips along Win's jaw, pinching her nipples.

“Good,” Win murmured, kneeling between Lyddie’s legs, not hesitating to taste her, eagerly licking up her slit, her hands squeezing at her thighs.

Lydia shuddered with a loud moan as she rolled her hips, running her fingers through Win's hair. "That's so good, Winnie, I've missed your mouth so much..."

“You taste so good sweetheart,” Win purred, running her hand up Lyddie’s body to squeeze her breast as she moved her tongue faster, playing with her nipple as she circled her clit, relishing the sounds Lyddie made.

“Will you hurry up? They’re gunna be done by th’time you finish!” Win’s Nathan hissed, glancing over his shoulder at what was going on in the living room as he stuffed some towels into the cupboard.

"This isn't my fault! I just had t'fix your mess! My part is done!" Lyddie's Nathan countered, knowing his fiancé would be pissed if he half-assed it.

"Just like that, babe, oh please!" Lydia whimpered slightly louder than she normally would, biting her lip as she threw her head back, glancing at the boys. She did miss some alone time with Win... for girl talk and things like that.

“My mess!” Win’s Nathan yelped indignantly, unable to focus. “This is drivin’ me nuts!” he growled, looking over his shoulder again. “I’ll finish it after!” he whined impatiently.

Win moaned, unable to speak and not wanting to stop, her tongue moving faster, unrelenting, wanting to hear Lyddie scream as she came.

"Yes! Winnie!" Lydia cried, her entire body going numb with pleasure and her mind went totally blank before she was finally able to open her eyes. "Hi, boys..."

"Don't you come at me with hi boys," her Nathan folded his arms.

“What do you want us t’say?” Win asked, rolling to her back to face them, lazing her head in Lyddie’s lap, a content grin tugging at her lips.

Lyddie's Nathan's mouth opened and closed several times as he thought of how to answer the question.

"How about this," Lydia stoked Win's hair. "I gotta get ready for work soon, but because you boys helped us, tonight you pick whatever you wanna do. Sound good?"

“Sounds good t’me,” Win’s Nathan piped up, eyeing the girls hungrily.

“I better get ready too, if we’re going with you,” Win said, stretching languidly as Lyddie slid out from under her.

"Yeah, I s'pose..." Lyddie's Nathan rolled his eyes. "And as promised before," Lydia pulled him closer to press a kiss to his neck and then moved to kiss Win's Nathan's chest. "Thank you, you were so helpful."

“What about you?” Win’s Nathan asked, turning his eyes on his girlfriend, a hopeful look on his face. “Do we get kisses from you as well?”

"I think they deserve it, Winnie," Lydia giggled, ripping her shirt off to change.

"Especially me, I did almost all the work," Lyddie's Nathan elbowed his clone with a shit-eating smirk.

Win fought back a grin at the indignation on her Nathan’s face and stood to press a kiss to his lips, tugging at his shirt to get him to lean down before turning to Lyddie’s Nathan and capturing his lips as well, giving him just a hint of tongue as a little extra.

Lydia gathered all she would need in a backpack, packing some light snacks, dancing shoes (even though she would mostly wear combat boots in the show), water, honey for her throat, towel... "Hey, is everyone ready?" she asked, leaving the bathroom after putting her hair in a high ponytail.

“Yep!” Win exclaimed happily, excited to watch Lyddie work.

"Then let's go, we're moving to the theatre today," Lydia locked arms with Win and headed to the door, followed by the Nathans, who had a long discussion over who would get to wear their blue hoodie.

The Brooks Atinkson wasn't far, in fact, it was on their street, crossing the 8th Avenue. When they entered Win looked around, while trying not to look like she was some sort of tourist.

“So what now?” she asked, squeezing Lydia’s arm.

"Now come with me, I'll show you backstage," Lydia was clearly having the time of her life saying that. The quad could've walked through the stage door, but what’s the fun in that? Lydia pulled herself up to the stage and took Win's hands to help her do the same, while the boys clumsily followed.

"Hey guys, I brought my girlfriend to watch the run-through today," she announced as she found part of the cast, the director, and the choreographer sitting around in a room they used for collective warm-ups. "...And my boyfriend, and my fiancé."

