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moonbeambucky · 3 years

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Date Night

Pairing: Lance Tucker x Reader Word Count: 2685 Warnings: fluffy fluff

Summary: Valentine’s Day brings a pleasant surprise when you’re asked to go out on a date by someone other than Lance

A/N: It’s been forever since I posted but with Valentine’s Day coming up I thought I should share this special story of my favorite family. Thank you to my beautiful pizza love @all1e23 for beta reading ❤️

“Daddy?” Lance’s heart began to beat rapidly at the unexpected voice, letting out a sigh of relief as it was only Theo asking for a snack.

“Sure buddy, gimme a second, alright?” Lance responded, smiling back at Theo and Cashew who was practically his shadow.

Theo nodded but didn’t wait at the door, instead he went into the garage where his Dad was looking for something. Lance’s car was not in the driveway leaving Theo a lot of space to run around with his toy, making his superhero action figure narrowly fly over bicycles lined up against the wall, storage shelves and his old play wagon. Cashew playfully followed them both, though his ears perked up and he turned as Lance spoke.

“Perfect,” Lance grinned, putting back the bin that stored the Halloween decorations.

Theo ran back over curiously, wondering what his Dad was doing. With Valentine’s Day almost a week out Lance found the perfect hiding spot for the gift he got you.

“Don’t tell Mommy, okay? It’s a surprise. Pinky promise?” Lance held out his lifted pinky to Theo who locked his with his Dad’s, shaking enthusiastically. “You too Cashew,” he said, warning the dog to stop sniffing around his hiding spot.

Going back inside the house Theo bounced his toy off the wall, making sounds as it flew to the next surface he passed until they reached the kitchen. He placed the figure down on top of the table for a moment so he could pull out the chair, climbing onto it with his knees and left it to the side as he continued coloring his Valentine’s Day card for Ori. Cashew sat patiently on the floor beside him, hoping that food would soon find its way from the table to his mouth.

“Okay Theo, what kind of snack do you want?” Lance asked over his shoulder, standing in front of the refrigerator with his hand on the door ready to open it.

Theo answered casually as he continued to play, “Grilled cheese.”

“Grilled cheese!” Lance let go of the door and turned around completely. “Theo, we’re having dinner soon, we can’t have grilled cheese as a snack. How about something else? Apples and string cheese?”

Theo shook his head. If the cheese wasn’t grilled he wasn’t interested. He didn’t want any of his Dad’s suggestions, yogurt, grapes or even goldfish crackers.

“Help me out here buddy, ummm…” Lance opened the fridge to see what they actually had. His eyes lit up at the container on the middle shelf. “Guacamole?”

Theo bounced in his chair, nodding his head as he repeated, “Guaca-a-molie!”

Lance took out the container and quickly sliced up some carrots, celery and bell peppers for them both to snack on.

“What did you get mommy?” Theo asked, before tossing a carrot to Cashew.

A soft smile spread across Lance’s face as he detailed the necklace he bought you, two tiny gold bars engraved with Ariel and Theo’s initials on a delicate chain. “And this weekend mommy and I are going out on a date.” With the holiday falling in the middle of the week it was easier to arrange for his in-laws to watch the kids on Saturday so Lance could take you out.

“What’s a date?” the curious six year old asked.

Lance is surprised, certain it’s come up before from the times your parents have been gracious enough to come up and watch Ariel and Theodore, sometimes for a night, sometimes for a weekend.

He finishes chewing his food, taking a pause to wipe his mouth and think about how he’s going to answer, “Well for Mommy and I, going on a date is a way we can have special time together to show how much we love each other. So I’m taking Mommy out to dinner.”

Lance could see the wheels in Theo’s head turning, waiting for any more questions he might have. He’s happy to answer them, proud he can show Theo and Ariel what a healthy and loving relationship between two people can be.

“What story do you want to read tonight Pumpkin?” you asked, looking over all of the different choices on Theo’s bookshelf.

Theo was silent but not because he was choosing a book. With a little hesitation he squeaked, “Mommy, is it okay if Daddy reads me a story tonight?”

His eyes were as big and round as Cashew’s when he would beg to go outside despite a hurricane, yet Theo also had worry swirling inside his stare. Your smile eased his fears and you didn’t take it personally.

Lance was standing outside the bathroom in the hallway with his head looking down at his phone. The door was ajar for him to listen in case Ariel needed him. She began taking showers by herself at the start of the year, a big step that neither you or Lance were prepared for since it meant she was growing up. Still at eight years old, “Almost eight and a half!” Ariel’s voice echoed in your head, you wanted to be cautious.

“Theo wants you to read to him tonight,” you said, as Lance lifted his head up. You traded jobs for the night, stealing a kiss before you settled against the wall waiting for Ariel.

The moment Lance walked into Theo’s room he froze, as Theo zoomed past him to shut the door.

“What’s goin’ on buddy?” Lance asked with a bit of parental concern.

Theo smiled, motioning for his Dad to sit on his bed with him. Once there, Theo brought his hand up beside his face as his mouth carried excited whispers into his dad’s ear.

You woke up softly to the gentle touch of Lance’s lips, delicate as the petals of a flower he presses them on your skin; each one causing a bloom of happiness that radiates out from your heart. You smile staring back at him, lifting your hand to caress his cheek as your voice rasps with the remnants of sleep.

“G’morning my love.”

He shifts himself for you to cuddle close, enjoying the early moments of the dawn, before the alarm goes off, before the kids wake up, before Cashew needs to go out, before the world wants to take your attention away from each other.

Your head finds a comfortable spot against him, a tiny smile tugs at your lips when his arm wraps around your body keeping you snug. The arm that isn’t curled under you finds its way onto his chest, your palm presses against it feeling Lance’s firm body beneath his plain white t-shirt.

His hand covered yours against him as Lance murmured, “Happy Valentine’s Day, Y/N.”

Your head lifted up towards Lance, a smile gracing your face as you repeated the words back to him, your lips connecting for a languid kiss. The weeks have been busy between work and Ariel’s upcoming recital you had nearly forgotten today was Valentine’s Day. And as cheesy and cliché as it sounds you can’t help but feel like every day is a celebration of your love by the way Lance reminds you.

You couldn’t wait until Saturday, to go out on a much needed date with the love of your life and enjoy each other’s company away from the responsibilities of the real world. Your children always came first but it was nice to be able to do something just for yourselves.

With a glance towards the clock you smirk, a flash of desire burns in your eyes as you and Lance race against the clock before Ariel and Theo wake up. At least by now you’ve learned to lock your bedroom door.

After a quick shower your morning is filled with even more love, from the hugs and kisses Ariel and Theo gave you to Cashew’s broad tongue licking at your cheek. A special pink frosted dog treat settled him down as you helped serve the heart shaped pancakes Lance made everyone for breakfast.

Lance was dropping the kids off to school this morning and you made sure their backpacks had the Valentine’s they filled out for their classmates. You had a lot to do before you would be picking them up after school and the time always seems to fly by the busier you are. You had an interview scheduled with Serena Williams, someone you had been looking to speak with for quite some time now so you were very excited.

As you entered your office something caught your eye on the desk. You smiled at the folded construction paper in carnation pink, turning it over to look at the front covered in red hearts and cupid stickers.