“Hey,” Win greeted, flushing slightly as all eyes turned on them and she moved a little closer to Nathan’s side, letting him drape his arm over her shoulder as he waved to Lyddie’s crew members.

"Um... hey," the diretor, a tall, slender guy with gray hair, took a few seconds to make sure he actually heard what he thought he heard. "That's... awesome, I hope you guys enjoy it."

Lyddie's Nathan already had a hard time keeping up with two girlfriends, but that didn't stop him from waving at the beautiful girls from the ensemble with a silly smile. "Come on, I'll show you guys my dressing room next," Lydia exclaimed, heading down a long hallway.

“Ooo, dressing room!” Win’s Nathan exclaimed, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. “I remember quite fondly th’last dressin’ room we were in, ey Lyds?”

Lydia's cheeks blushed with the memory from that day, it felt like ages ago, even though it'd been only a couple months. "Yeah, it was quite nice..." she opened a door that read "Lyddie Young - Lonny Barnett", which lead to a much fancier dressing room than the one from their memory. "Home sweet home."

"Dang," Win breathed, looking around in awe. "This is... a lot nicer."

"Yeah, no shit," her Nathan agreed.

"So when do we get t'shag here?" Lyddie’s Nathan asked, wrapping his arms around her waist.

"The walls are thin, Natty," Lydia warned playfully. "Plus I don't think shagging on my first day in the theatre is the best idea..."

"Why not? It’ll bring good luck," he said, pulling her onto the big red couch next to the window.

"I don't know if that's how it works," Win laughed, ambling around the room.

"Yeah, last time I checked 'break a leg' was just fine," Lydia laughed, breaking free from his embrace to take a look at her costume. Her first outfit was a pair of skinny jeans, black leather fingerless gloves, and a tuxedo t-shirt.

"Ooo that's kinda sexy," Win cooed, plopping down between the Nathans. "I can't wait to see you up on stage," she sighed. "How many costume changes do you have?"

"Four, two for each act," Lydia smiled, knowing damn well she's supposed to look like the comic relief, which was fine, just not exactly what she was used to. "I only change the top though, so at least I don't have to run."

"That's good, it sounds like it could be stressful otherwise," Win mused.

"Yeah, poor Sherry Christian has the most complex changes in the show..." Lydia started to get dressed after looking at the clock. "We're starting anytime now, do you guys wanna watch from the wings or the audience?"

"I vote audience," Win exclaimed.

Her Nathan shrugged. "I'm with her."

"Yeah, I s'pose with no crazy fans in sight..." Lyddie's Nathan shrugged.

"Nice, I gotta go to makeup and get ready, do you guys know how to get there?" Lydia looked up at them as she laced up her boots.

"Yeah, I'll take them," her Nathan said, placing a kiss to her lips before getting up.

"Break a leg, babe!" Win called as they filed out of her dressing room, Lyddie's Nathan guiding them out to the audience.

"So, do you know anythin' about this musical?" Win asked Lyddie's Nathan as she sat between them.

"Oh yeah, it was the first show we ever watched on Broadway, I ran t'get tickets 'cause she was gettin' suspicious with all the proposal plannin', so I had to distract her... it's pretty cool, everyone liked it," Lyddie's Nathan smiled remembering that night.

"Aww that's so sweet," Win whispered, sitting back in her seat as the lights dimmed. "And you don't think you can be romantic," she scoffed. For a moment she looked down at her hand wistfully in her lap before hastily slipping it under her leg.

"Come on feel the noise! Girls rock your boys, we'll get wild wild wild!" Lydia jumped into the stage singing, her cotton candy hair was now a Joan Jett mullet and her British accent was nowhere to be seen. "We're going back to a sexier time, the Reagan era!" she shouted as if the theatre was packed. A girl in a quite revealing outfit came in licking a popsicle and Lydia pulled her closer with one hand on her ass. "See what I mean?"

"Whoa," Win's Nathan exclaimed, sitting up straighter. "Damn Lollipop."

Win frowned slightly, but didn't say anything, chewing her lip.