Opening it up you couldn’t stop the smile that spread from ear to ear. Red crayon written by an unpolished hand wrote the details:

You are invited to A DATE

Date: Valentine’s Day... TODAY!!! Time: dinner time Place: my house

Love, Theodore

You waited a bit before calling Lance to be sure the kids were dropped off at school. He answered with a cheerful greeting and you teased, “Looks like I have a date tonight.”

He let out a soft chuckle. “Yeah, I think I heard something about that. Theo’s a very lucky guy.”

“There’s more than enough room in my heart for both of you,” you teased, pressing a kiss to his lips.

Ariel rushed to change into her leotard, not realizing she was going to be running late for dance class. She couldn’t help it, she was on the phone with her friends Cassie and Leo in New York, FaceTiming as they all opened the Valentine’s gifts they sent each other. After that call, she did the same with Ollie and they ended up spending a lot more time talking than she planned for.

Normally Ariel would hate being late but she didn’t mind at all talking to him. It was something she made time for every day even if their conversations weren’t always as long as she wanted them to be.

Before she went downstairs she placed the plush doll Ollie got her of Lady from Lady and the Tramp on her bed and unclasped the necklace from around the dog’s neck. It was a beautiful golden heart shaped locket with a tiny ballet slipper charm beside it. She opened the locket to find a picture of them together from when they met all those months ago on vacation.

A smile extended far beyond the limits of her face and Ariel made no attempts to hide it. You eyed the locket around her neck before she slipped on a light sweatshirt.

“Is that from Ollie?” you practically sang, knowing the answer already. A smile poked through the top of her shirt as she put it on, enthusiastically nodding her head as she showed off the necklace. “It’s beautiful sweetheart.”

Lance was taking Ariel out to dinner after dance class. You were happy they were spending the evening together. She wasn’t the jealous type but you and Lance always tried to make sure everything was fair between her and Theo.

“Dad and I are going to Doc’s for pancakes tonight,” she said proudly.

“Pancakes twice in one day. Aren’t you a lucky girl!”

Lance grinned awkwardly realizing Ariel should probably have a better dinner but if his Starfish wanted pancakes for dinner then she was having pancakes. He kissed you quickly, smiling against your lips as Theo told you guys to hurry up.

“She’s all yours,” Lance said as he and Ariel left.

Turning around you saw Theo dressed in a short sleeve white shirt tucked into his jeans, wearing one of Lance’s navy patterned ties. In his hand was a single rose that he held out for you.

“Hi mommy,” he smiled, walking over to give you the flower, “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

You could already tell your cheeks were going to ache before the night was up from smiling so much. Theo held your hand as he led you outside to the table Lance had most likely helped him set up. A small vase of a few roses sat in the center of the table, with flameless candles flickering around it. Plastic flutes were filled with a liquid that looked too gold to be champagne and a bright red plate was placed upside down, covering whatever you were about to eat.

“This is beautiful Theo, thank you.” He pulled out the chair for you to sit, going to his own as you scooched closer to the table.

“Oh!” he gasped and Cashew picked his head up at the sound. You pet him quickly and he eased back down, a welcome third wheel to your date. Theo dug into his pocket to pull something out. “You have to wear it,” he said, handing you a crumbled tie.

Giggles erupted as you took the fabric. This was a fancy date after and according to Theo if you weren’t wearing a dress you had to wear a tie. You looped it through into a loose knot around your neck, excitedly awaiting for Theo to reveal what he said he cooked. On his count you lifted the plates covering your meal, smiling as you saw a peanut butter and jelly sandwich beside a handful of goldfish crackers on one side and apple slices on the other.

“Wow, you cooked this Theo?” you asked.

He nodded proudly. “Sometimes when you and Daddy cook dinner I help but this, but this time I cooked and I made Daddy help me.”

Taking a bite you hummed in satisfaction, “Mmm you both did a great job. It’s delicious!”

Bringing the flute to your lips you tasted the sweetness of apple juice that helped wash away some of the sticky peanut butter from your teeth. Theo went on to tell you about his day, filling you in on the kindergarten gossip of who likes who.

“And then at lunch Gabby was sad because she had strawberry milk and she didn’t like it so I gave her my vanilla milk but I didn’t drink the strawberry milk because I don’t like it either.”

Your heart swelled at Theo’s generosity, knowing you and Lance are raising a kindhearted person.

“That was really sweet of you Theo, I’m very proud.” Nothing could wipe the smile off your face and you couldn’t wait to tell Lance about this, including the fact that his son also hates strawberry milk as much as he does.

With dinner finished Theo held the plates against him as he walked inside the house as you took in the flowers, candles and glasses, with the tablecloth thrown over your shoulder. Everything was placed on the kitchen counter leaving the few dishes to be done later since you wanted to spend as much time together with your sweet boy.

You thanked him for dinner, asking if he wanted to watch a movie together and he suggested The Little Mermaid.

“Daddy told me that on a date you have to show how much you love them, so I want you to watch your favorite movie because I love you.”

You kneeled to the floor, opening your arms up for him to step closer to you, wrapping them around his body and giving him a kiss on the cheek. “I love you too.”

Theo grabbed your cheeks bringing his pursed lips close until they reached your cheek. He pressed them hard into skin as he emphasized a kissing sound. “I love you three!” he giggled.

“I love you four!”

“I love you more!” he said loudly, laughing as you squeezed him a little tighter, peppering quick pecks all over his face until he had to catch his breath from laughter.

He snuggled against you on the couch with Cashew taking up a few cushions himself as you watched the movie and Lance and Ariel came home just in time for the last twenty minutes. Your children cuddled up on both sides of you and Lance stretched his arm out across the back of the couch, his thumb rubbing circles against your skin. It was official, this was the best date night ever.

#lance tucker x reader #lance tucker fanfiction #lance tucker x you #dad!lance tucker #lance tucker one shot

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tfwlawyers · 3 years

Note

Not me singlehandedly going through your entire parent trap au I’m so invested even though like half of the posts are from 2015 💀

THESE THINGS HAPPEN I get such a kick out of knowing this au is still making its rounds though 😭😭

and yk what just because I know I’m never going to do anything else with this, have a 3.5k attempted scramble of fic for this au I tried writing back also in 2015. i was even less of a writer back then than I am now so it’s absolutely terrible but have at thee

“Oh, wait...” Trucy winced and tapped her earring. Apollo’s eyes widened in realization. “Looks like we have one more thing to do tonight - it’ll be super quick, I promise.”

“Oh no,” Apollo said, visibly paling, “there’s no way you’re doing that to me-”

“Then cutting my hair was a total waste,” Trucy huffed, tugging at a newly shorn lock, “because there’s no way I can go to camp with pierced ears and come home without. Come on, Polly, where’s your sense of adventure? It’s just one little pinch!”

“Just one?” he asked hesitantly, eyes now trained on the sharp needle laying on the table.

Trucy paused. “Well... I guess it’s technically two. I really only wear the one earring, but both my ears are pierced.”

Apollo sighed. “Great.”