Lyddie's Nathan looked over at Win, he knew the feeling, but he was happy that at least she didn't have to take her clothes off like most of the female cast... The first act ran smoothly, Lydia was having fun, not scared to look silly as she delivered the most absurd lines. Every time she heard a laugh coming from the audience, that only made her want to do more, and be even more extra. "Stay there, everyone, cause act two is coming, and it totally kicks act one's ass," she whispered by the end of Here I Go Again.

"Well, that was... incredible," her Nathan gaped.

“Yeah, she’s amazing,” Win’s Nathan agreed. “I might start likin’ more musicals if Lyddie’s in ‘em.”

"What'd you think, Winnie?" Lyddie's Nathan nudged her arm gently, taking her hand.

“It’s great! Lyddie’s so amazing. I’m so proud of her,” Win said, leaning in closer.

Lyddie's Nathan didn't remember everything that happened during the second act, he was excited to see it again. In about fifteen minutes, the show was back on, everything was perfect, Nathan was having a great time, but when he heard the first notes of Can't Fight This Feeling, his stomach twisted.��

"I can't fight this feeling any longer, and yet I'm still afraid to let it flow..." Lydia started the duet where her character and their best friend shared their feelings, ending in a passionate kiss.

“Oh...” Win murmured, glancing over at Lyddie’s Nathan. “I thought you said you’ve seen this one before? Did you know she was supposed to kiss someone?”

"I-I forgot..." he chuckled nervously, not wanting to show that he was bothered, after all it was her work. But the thought of her kissing that man every night, eight times a week was a little upsetting.

“Hey...” Win murmured, giving his hand a squeeze. “Does that bother you too? I mean... a little bit?” she asked hesitantly.

"Yeah, kinda..." Lyddie's Nathan admitted. "It's just a little weird, y'know?"

“Yeah...” Win mused, chewing her lip again. “I know realistically it doesn’t mean anything, but...”

"Yeah, it's just..." he shook his head and tried to push that thought away. The rest of the show was great, the final number (which was Lyddie's audition song, Don't Stop Believin') was beautiful, and as soon as it ended, she jumped from the stage and ran to meet the others.

"So how was it?" she asked, still with an American accent.

“It was great! You were great!” Win’s Nathan exclaimed, scooping her into his arms to spin her around.

"Thank you!" Lydia slowly went back to her normal way of speaking. "It felt so great! I can't believe I just did that!"

"It was unbelievable alright," her Nathan laughed. The performance was amazing, despite how he felt about the kiss. "Y'look good with a mullet."

"Shut up..." she punched him playfully.

“You make anything look good,” Win agreed.

"Stop that," Lydia turned red with all the praise, though she felt something was slightly off. "Say what, I'll change, get my director's notes and we can go eat something? I'm starving."

“Yeah, sounds good,” Win exclaimed, though she didn’t feel very hungry.

Lydia wasn't sure what was wrong, Win's Nathan seemed fine, but the others weren't, she started to worry, maybe she wasn't so great... She took the notes, wrote them down to work on it, changed back into her clothes, got her backpack and met the quad next to the exit.

"There's a McDonald's at Times Square," she suggested.

"Yeah, sounds good," her Nathan agreed with a nod.

The walk to the restaurant was pretty quiet, Lyddie’s passionate on stage kiss replaying through Win’s head til she felt like being sick, losing her appetite.

"Hey, I feel like there's something wrong... what happened?" Lydia asked as she ordered from one of the computers in the lobby.

“Uhhh...” Win hesitated, sharing a look with Lyddie’s Nathan. “Well...”

"We were caught off guard with the... um... the kiss," Lyddie's Nathan cleared his throat.

"You guys are jealous of me doing a stage kiss?" Lydia thought they were joking for a second.

“Kinda...” Win admitted sheepishly.

"You too?" she turned to Win's Nathan who was going through her backpack for water.

“Oh, uh, I mean, I don’t like thinkin’ about it, but it’s part of your job. It didn’t mean anythin’ right?” he asked.