“Nah, I got this,” Trucy said, grinning toothily. “I went with Aunt Maya when she wanted to get hers pierced, even though she chickened out at the last second.” She picked up the needle and a book of matches from the table, eyes glinting. “I had to get mine repierced because of infection the first time too. Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

“Put that apple slice back,” Apollo said, narrowing his eyes at the piece of fruit in Trucy’s hands. “They’re acidic, I don’t need that anywhere near me and oh God you’re really going to shove a piece of metal into my ear, aren’t you-”

“You sure I look okay?” he asked, patting down the skirt. He squinted down at the stark white boots he’d thankfully fit into. “I’m terrified to walk in these, they look like death traps -”

“Which is why we’re practicing,” Trucy said primly, wiping her hands on a gel-stained rag. She still didn’t quite have a grasp on the correct ratio of product to actual hair, but she was much better than when they had started five weeks ago. “Now, walk towards me.”

“One last thing, I guess,” Apollo said, removing his bracelet and handing it to Trucy, watching as she carefully slid it on. He rubbed his now bare wrist absentmindedly, feeling strangely naked without it.

“So... this is really it. We’re really doing this.”

“We’re really doing this,” Trucy confirmed, bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet. For all her apparent enthusiasm, she looked as nervous as he felt. The studs in her ears reflected the morning light.

“Give papa a hug for me,” he said, smiling weakly.

“Give daddy one for me too,” she said.

They hesitated a moment more before Trucy threw her arms around her brother’s shoulders. Apollo’s arms immediately snaked around her waist, drawing her in tight. They clung to each other, silently willing and praying this was somehow going to all work out - that they wouldn’t just to get to meet their other parent, that they wouldn’t only get a few short weeks with the other father they hadn’t even known had existed, but that they could find some way to reconcile the two, that they wouldn’t have to lose anyone across the wide expanse of the Atlantic ever again.

“You’ve had your ears pierced,” he said almost absently, cradling her head between his hands and gently turning her neck back and forth to better view the studs. He clicked his tongue. Trucy felt her heart sink.

“Do you... hate them?” she asked tentatively.

Edgeworth’s eyes snapped to hers. They were the same soft gray color as the paint Daddy always kept too much of around the house. “On the contrary - I find they suit you incredibly well. Please tell me you didn’t get an infection.”

Her face split into a wide smile.

Apollo thumbed through a stack of canvases that had been shoved into a corner. There was a thin layer of dust of them; if he had to guess, he’d say they hadn’t been disturbed for at least three months - not a particularly long stretch of time, all things considered. They were clearly less polished works, lacking the technical skill and attention to detail that made Phoenix Wright a name to be reckoned with in the art community, but they were still beautiful in their own way. Paintings of vineyards and what looked like London, towering skyscrapers and calm seas and -

His father.

Apollo blinked.

The portrait of Miles Edgeworth drawn in rich oils did not blink back. Nor did the three that followed.

“There were a lot of paintings of the same person in daddy’s works. Some guy with grey hair,” Apollo said, struggling for nonchalance.

Maya’s grip on the mixing bowl faltered. “Is that so,” she said carefully.

“Was he one of daddy’s favorite models or something he just never told me about?”

Maya pursed her lips and continued stirring with a newfound vigor. “You could say that.”

“You’re not Apollo?” he asked, voice thick. “You’re Trucy?”

She smiled weakly. “That would be correct.” One strand of hair fell lank across her forehead - how did I not notice, Apollo hasn’t used nearly that much gel in years - and he absentmindedly tucked it behind her ear. He felt her press into the warmth of his hand, as if she were afraid he might suddenly vanish across the Atlantic again.

“I hope you don’t - I hope you don’t hate me,” she said, voice beginning to waver, “it’s just that Polly and I met at the camp and the whole thing sort of just spilled out. I’ve wanted to see you for so long, and Polly felt exactly the same way about Daddy, so we sort of just - just switched lives and hoped it wouldn’t take you so soon to notice. I really hope you don’t hate me, because I’ve wanted to meet you basically my whole life and I hope that maybe one day you can love me for me and not Polly and -” (this is ALL from movie tho so mix this up)

Edgeworth’s left hand came to cradle the rest of Trucy’s face, cutting her off mid-sentence. “Oh, my dear,” he said, cautiously tugging her forward. She came willingly, all but sprawling across his chest, tucking her head underneath his chin and wrapping her arms around his middle. “I’ve loved you since the day you came to me,” he whispered into her hair, blinking away the beginnings of tears he felt gathering at the corner of his eyes. He felt her tighten her hold and he did the same.

He poured himself a thumbnail of scotch, perfectly content to pretend he didn’t have tickets to a plane back to a state he had vowed never to set foot in again departing in less than four hours. “He was rather handsome,” he found himself admitting, absentmindedly swirling the glass and taking a sip. He paused, staring at nothing and mumbling to himself, “...had the most crooked smile. Always made me weak at the knees.”

“What was that, sir?”

Edgeworth snapped his attention back to the other man; he’d nearly forgotten Gumshoe was even in the room. “Nothing, nothing, never mind, have you seen the tickets?”

Gumshoe shrugged. That was Trucy’s cue.

“Almost ready, papa?” she asked, stepping smoothly into the room from her hiding place behind the thick wooden door. Edgeworth looked just as wild-eyed as she’d been hoping.

“Yes, of course, I’m almost finished packing -”

She didn’t even have to look at his still mostly bare suitcase to know he was lying.

“ -and you did tell your father we were coming, didn’t you?” he finished, placing his drink on a nearby dresser and running his fingers shakily through his hair.

“Absolutely,” Trucy promised.

“Ah,” Edgeworth said, fiddling with his waistcoat buttons. They looked like they’d been polished recently.

“Liar,” Gumshoe leaned down to whisper. She shushed him.

“Might I suggest we continue this little gathering inside,” Maya said, already beginning to shepherd the twins - the twins, she was going to need another vacation just to process the fact that they were together again - into the room. She twisted back around to look at Edgeworth, still shoving Apollo (that was Apollo, right?) forward. “Hi,” she began again, offering a free hand, “you probably don’t remember me -”

“Maya!” he interrupted, smiling warmly and bending to kiss her chastely on the cheek. His breath was sour with vodka and his glasses clunked awkwardly against her face. As he turned and stepped fully into the room, Maya’s cheeks(rp) began to hurt from smiling so fiercely.

“I knew I always liked him,” she said to no one as she closed the door.

This was ridiculous. This resort was full of entirely too many people who favored the same sort of eccentric clothing that man had even fourteen years ago, a disproportionate amount of them with the same slate grey hair. He almost would have written that (awkward*) expression seen from across Dahlia’s shoulder/a hotel lobby as a figment of his overtaxed imagination had it not been so much realer than the stacks of canvases in his studio. Which meant Miles was here, but he’d swept the first level of the hotel twice already after begging Dahlia to take to her room for a bit, the pool area was as depressingly empty as the inside was, and -

There he was.

Across the pool, descending the steps carefully from the inside lounge area and walking on the balls of his feet like he always did when he’d had a bit too much to drink (and why did he still remember that) was, without a doubt, Miles Edgeworth.

Phoenix suddenly found it difficult to breathe.

Edgeworth was halfway down the opposite path before Phoenix realized he should probably do something.

“Excuse me,” he said, shouldering his way through the crowd. It would be rude and more than a little intrusive to just call out his ex-husband’s name in the middle of a resort, right? Perhaps not as rude as nearly shoving the poor bellboy into the shrubbery, but, well, desperate times called for desperate measures.

He didn’t immediately notice the odd assortment of friends and family and a lumbering man in striped green swimming trunks perched on pool chairs as he stepped past, but they certainly noticed him.

“Daddy, are you okay?” Trucy asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said vaguely, refusing to take his eyes off Edgeworth. He was abruptly terrified he might vanish again if he did.

“Nick, watch out -”

“Hey, pal -”

“Daddy -”

With that, Phoenix collided into a passing service boy, arms pinwheeling wildly as he fell directly into the pool behind him.

“Hello Miles,” he said, smiling sheepishly and wringing out his tie. He fought the urge to rub the back of his neck and settled for clenching his hands into tight fists instead. “Or do you people call you Edgeworth now?”

“Miles is - Miles is fine,” Edgeworth said weakly, trying to look anywhere but Phoenix, as if this was a perfectly normal conversation they should be having for the first time after fifteen years. “My father still calls me Miles.”

Something warm coiled in his chest. It felt infinitely more dangerous than it had fifteen years ago.

“You always had a smart mouth,” he murmured, rubbing a swathe of cleaning ointment along the cut on Phoenix’s forehead. Phoenix hissed.

“So glad you remembered,” he bit through gritted teeth.

“Hush.”

Phoenix hmmed but stayed silent for a few more seconds, staring at Edgeworth as he dug back into the first aid kit. Edgeworth tried not to flush under the scrutiny.

Phoenix held his wrist in a loose grip. He should have felt clammy from the pool and the rapidly descending night, but he blazed oddly hot against Edgeworth’s skin.

“Miles, I-”

“Feenie? Who is this?”

“Dollie!” Phoenix said, shooting upright and wincing at the sudden dizziness.

Edgeworth’s burgundy coat was hung carefully over his arm, too thick for the warm California night. The buttons on his waistcoat glinted from a nearby streetlamp’s glow.

Phoenix swallowed.

“Do you have any idea where they’re taking us?” Edgeworth asked, leaning in slightly. Phoenix’s (nose twitched? something about scent memory?) and he refused to let himself acknowledge that Miles’s choice of aftershave hadn’t changed since the day they’d met. He abruptly remembered the taste of cheap wine and overly sweet cake on his tongue, felt the ghost weight of a ring fifteen years gone.

He hastily turned away.

“No idea.”

“Grandfather chipped in a bit -”

“Apollo,” Edgeworth warned.

“Alright, so Grandfather chipped in a lot, whatever, we’re poor teenagers, the point is,” he said, emphasizing the final word by pulling the ship’s impressive doors open with a firm tug, “it’s ours for the night.”

Phoenix whistled shrilly in appreciation, instinctively reaching out to ruffle Apollo’s hair. It was a testament to how important the night was that Apollo merely batted Phoenix’s hand away. “Seriously, dad,” he mumbled. His scowl was clearly forced, however; he felt oddly warm that he was able to finally use that word at all.

“Subtle,” Phoenix remarked.

“Mm,” Edgeworth agreed. “I don’t suppose we should let their efforts, however misguided they may be, go to waste, should we?”

“You just want to know who else they roped into this ridiculous scheme of theirs.”

“Oh, because you don’t.”

“I,” Phoenix said, moving to the chilled champagne propped by the windowsill and popping its cork, “have a perfectly healthy level of curiosity. It does not involve wondering what’s going on in my kid’s head. Trucy is a teenager. That’s terrifying.” He carefully poured the sparkling drink into two glasses and offered one to Edgeworth.

“I find that somewhat difficult to believe,” Edgeworth said, striding forward and taking the proffered glass. He made certain their fingers did not brush. “Thank you.”

They waited until she had hastily bowed out of the room before turning their focus back to each other. “Miles, that’s why we came up with this arrangement in the first place,” Phoenix continued, nonplussed.

“Really?” Edgeworth carefully picked up his glass flute, trying to ignore the tremor he felt running through his hands. “I thought it was because we’d agreed to never see each other again.”

Phoenix’s heart clenched. “Not ‘we’, Miles,” he said slowly, spreading his hands on the tablecloth and feeling like if he missed a step here, he would risk something he couldn’t afford to lose again.

Edgeworth took a shaky draw of wine. “You know,” he said slowly, seemingly forcing himself to meet Phoenix’s eyes, “that part is unclear to me as well.”

“Oh, you don’t remember the day you packed?” Phoenix asked.

“No, I remember that day perfectly. Did I hurt you when I threw that - oh God, what was it -”

“It was Kamisar’s Modern Criminal Procedure. It left a dent in the wall from where it rebounded off my head.”

“Oh,” Edgeworth said, at least having the grace to look properly abashed. “Right. Sorry.”

Phoenix shrugged. “It’s not like I was making it that easy on you.

And....” Edgeworth trailed off, twisting a napkin between his fingers. “You didn’t chase after me.”

Phoenix felt (something) shift. “I didn’t know that you wanted me to.”

“A toast to -”

“Our children,” Edgeworth cut in. He ignored the tightening in his chest at the our.

“Our children,” Phoenix repeated slowly, as if the words didn’t quite match with what his mouth had wanted to say.

“We both got where we actually wanted to go.”

Phoenix’s eyes never wavered from his. “We did,” he said, voice strange.

They toasted again and finished their meal in silence.

“Apollo, what are you doing in those clothes? We’ve got a plane to catch.”

“We’re getting totally ripped off,” maybe-Trucy said. “Daddy said we’d get our camping trip and we want to go.”

“Wait, hang on,” Phoenix interrupted, “what camping trip?”

“The one Aunt Maya and I make you take us on every year before school starts,” almost-definitely-Trucy said. Phoenix began to lift his finger in triumph, sure he’d found his kid -

“ -the one behind the house that runs all the way up to Gourd Lake, remember when you fell in that one year,” I’m-not-too-sure-if-this-one-is-still-in-fact-Apollo finished.

Phoenix’s arm fell listlessly to his side. Edgeworth snorted.

Phoenix shot Edgeworth a look. Thanks for helping, one of these is yours. “This is entirely unfunny, you’re going to make your father miss his flight,” he said, shifting his attention back to the twins. Honestly, he was an Ivy University graduate and Miles was a world renowned defense attorney, how were they being duped by their own kids -

“Apollo -” Edgeworth began.

“Yes?” they both said in unison.

Edgeworth groaned. “They get this from you, I’m sure,” he said.

“It’s not my fault you’ve apparently been raising a devilishly deceptive teenager,” Phoenix quipped back, never taking his eyes off the twins. He could feel the beginnings of a migraine pound at the base of his neck. “He’s probably rubbed off on Trucy.”

The twins grinned.

Phoenix rubbed a hand over his eyes before stooping to their height once again. He stared hard at each of them, looking back and forth between their faces. “This one’s Trucy,” he said slowly, pointing a finger to the sibling in orange. “I’m positive.”

“You know, I hope you’re right, Daddy. You wouldn’t want to send the wrong kid all the way back to Germany - ”

“ - would you?”

How was any of this fair?

“Here’s our proposition. We go back to Daddy’s house, pack our stuff, and the four of us leave on the camping trip.”

“The four of us?” Edgeworth interjected. They ignored him.

“And when you bring us back,” maybe-Trucy-maybe-Apollo continued, “we’ll tell you who’s Trucy and who’s Apollo.”