"Yeah! It's just work, my scene partner is married, and he has a kid on the way... okay, on the way eight years from now, but still!" Lydia took the order and headed upstairs to get a table.

Win bit her lip as she followed them. Knowing the guy was married helped, but she still felt a little twist of jealousy. “Ohh, well that’s good. I mean, that he’s married,” she said awkwardly.

"You know, I thought the boys might be a little jealous, didn't expect it from you..." Lydia smiled at Win, it was kind of adorable. "But none of you have anything to worry about."

"I s'pose... I just don't like the idea," her Nathan sat down, covering his face with both hands.

“I’m sorry,” Win mumbled, “I can’t help it. I really did like everything else though!” she insisted. “I hope you’re not upset.”

"No, how can I be upset? It's really cute," Lydia kissed Win's cheek lovingly before taking her first bite. "I promise it doesn't mean anything, the guy is old enough to be my dad, and I love you all too much."

"I love you too," her Nathan stole one of her fries despite having his own.

“Love you seconded,” Win said, feeling better, before stealing one of Nathan’s fries in return.

———————-

Tag list: @magic-multicolored-miracle @santacarlahorrorshow @messengeronthemoon @the-freckled-luba @firstpersonnarrator @spanishmossmagnolia @salvador-daley @forenschik @a-ghoulish-tale @love-is-dirty-baby @vonkimmeren @violetrainbow412-blog @falloutby

#misfits #misfits fic #nathan young #nathan young x oc #nathan x win #nathan x lyddie #otp: green apple lollipop #timeline anomaly’verse #collaboration

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silversatoru · 3 years

Text

hot chocolate

megumi x yuuji

synopsis: megumi’s days get a little less boring when yuuji starts stopping by his coffee shop

tags/warnings: fluff, college au!, coffee shop au!, characters are aged up, making out, swearing

word count: 3780

The whipped cream bottle whizzed and sputtered, the scarce remains of its contents flying all over the counter. Megumi stifled a few cuss words under his breath, silently cursing whoever finished the whipped cream and didn't replace it with a new one. He tossed it in the garbage and drug himself into the back of the shop in search of a fresh bottle. He was only two hours into his shift at his university's coffee shop, but it had easily been the longest two hours of his life. Midterms were this week, meaning every student on campus was stopping by for some extra caffeine to get through their day.

When he finally returned with his new container of whipped cream, the line of students had nearly doubled — what a hassle. He threw a quick, fluffy spiral of cream onto the drink he'd been working on and gave it to the customer, apologizing for the wait. He shoved the money into the old cash register and handed them their change, a small sigh leaving his lips as the next customer approached.

It was an athletic looking boy with pink spiky hair and a round face. He wore a baggy sweatshirt and sweatpants, and his rose-colored hair looked as if he had just rolled out of bed. Megumi didn't recognize him, which was weird because he had a knack for memorizing the faces of every student who walked in and out of the shop.

"Hi, what can I get for you today?" Megumi spoke in his signature monotone voice, too tired to add any customer service flare.

"I'm not sure," The boy stared up at the menu with a terribly confused expression on his face.

"What do you mean you're not sure?" Megumi stared at the boy like he had two heads — he'd been waiting in line for at least ten minutes and he still hadn't decided?

"Well, I don't actually like coffee. So, I'm not sure what to get," he stated bluntly.

"If you don't like coffee, why did you come to a coffee shop. We literally only sell coffee," Megumi deadpanned.

"Well, I want to try and force myself like coffee — acquire the taste, you know? For the caffeine and stuff. Maybe you could recommend me a drink?"

"Uh... yeah sure. I'll just make you what I usually get," Megumi had to forcibly stop himself from rolling his eyes at the customer.

"Okay, great!" The pink-haired student called after him as he walked over to the array of coffee machines.

Megumi grabbed a cup for hot beverages, sliding it under the latte machine and filling the it with the warm brown liquid. He stirred in some oat milk and a drizzle of honey before topping it off with a layer of cream. He made his way back over to the peculiar customer and carefully handed him the drink.

"It's a honey oat milk latte," Megumi stated plainly.