“Or,” Edgeworth said, carefully stepping around and in front of Phoenix and crossing his arms firmly across his chest, tapping his finger rhythmically against his arm, “new plan. I take one of you back to Germany with me whether you like it or not.”

Two identical sets of eyes twinkled back at him.

(He felt a migraine beginning to pound in his left temple.)

“You can cook now?” Edgeworth asked.

“Oh yeah,” Phoenix said. “I can make pasta. And pasta. Probably more pasta, if you ask really nicely.”

“Hm,” Edgeworth said, eyebrows scrunched in mock thought, “pasta sounds good.”

Phoenix grinned, bumping Edgeworth’s shoulder. He was warm through the cotton. “Pasta it is.”

Edgeworth looked across the seat at Apollo. His glassy eyes reflected the flickering street lamps as the taxi sped down the empty street.

“Apollo, I -” he began, deflating as Apollo turned further away. It’s entirely justified, he thought despondently. I’d hate myself as well.

“Grandfather?” Apollo called, shrugging out of his heavy jacket and hanging it on the coat rack. The house was silent.

“I’ll check the study,” Edgeworth said, tugging his jabot loose. Apollo nodded and headed towards the direction of the kitchen, toeing off his shoes on the way. Pushing open the wide doors that led to the study, Edgeworth saw someone reading a paper at the desk. He cocked his hip against the door and crossed his arms. “Hello, father. We’re back.”

The newspaper lowered. It wasn’t Gregory.

“Hiya, papa,” Trucy said. The corners of her mouth were quirked despite her obvious attempts to reign in her expression. “Did you know the Concord gets you here in half the time?”

Edgeworth slipped against the doorframe. He felt the knob dig into his hip. “I - yes, I’ve heard that.”

(Edgeworth was acutely aware of the doorknob digging into his hip from when he pressed against it. “I - yes, I’ve heard that.”)

Apollo walked into the room, drawn to the sound of voices. When he saw Trucy his face split into a blinding grin. “What are you doing here?”

Trucy neatly folded the newspaper on the desk and clasped her hands in front of her. “It took us about thirty seconds after you left that we decided we didn’t want to lose you two again,” she said, eyes crinkling.

Edgeworth swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat. “We?” he said, voice cracking.

“We,” a new voice agreed.

From the corner of his eye, Edgeworth noted Trucy moving to stand by the far wall of the study, giving the vaguest attempt of privacy. It didn’t matter. His eyes were trained on Phoenix, tracking his movement as he crossed the room.

Phoenix peppered his face in light kisses, smiling into the curve of his throat and pressing his lips to the thrumming heartbeat beneath his skin.

They eventually pulled back, desperate for air. Phoenix’s eyes crinkled - crow’s feet, Edgeworth thought wildly through his haze, he’s got crow’s feet now, I haven’t seen him this close up since - and he rested his forehead against Edgeworth’s.

“God, I’m never letting you go again,” he whispered, hands snaking around the other man’s back to pull him even closer.

“You want to toast with this? I’d have thought you might want to upgrade to something with a little more class.”

Phoenix smiled sloppily, pressing a chaste kiss to his temple. “You’re the only one I said I’d drink it with, remember?”

Edgeworth smiled back. He took the proffered bottle warmed by the weather and tugged his husband into a proper kiss, matching rings glinting in the dying sunlight.

#bluefaewren #replies #parent trap au #attempting to write tag

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cheri-translates · 3 years

Text

[CN] Victor’s Business Exhibition Date

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a date, 企展之约, which has not been released in EN 🍒

[ This date was released on 16 July 2021 ]

After a meal on this weekend afternoon, I’m nestled on the sofa, watching a new episode of an anime.

MC: Hahahaha!

Watching the comical antics of the main character on-screen, I can’t help but laugh out loud.

“Whoosh--”

Hearing the rustling of papers from behind, I subconsciously shut my mouth, my line of sight flitting past the sofa and landing on Victor.

He’s sitting at the dining table, a look of concentration on his face while he reads a report. The small dining table is full of documents.

I had initially planned to watch movies with Victor at my place today. I didn’t expect him to be so bogged down with work lately, and unable to relax over the weekend.

MC: Victor, am I disturbing you? Why don’t you use the study room or my bedroom instead?

Without lifting his head, he props up the spectacles on the bridge of his nose.

Victor: Who was the one who wanted to “stick” together with me over the weekend?

MC: ...that’s true, but you’re focusing on work now.

He has no intention of continuing the conversation. Rubbing my nose guiltily, I head into the kitchen quietly. After cutting some fruits, I bring them over to the dining table.

MC: In that case, I’ll apologise to CEO Victor~

Sticking a toothpick into an apple slice, I bring it to him. He tilts his head up slightly, taking a bite from the apple in my hand.

From my peripheral vision, I spot an invitation card with the words “Elementary and Middle School Students” on it. Curious, I take a closer look.

MC: “Corporate Culture Exhibition for Elementary and Middle School Students”? Is LFG participating in the Corporate Culture Exhibition?

Victor: We received the invitation and haven’t decided if we’re participating.

MC: I see... I’ve never heard of this exhibition.

Victor: The government organised it this year.

Victor: The officials said that it’s meant to introduce elementary and middle school students to outstanding occupations and various career paths to help them establish their aspirations.

MC: This exhibition seems pretty meaningful. It’s beneficial to LFG’s business image too.

MC: Come to think of it, I wonder if little kids have an understanding of LFG, and what kind of impression they have of LFG?

MC: Oh yes! There was a news report on elementary and middle schoolers going on company tours. Does LFG want to organise a similar activity?

Ideas come one after another in my mind. I rattle on about my opinions, but Victor doesn’t express anything.

When I start making an inventory of the company tour for students, the pen in his hand pauses, and he lifts his eyes slowly.

Victor: I can consider the exhibition, but not the company tour.

MC: Why not?

His deep eyes sweep over the anime on the television screen before landing on me.

Victor: There’s already one very noisy kid in LFG.

In the end, Victor accepts the invitation to the Corporate Culture Exhibition. The exhibition commences as scheduled.

Out of interest, I offer my services to Victor. I become a volunteer responsible for decorations at the venue.

Seeing the detailed and vivid posters introducing various occupations in the exhibition hall, the LFG employees next to me are slightly awed.

LFG Employee A: It’s really nice that we have the chance to understand different occupations. When I was young, I thought there were only astronauts and scientists in the world.

LFG Employee B: Even if you only knew of those careers when you were young and decided on an aspiration, it might not become reality when you grow up. I wanted to be a dancer, but I’m doing something completely unrelated to the arts now.

LFG Employee A: That’s true. If it weren’t for the excellent pay in LFG, I’d probably be at my old home opening a second-hand bookshop and retiring early. Oh yes, MC, what did you want to do when you were young?

Getting pointed out suddenly while engrossed in their discussion causes me to be stunned momentarily.

MC: When I was young...

I blink, recalling somewhat faraway memories. Before I can ponder deeply, my phone rings - it’s a call from Victor.

Victor: Come to the café near the entrance of the exhibition hall.

MC: Now? What for?

Victor: ...what else can you do in a café? Play golf, amend proposals, go horse riding, drink coffee - which one do you think is the most suitable?

MC: ...to be honest, I can’t decide between the two options of “amend proposals” and “drink coffee”.

Victor: I ordered a custard cake. If you don’t come over, I’ll take it that you’re not interested.

MC: I’ll be there immediately!

After notifying those LFG employees, I turn around and head towards the café.

MC: Is this really okay? The others are still busy.

Victor: When did you have such a high sense of awareness? Who was the person who painstakingly learnt “Slacking Hacks” on the internet a few days ago?

MC: I was reading that for fun... I wasn’t planning to put it into practice.

Lifting my phone as I squeeze into the packed café, I notice that most of the people here are parents who are preparing to accompany their kids to the exhibition.

Victor: There’s still an hour till the exhibition begins. I’ve already told Goldman to inform everyone to take a break. In short, there’s no need to feel guilty, because...

Taking two steps into the café, I spot Victor at a glance as he sits at a table near the window calmly.

Seeing that I’m walking towards him, he puts down his phone gently, lifting his head to meet my eyes.

Victor: Aside from you, there’s another person who’s “slacking”.

Taken aback for a moment, I quickly react to the meaning in his words. My brows arch upwards as I take a seat.

MC: I didn’t expect to ever “slack” together with CEO Victor.

Elated, I pick up a fork and try a bite of the dessert in front of me. The custard melts in my mouth instantly, and it’s sweet and smooth.

MC: Delicious! As expected of CEO Victor’s pick~

Victor: Even delicious food can’t stop you from being talkative.

Right after saying this, he seems to stare at me fixedly, his expression slightly strange.

Just as I’m about to ask why he’s looking at me that way, he lifts up his coffee, his lowered eyelashes covering the smile in his eyes.

...am I overthinking things? Why do I feel as if he’s making a joke out of me?

Feeling puzzled, I notice a pen and a post-it booklet at the edge of the table.

MC: This is...?

A staff who is passing by takes a step forward, smiling as he explains.

Staff: This is a small event by our shop. You can write your hopes or suggestions for the children, then hang it on the “Hope Tree” near the door of the shop.

Struck with an idea, I pick up the pen and a post-it note.

MC: Victor, shall we write a few suggestions for the children too?

I tear a post-it note and give it to him. After staring at me in silence for a while, he suddenly reaches out his hand.

Victor: Give me one more.

MC: ?

MC: Does CEO Victor want to write a mini essay?

Ignoring my joke, he writes a sentence on each of the two post-it notes. He hands one to the staff, and stuffs the other one to me.

Bewildered, I sweep a glance at the post-it note given to the staff. The words “You only have one life” are written on it.

Lowering my head, I stare at the post-it note in my own hand. In an instant, I realise why he displayed such a strange smile earlier. There’s a short sentence written on the post-it note:

“Dummy, there’s custard on your cheek.”

??: Hello, could I trouble the two of you to help me with something?

My face reddens. After wiping the custard off my cheek with a tissue, I hear an unfamiliar female voice next to me.

Turning towards the sound, I see a lady standing beside me with two small boys.

Woman: I need to use the washroom, but bringing two boys with me isn’t really convenient. Could I trouble the both of you to take care of them for a while?

I ask for Victor’s opinion with my gaze, and he responds with a slight nod. Understanding this, I nod at the mother.

MC: Of course we can.

While thanking us, she gets the two children to sit at both ends of the table before hurrying off.

The table now comprises of the four of us - two adults and two children. The air gets filled with an inexplicable, thick awkwardness.

Victor looks at me. I look at the kids. The kids look at Victor... Clearing my throat, I decide to break this strange atmosphere.

MC: Kids, how old are the both of you?

Kid A: Mommy said that we can’t give personal information to strangers!

MC: ...

I didn’t expect to be given the cold shoulder the moment I opened my mouth. I release an embarrassed laugh.

MC: Personal information... You can use such advanced terms. You’re so smart haha.

A soft and low chuckle drifts to my ears. I glance at Victor as he picks up his coffee with a blank expression, staying uninvolved in the matter.

The other boy suddenly widens his eyes and leans towards me, pointing at my volunteer name tag and reading it aloud.

Kid B: L! F! G! Do you two work in LFG?

MC: Well...

I ponder over this. LFG is the investor of my company, and Victor is the CEO of LFG. So...

MC: I guess so.

Kid B: In that case, what are the two of you doing here? Did you sneak away?

MC: ...

Although these are unintentional words from a child, I avert my eyes guiltily. At this point, the kid who behaves like an adult speaks loudly.

Kid A: That’s impossible! Mommy said that everyone who works at LFG are really incredible people! They won’t sneak away!

Victor: Cough...

Victor pauses his sampling of the coffee. As though he choked on something, he clears his throat.

Kid B: Really?

The kid blinks his eyes as he waits for our response.

Victor’s expression is a little unnatural. He picks up a newspaper from a rack near the window, immersing himself in it.

Seeing him like this, he probably recalled the earlier conversation we had on “slacking” as well.

It’s rare to see Victor being choked up by someone. A little demon with horns suddenly appears in my heart.

I can’t help but laugh inwardly while turning to the kids.

MC: You’re correct. The employees from LFG never sneak away. We were talking about work-

MC: Right, Vic?

[Note] In CN, MC calls Victor “小李” (“xiao li”, which translates directly to Little Li).

Saying this, I wink at the person opposite me.

Victor arches his brows, astonishment in his eyes. Without waiting for him to speak, I immediately do a “stop” gesture with my hands.

MC: The previous proposal for the show is too conservative. There aren’t any highlights, and it isn’t clear who the target audience is. It might be a waste to show it during prime time.

Adjusting my posture, I clasp my fingers on the table, mimicking VIctor’s tone and expression.

MC: When will you be submitting the new proposal? Tomorrow is the deadline.

Kid A and B: Wow...

Awed gasps from the kids drift to my ears. I straighten up with pride, tilting my chin towards Victor.

He stares at me with a calm gaze, his eyes gradually illuminated with an unreadable, dense light.

He lowers the newspaper slightly, blowing the coffee in his hand gently and unhurriedly.

Victor: Are you sure these are the only problems, Miss CEO?

Victor: I've also “reflected” much on that proposal, and there are some problems I haven’t had the chance to tell you about.

Victor: Since you brought it up, I have no choice but to do a “self-reflection” here.

Victor’s tone is composed, and there isn’t a ripple in his expression. As compared to my pretentious posture, he’s laid-back and natural.

Victor: The theme of the show is too general and lacks a segment which stirs the audience.

Victor: The structure also has the shadow of previous shows. A change in form but not substance - it’s a little unoriginal.

Victor: A scandal broke out yesterday involving one of the guests for the show. A replacement guest has not been decided upon.

Victor: Also...

MC: Stop! I... I get it!

He leans against the back of the chair, a teasing glint in the depths of his eyes.

Victor: When will you be submitting the new proposal? Tomorrow is the deadline.

MC Tonight, tonight! I’ll definitely submit it tonight!

I reply instantly, my voice carrying with it some alarm. The corners of his lips hook upwards, and he retracts his “overbearing” aura.

Victor: I’ll wait and see.

I heave a sigh of relief, then feel a dryness in my mouth. Lowering my head to take a sip of coffee, I see the disappointed gazes of the two kids.

My cheeks flush. Just as I’m about to say something to salvage some pride, their mother returns, thanking us while taking them away.

I glare at Victor indignantly. He chuckles softly, then clasps his fingers together on the table just like I did earlier.