"I'm not even sure what a latte is, but thank you!" His lips twisted into a toothy smile as he handed Megumi his debit card.

The dark-haired boy swiped his card through then machine and finished the transaction before returning it to the boy, "Have a nice day".

"Thanks, you too! My name is Itadori Yuuji by the way, it was nice to meet you...," he squinted his eyes in attempt to read Megumi's name badge, "Fushiguro! That's a cool name".

"Uh, thanks. I have to help the next customer now," Megumi rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly — this whole interaction was so weird.

"Oh, right. Thank you again!" He called out as he turned and left the shop.

Megumi found it impossibly hard to concentrate on his job after that. For some reason his mind was consumed by his interaction with Itadori Yuuji — the peculiar pink-haired student. He found himself still thinking about it later that night, even after working all morning and attending classes all afternoon. No amount of school work was able to distract his mind from this stupid new boy.

When he woke up the next morning and slipped on his apron before heading to work, he wondered if the pink-haired boy would be back again today. He searched all morning for a head of fluffy pink hair amongst the hoards of students, but he never came.

Around ten o'clock the coffee shop always dies down, as all the students and teachers are in class. Megumi leaned back against the counter and pulled out his phone, mindlessly scrolling through twitter while he waited for a customer to show up.

The golden bells hanging from the front door emitted a soft ringing sound, signaling that someone had entered the shop. Megumi looked up to see a baggy sweatshirt and messy pink hair, and for some reason his heart jumped.

"Hey, Fushiguro!" Yuuji's face was plastered with a bright smile.

Megumi scrunched up his nose, it was weird for the boy to call him by his name — they didn't even know each other.

"Hey, how was the honey oat milk latte?" Megumi slid his phone back into his pocket and approached the counter.

"Oh, it was terrible. Fucking awful, actually," Yuuji's faced scrunched up in horror as he reminisced on the atrociously bitter flavor.

Megumi was genuinely offended. Yuuji could have told him he was the ugliest person he'd ever seen, that he had the personality of a brick wall, but to insult his coffee? That was crossing a line. Megumi knew his coffee-making skills were impeccable.

"Excuse me?" Was all he could manage.

"Yeah, it was probably one of the worst things I've ever put in my mouth. Anyway, I was hoping to try something different today," Yuuji said nonchalantly, his hands resting comfortably in the pocket of his hoodie.

"Okay..." Megumi took a deep breath, trying desperately to keep his cool, "What would you like to try?"

"Could you just make something for me again? I really don't know what to order".

"But you hated my last recommendation," Megumi stared at him blankly.

"Yeah... but eventually you'll have to make something I like," Yuuji insisted.

Megumi grumbled a quick "alright" and headed back over to the machinery, searching his mind for a recipe Yuuji might like. Eventually, he decided on a caramel macchiato — everyone likes those. He handed Yuuji the drink and the pink haired boy quickly payed before leaving the shop again.

Megumi watched him as he walked past the coffee shop windows and took a sip of his drink. The pink haired boy's face twisted with disgust, and he looked like he could barely keep the liquid down. He immediately took another sip, his body having the exact same reaction as the first time. Megumi let out a heavy sigh, shaking his head as he watched that absolute idiot until he could no longer see him.

He continued to refer to Yuuji as stupid, weird, or annoying, but that was completely contradictory to the fact that he couldn't get the pink-haired boy out of his mind. He found himself wondering if he would come back again for a third time, and if he did, what drink would Megumi make him? A small part of him was getting invested in this outlandish journey of finding a drink that Yuuji actually liked.

That night Megumi had a revelation — maybe hot coffee just wasn't Yuuji's thing. He decided that tomorrow he'd make him something cold, that was sure to work.

So, when the third day rolled around and Yuuji's messy pink hair came waltzing into the campus coffee shop, Megumi made him an iced cinnamon dolce latte. This time though, Yuuji followed him over to the array of coffee machines, asking him questions about how coffee was made. Megumi found himself explaining the entire process, from how the coffee is brewed to what sweeteners and creams he was adding to this particular beverage. He was honestly appalled by his own actions, he would never put in this kind of effort for any of his other customers — so what made Yuuji so different?

"So, what's your major?" Yuuji questioned while Megumi dusted some cinnamon over the top of his drink.

"Biology with a minor in veterinary technology," Megumi answered without looking up at him, snapping the plastic lid onto the coffee cup.

"Ohhh somebody's smart," Yuuji mused, "Animals, huh?"

"Yeah, they don't talk as much as people do," Megumi said, only half-joking.

"Right? People can be so annoying sometimes," Yuuji shook his head.

Megumi found his lips cracking into the tiniest smile — how ironic and blissfully unaware this boy was. He seemed to truly live life without a care in the world.

"What's yours?" Megumi asked, finally stretching out his arm and handing the pink-haired boy his iced coffee.

"Oh, sports med," Yuuji responded, his nose scrunching up as he took the first sip of his drink.

That answer didn't surprise Megumi at all, given the boy's athletic physique it was obvious he was into that sort of thing. The poor reaction to Megumi's coffee didn't surprise him either — this endeavor to find him a drink he likes is proving to be futile.

"Not good?"

"So bad," Yuuji shook his head, his eyes filled with despair and disgust, "We'll find one eventually though!"

"Maybe," Megumi didn't know it, but his face softened when he talked to Yuuji, his shoulders fell and his jaw unclenched.

There was so something so simple and calming about conversing with that strange boy.

"Well, thanks anyway! See you tomorrow Fushiguro!" His voice rung out through the shop — he really had no volume control when he spoke.

Megumi found himself watching Yuuji through the windows until he could no longer see him again —this was becoming a bad habit.

When the rush of students on their way to morning classes finally died down, one of his coworkers approached him.

"Sweet cream?" The boy questioned him, one of his eyebrows raised in suspicion.

His coworkers name was Inumaki Toge, and he was deaf and mute — selectively mute, anyway. He only communicated in words related to coffee, which was entirely too strange for most people, but Megumi didn't mind.

The two of them had been friends since Megumi first got this job two years ago. They'd even created their own communication system — Toge would talk in coffee terms, which translated to certain things that really only Megumi understood. Then, the dark-haired boy would respond in sign language, a skill he learned just so he could talk to the boy. It broke his stone-cold heart when he first started working here and saw Toge was always alone in the back of the shop. Most students didn't have the time or energy to learn a whole new language for the sake of someone they didn't know, but Megumi decided to put in the effort.

Megumi rolled his eyes, signing that no, he and the pink-haired boy were not friends.

"Americano," Toge furiously crossed his arms over his chest, accusing Megumi of lying to him.

I'm not lying! He's been coming here the past few days for coffee. I don't know why he talks to me so much, Megumi quickly signed back, his eyes narrowed at the white-haired boy.

Toge rolled his eyes at him in the hardest, most exaggerated way possible.

He's just a customer Toge, don't look at me like that, Megumi folded his fingers into the different signs, his frustration towards the mute boy growing.

"Espresso," Toge mumbled under his breath, twisting and returning to his spot at the back of the shop where would grind coffee beans and restock their shelves.

What? You're out of your fucking mind Toge. I do not like him, he's just a regular customer, Megumi angrily signed at him, but it was to no use, as the deaf boy had already turned around and was paying him no mind.

Their conversation lingered in his head for the remainder of the day though, because maybe Toge was onto something. Megumi was terrified to admit it, but Yuuji's daily visits had quickly become the best part of his day, even if he was kind of annoying.

And it continued to be the best part of his day for the next few weeks. Yuuji would come to the shop everyday and they would make pointless small talk while Megumi brewed him new drinks to try. Not a single one ever suited his palate, but he continued to return none the less. His motives were becoming questionable at this point — was he still coming for the coffee, or had this turned into something much bigger?

So, when winter break was right around the corner, and the last day of classes began, Megumi wondered what his days would be like when he didn't have their daily interactions to look forward to.

It was especially snowy today — enough to dust the ground and freeze the air, but not enough for classes to get canceled. Bundled students trudged in and out of the shop, buying coffees and hot chocolates in attempt to keep themselves warm. Their was an excited energy in the air though, it seemed everyone was thrilled for fall semester to be over — everyone except Megumi.