Victor: I look forward to your next “challenge”.

After the exhibition ends, Victor and I leave work early.

The weather is really nice today. We pick a restaurant nearby, planning to head there on foot.

Dusk hangs low, and a misty pink evening mist smudges the sky.

Perhaps due to how smoothly the exhibition went, little emotions surface in my heart.

Beneath this beautiful sky, how many young aspirations and lives took flight earlier?

Victor: Why are you just standing there in a silly daze? Aren’t you hungry?

Retracting my thoughts, I see that Victor has stopped in front of me, his body turned to the side as he looks at me.

I hurriedly catch up to him, pulling on his arm.

MC: Victor, why did you write “You only have one life” on the post-it note today?

Victor: It’s true that you only have one life. Even an elementary student knows this principle.

MC: ...that’s not what I meant. I’m asking about what’s implied in it. For instance, are you asking the kids to seize the day and work their hardest?

His gaze lands on me. Seeing how serious I look, he slows down his pace slightly.

Victor: If you were to meet your childhood self, would you tell her to work her hardest?

MC: Mm... it’s difficult to say. I might tell her what to do in order for the current me to be even happier?

Victor: And that the reason why you can’t use an overly objective and rational principle to teach others.

Victor: It’s a desirable trait to work their hardest so that there won't be any excuses to stop in their footsteps.

Victor: But this doesn’t mean that everyone must have the goal of working their hardest.

Victor: After all, every person expects different things from themselves.

Victor: Not everyone wants to stand at the peak.

Victor: As compared to looking down from a mountaintop, there are some people who wish to happily and simply appreciate the scenery along the way.

Victor: This might sound simple, but being an ordinary person isn’t easy.

Victor: “You only have one life” - this phrase has many meanings in different contexts.

I’m stunned for a moment. I initially thought that Victor’s words were meant to be a motivational quote, and didn’t expect for him to have such thoughts.

Even when he’s faced with young children, he doesn’t wish to give a fixed answer on the basis that he’s a mature adult.

My lips curl upwards, and I can’t help but stick a little closer to him.

MC: You’re right. After all, aside from people who stand at the peak, there are even more ordinary people.

MC: Ordinary people have one life too. They need to cherish it properly, and do what they want to do.

MC: CEO Victor, I’ve learnt something from you!

Clasping my hands together, I bow in mock seriousness. An almost indiscernible smile lifts the corners of his lips.

MC: Come to think of it, I had so many aspirations when I was young. Lawyer, teacher, police officer, judge... I didn’t expect to become a producer in the end. Perhaps in a parallel universe, there’s a me who became a lawyer, teacher or judge!

The scene from the café flashes across my mind, and I burst into laughter.

MC: I might even be a CEO! What do you think?

After I say this, Victor turns his head and gives me an amused glance.

Victor: I think you do behave like a CEO.

MC: It’s because I’ve been influenced after spending such a long time by your side~ Returning to the topic - what was your aspiration when you were young? To become a powerful business tycoon?

Victor: ...have you ever heard of a child having such a pragmatic dream?

MC: In that case, tell me about it?

He doesn’t respond, and simply keeps his eyes faced front. No matter how much I probe, he doesn’t speak.

The sweet fragrance of desserts wafts into my nose. Following the scent and turning to the bakery near the roadside, I’m struck with an idea.

Since I can’t crack this difficult question in a straightforward manner, I decide to adopt the process of elimination.

MC: A baker?

Victor: ...

A signboard with the words “Watchmaker Shop” enters my vision, and I immediately look at him.

MC: A watchmaker?

MC: The boss of a lottery shop?

MC: ...director of a zoo?

Throughout the journey, I rack my brain and ask him about all sorts of occupations. However, it’s clear that none of them are correct.

Finally, we stop in front of a crosswalk, waiting for the red light.

Looks like I won’t be able to get any answers from him today. Disappointed, I let go of Victor’s arm, releasing a soft “hmph”.

MC: Aren’t you curious if there was a choice and you weren’t the CEO of LFG, and if I weren’t a producer...

MC: What would our identities be? Would we meet? And what kind of a relationship would we have?

The red man at the other end of the road suddenly turns green, signalling for us to move forward.

My hand, which had drooped to the side, is lifted up gently by someone. His broad palm conveys a comforting temperature.

Victor: There’s nothing to be curious about.

The crowd flows past in an endless stream on the crosswalk. Their footsteps are hurried, and the tips of their feet point in different directions.

I look at the person beside me. His gaze is resolute as he holds my hand, taking large strides towards the restless crowd.

He seems to sense my gaze. Lowering his head slightly, the light in his eyes is deep and scorching.

Victor: The life that I want to choose most is already in my hand.

[ MOMENTS ]

Victor's Post: Turns out someone could still go to work normally after staying up to watch anime last night.

MC: Could we cancel tonight’s reservation at the restaurant? I really want to go straight home to sleep...

Victor: Eating is a necessity. The location will be changed to your home.

Victor's Post: Turns out someone could still go to work normally after staying up to watch anime last night.

MC: As long as I’m hardworking enough, nothing’s impossible!

Victor: Working hard to make yourself even more stupid?

Victor's Post: Turns out someone could still go to work normally after staying up to watch anime last night.

MC: I solemnly vow not to do such things again.

Victor: This vow better count before you start on the next anime.

🍰 Call: here

#mlqc #mlqc cn #mlqc spoilers #mlqc victor #hNNGHGH MY HEART

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seacottons · 4 years

Text

uni!au with ateez — [ part one ]

—[ san - performing arts ]

ironically, you met when you helped him after a taller male shoved him down whilst in a heated argument.

he burst out laughing when you asked if he was okay.

“don’t worry, we’re just practicing our lines!”

you quickly glanced up at the building and grimaced once taking sight of the gleaming silver ‘performing arts building’ plaque.

of course.

to say you were embarrassed was only scratching the surface.

you had no regrets, because the incident was the catalyst that formed your friendship and eventual relationship.

will never let you live that moment down.

“remember when you tried to save me from mingi?”

“i thought we promised not to bring that up again-”

“why can’t i? i was saved by an angel that day?”

san invites you to both his dance and theatre shows.

will appear to be very professional on stage, but you catch his eyes frantically darting to the crowd to try and spot you.

and once he does, he will repeatedly smile and wink in your direction.

you’re always early, so you manage to snag a seat in either front two rows.

likes when you bring him bouquets as a congratulation gift after his performances.

gets very loud backstage just to let everyone know you bought him a gift.

a huge show-off.

is very good at facial expressions.

you fall for every time he pretends he’s crying or hurt when you don’t give him attention.

he will imitate different characters and repeat after actors while you two watch movies together.

“it sounded sexier when i said it, right (y/n)?”

is a very clingy cuddle bug.

and a leech.

will always have his arms around you while walking at campus.

loves to give you back hugs.

is the type to wait outside for you until you finish class.

and takes you to the cafeteria afterwards for lunch.

embarrasses you in said cafeteria by spinning the lunch tray while waiting in line.

also likes to spin your phone just to freak you out.

also the type to excitedly text you about the donuts and coffee they’re giving away at the library’s breezeway.

likes to refer to you as ‘angel’.

will beg you join the different clubs he’s in.

and then brag about you to the others once you do.

will hype your choice of attire even if he’s already seen you earlier that day.

the type to also sneak you a latte in the middle of your class.

also the type to sneak in with you during your auditorium classes.

you regret it sometimes because he leaves no room for you to pay attention to your professor.

often times, so much so that you have to lightly pinch his side in protest.