His heart skipped a few beats when Yuuji's familiar soft face appeared in the door.

"Hey, Megumi!" He called out, waving his had furiously through the air.

Somehow they had transitioned to a first name basis about a week ago — the dark-haired boy wasn't even sure how it happened but he certainty didn't mind it.

"Hey, you want something warm or cold today?"

"Definitely warm," Yuuji answered quickly, a shiver coursing its way through his body.

Megumi nodded, getting to work on something that he was sure Yuuji would like.

"Are you visiting family over break?" Yuuji wasted no time addressing their winter-break dilemma.

"No," Megumi shrugged his shoulders, he was one of the very few students who never went home on holidays.

"No family to visit. I live in an off-campus apartment so I just stay here over breaks".

Megumi expected Yuuji to frown, maybe even show him some pity for his unfortunate situation, but he did the complete opposite instead. He lips spread into the widest smile, and he swore he saw him jump in excitement.

"Me too! I used to visit my grandfather, but he died a couple years ago. My holidays have been pretty lonely".

Megumi looked up at him, a bewildered expression on his face. Who could have known that someone as cheerful as Yuuji was carrying such a burden?

"Where do you live? Maybe we could hang out over break," the pink-haired boy cocked his head to the side.

"Second street," Megumi answered, filling Yuuji's cup with steaming brown liquid.

He certainly wasn't opposed to the idea of seeing Yuuji more often, but it scared him just as much as it excited him.

"I live on Third! I can't believe we haven't run into each other before," Yuuji gasped.

Megumi wordlessly finished up the hot drink, subtly scribbling his address and his phone number onto the coffee label while the other boy blabbed on about how close they lived. When he was done he held it out to him, the pink-haired boy reaching out with his mitten-covered hands to take the drink.

He took a small sip and his eyes sparkled like they held the stars inside of them.

"This is so good! What kind is it?" Yuuji asked, eagerly taking another sip and inevitably burning his tongue on the hot beverage.

"Hot chocolate," Megumi spoke plainly, "I've come to the conclusion that it's impossible for you to like coffee".

"You're probably right," Yuuji nodded, "I think I'm more of a hot chocolate guy".

"No, you're a child with immature taste in drinks," Megumi scrunched up his nose.

Yuuji faked offense, and then held up his hand and attempted to flip Megumi off through his mitten — but it didn't really work.

That's when he noticed the dark-haired boy's phone number and address scribbled on the side of his cup. A light blush dusted over his cheeks and he offered Megumi a warm smile.

"I'll see you around!" He called.

A thousand butterflies flew around Megumi's stomach as he watched the boy leave and walk down the snowy sidewalk. What the hell kind of cheesy hallmark movie was his life turning into?

"Americano," Toge's accusatory voice shook Megumi out of his trance.

Okay fine, maybe I'm a liar. Fuck off, Megumi signed at him, to which the deaf boy chuckled to himself.

☃

It was Christmas Eve now, and classes had ended a few days ago. Megumi checked his phone obsessively, but a text from Yuuji never appeared. He started to doubt that the boy actually meant what he said about wanting to hang out — maybe he was just being nice and Megumi had taken it the wrong way. He couldn't help but feel disappointed, no matter how much he wished he didn't care. He'd even taken a container of the coffee shops' hot chocolate powder for Yuuji. He planned on gifting it to him, because he had liked it so much.

So, when six o'clock at night rolled around and there was still no sign of the cheery pink-haired boy, he felt his heart squeeze in his chest. Who knew he was so invested in this idiot?

A light knock on his front door pulled him out of his thoughts, and his heart leaped into his throat. He peered through the small peep hole of his door and euphoria spread through his body — the stupid, spiky-haired boy had finally arrived.

He opened the door and Yuuji immediately blushed, his eyes wide as he looked around Megumi's apartment.

"Hi," He squeaked, "Sorry I didn't text or anything".

"It's okay," He ushered the boy inside and closed the door behind him.

"I stopped at a convenience store and bought some cookie dough. I thought we could make them, since yanno, it's a Christmas Eve thing".

Megumi found his own cheeks get warm at the other boy's forwardness. Baking cookies felt so familial, not like something you'd do with a coffee shop acquaintance. But none the less, he nodded his head and guided Yuuji into the kitchen.

The awkwardness between them quickly melted away as they rolled out the dough and attempted to cut out fun Christmas-themed shapes. Megumi chewed on his bottom lip as he focused on the intricate snowflake cookie was trying to make, his perfectionism getting way too involved. Yuuji on the other hand held up a half-smushed blob with a few spikes coming out of the top and two holes punched through the middle.

"It's you!" he laughed, holding his monstrosity of a cookie up for Megumi to see.

The dark-haired boy scoffed, "That's terrible, it looks nothing like me".

"Sorry, Mr. I'm smart and good at art. Are you sure you're not a sculpting student or something?" Yuuji stuck his nose in the air, carefully placing his Megumi cookie on the greased metal tray.

They each cut out a couple more shapes before the oven let out a loud ding to let them know it was preheated. Megumi picked up the tray and shuffled over to the oven, carefully placing it on the top rack. He closed the door before standing up and turning around — bumping right into Yuuji, who for some reason was standing right behind him. They were the exact same height, so Megumi's nose practically slammed into Yuuji's. He blushed furiously, quickly backing up into the counter.

"Sorry," he mumbled a quick apology, though Yuuji had been the one standing right behind him, so maybe he should apologize.

"Can I ask you a question?" Yuuji cocked his head to the side, completely ignoring Megumi's apology.

"Sure?" Megumi gave him a confused look.

"This is more than just two coffee shop friends hanging out, right? You can kick me out if I'm wrong, but if I'm right, I'd really like to kiss you while those cookies bake".

Megumi's eyes widened, his heart thumping hard against the walls of his chest. Of course he wanted to kiss Yuuji, he'd wanted to for weeks — it was all he thought about while he brewed him his stupid coffees everyday.

"Yeah... yeah, you're right," Megumi nodded, those few words were all that he could manage.

That clarification was all that Yuuji needed, a soft smile blossoming on his face before he stepped forward and cupped his fingers around the back of Megumi's neck. Heat spread through his face as their lips collided, every other one of his senses fading away as his body honed in on Yuuji's touch.

He'd been kissed before, several times by both men and women — but none of them compared to this. None of them were this gentle, soft, and electrifying all at the same time. Yuuji's fingers curled into the base of Megumi's hair, and he found his own hands tracing up the sides of the others' torso. He was completely drowning in the ocean that was Yuuji's lips, his mind growing foggy. He'd imagined what this would be like far too many times, but never once did he think it would be this good.

The ten minute timer Megumi had set on the oven started blaring through the kitchen, and he couldn't believe it had been that long already. A soft sigh escaped his throat as Yuuji pulled away, a smile tugging at the other's lips.

"I didn't expect so much experience from the quiet coffee barista," Yuuji poked at him, his eyes glistening with a fire that hadn't been there before.

"Don't judge a book by its cover, I guess," Megumi shrugged, grabbing his oven mitt and pulling the cookies out of the oven.

The pink-haired boy let out a light chuckle, immediately trying to grab a cookie off the metal sheet. Megumi swatted his hand away, insisting that the cookies would be too hot eat right away.

Megumi found his lips intertwined with Yuuji's again after setting down the tray — after all they'd have to pass the time while the cookies cooled somehow.

And so for the first time in a long time, Megumi didn't spend Christmas alone. Rather, he spent it with an overly-cheerful pink-haired boy who became a ray of sunshine in his life of clouds. Though he wished he liked his coffee, Megumi had no problem with brewing him hot chocolate instead. And he did, every morning for the rest of the spring semester he always had a cup of hot chocolate ready for Yuuji. He'd even stopped charging him for it at this point, throwing on a free drink discount every time he came.

#jjk #jjk oneshot #jujutsukaisen #fushiguro megumi #itadori yuuji #fushiguro x itadori #itadori x fushiguro #megumi x yuuji #yuuji x megumi #fushiguro x itadori fluff #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff

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