“do you want me to fail this class?”

he likes to participate in the many events held at campus.

everyone knows him.

challenges you to dance offs in the middle of campus.

you refuse and push forward a startled mingi instead.

“mingi wants to have a turn this time!”

also likes to lay in your arms whilst you play with his hair.

“were you a cat in your previous life?”

he will then proceed to meow in your ear.

“i’ll take that as a yes.”

—[ hongjoong - fashion design ]

dating him would consist of always admiring his new projects.

supplying him with unhealthy amounts of coffee.

trying out new pieces he made.

offering to carry his overly large portfolio binder sometimes.

sitting down and listening to him rant about how his roomates fail to wash clothes properly.

he has a guide taped to the washing machine with the different symbols of clothing labels.

“no, san, you can’t use shampoo as detergent.”

“but seonghwa finished all the detergent!”

using seonghwa’s lint rollers to remove all the fabric fibers stuck on hongjoong’s clothes.

you scold him while cleaning the bleeding scratches on his fingers from his sewing needles and pins.

“don’t worry, it’s nothing i can’t handle.”

“but i don’t like seeing you get hurt, you bum.”

you bought him strawberry bandaids because he thought they were cute.

sometimes, when he has time, he’ll custom make clothes just for you.

he insists on having multiple matching outfits.

will ask you to model his work for his social media page.

thinks you look best in skirts.

you’ll be the source of comfort during presentation week.

he’ll be a wreck whilst making a new collection.

but you’re always there to pick him back up.

most of the time, you’re the source of his inspiration as well.

you insist he shouldn’t sit for hours writing essays or sketching numerous ideas for future work.

but he’s stubborn as a mule.

nights with him include binge watching fashion shows or cute cartoons.

or painting your nails.

you both enjoy coffee dates when you have time.

he tells you he wants to open a fashion line one day.

you’re trying to stand still as he plucks numerous pins into the dress you’re trying on.

“what do you think i should call it?”

“hj couture? does that sound too basic?”

he pauses momentarily before spooling the leftover red thread.

“(y/n). i’ll call the line (y/n).”

—[ wooyoung - culinary arts ]

invites you to his dorm and cooks for you.

his apartment always smells of warm spices and comforting meals.

pretends his roommates’ teasing doesn’t affect him, but the tips of ears always glow red.

will always bring over leftovers he made in class.

“i just thought you wanted to try this mille feuille.”

“which one is better? the salted rosemary loaf or the oregano and olive oil one?”

loves to bake and cook with you.

will make your birthday cake from scratch and will go all out decorating it.

has an annoying habit of taking pictures of you mid-bite.

“delete that right now.”

“but babe, you look so cute.”

“jung wooyoung!”

will wrestle with you as you attempt to take his phone away.

“okay, look! i swear i’ll delete it!”

he saves it in a hidden folder.

calls you his ‘cupcake’ or ‘sugarplum’.

teases you nonstop when you fail at something in the kitchen.

“babe! no! gentle folds! you pulverized those poor blueberries!”

“but the instructions say to mix!”

“the dough isn’t supposed to be blue!”

he’ll whine nonstop about how much he hates baking bread in class.

“do you know how abnoxiously long the fermentation process is!? i’m losing my mind.”

will wave and yell your name to catch your attention if he spots you nearby at campus.

you hear him every time.

he’s just that loud.

drags you to new restaurants just so you can rate them with him.

also drags you to go cutlery shopping.

accidentally dropped a plate in the store.

and when the employee came sauntering in the aisle suspiciously-

“(y/n) did it.”

once gave you food poisoning by accident.

you never wanted to eat scallops again.

you don’t mind his hands smelling like garlic or ginger most of the time.

or stained with spices.

“turmeric is a bitch.”

“woo, who wears white while cooking with turmeric anyway?”

will show off and brag about his knife skills.

demands to race with you to see who can chop the vegetables the quickest.

“you’re going down, (y/n).”

“uh- i don’t think i ever stood a chance to begin with.”

he lets you win sometimes though.

will beg you to visit him at his part time job at the cute cafe not too far by.

you always try to when you have the time.

and when he finds out you went to the rival cafe across the street one day..

“on a scale of 10 to 10, how bad is kang yeosang’s cooking?”

“what?”

“answer the question, (y/n).”

“woo, it’s 3 a.m.”

the next day, you explained that you were merely invited by your classmates to that particular cafe because one of them was a former employee there.

he childishly ignored you with crossed arms and a subtle pout.

“your jajangmyeon is much better. they didn’t even like the food there!”

he finally perks up with a large smile.

“wait, really?”

you think he looks endearing with his apron and chef’s hat.

will post cheesy captioned pictures of you after serving you delicately decorated plates of food.

‘two delicious meals for tonight, hehe.’

“gross. did you really have to say that?”

—[ jongho - kinesiology ]

you met him at the university gym and instantly clicked.

found yourself months later agreeing to go out with him.

a giant goofball.

sometimes makes faces at you while you exercise across the gym.

makes sure you watch him when he deadlifts.

loves when you hype him up.

opens all the jars for you.

and cuts all the fruit for you.

“why use a knife when you have my hands, love?”

you nearly choked on your saliva when he punched open the watermelon.

“can we ever just have a perfectly sliced watermelon!?”

“no- unless i break my arm one day.”

insists you jog with him around campus early in the morning.

likes to practice wrapping elastic tape on you.

you own half of his hoodies.

takes you to watch basketball matches.

then challenges you to a match when you go on dates to the park.

will persistently tease you about your poor aim.

and will absolutely not let you have the ball for more than a few seconds.

“stop cheating!”

“i’m not cheating! you just suck!”

joined you in some of your elective classes.

will also wear sleeveless shirts because he knows how flustered you get while his sculpted muscles are on display.

“what did professor kim just say?”

“what?” you tore your gaze from his biceps to glance at his face.

“are you staring at my arms again?” he snickers.

“no,” you say too quickly, face heating quite considerably.

despite his teasing, he’ll always baby you and take care of your needs.

has the cutest gummy smile.

you like to call him your gummy bear.

he hated the name at first, but grew to accept it over time.

likes to randomly pick you up.

sometimes will throw you over his shoulder.

has a habit of patting your thighs.

sometimes asks you to sit on his back while he does push-ups.

your eye bulged at the sight of a mop of ruby hair.

“don’t say anything.”

“you like apples so much you dyed your hair red?”

“i lost a bet.”

“you look cute though.”

you tugged at his tresses, smiling as you admired the shade against his tanned skin.

“baby?” you brushed his bangs away to display his forehead.

“hm?”

“you’re the apple of my eye.”

“i’m-,” he sucked on his teeth and pursed his lips, face scrunching in a mock grimace, “i’m going to throw up.”

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theewildflowers · 4 years

Text

dramione fanfic recs

I’ve fallen into the Dramione fanfiction hole lately due to a friend’s recent obsession with Dramione and Draco Malfoy tik tok, so I wanted share some favorite stories I’ve read, especially with those who are also new to the pairing. Many of the fics below are pretty popular within the fandom, but maybe there will be something new as well for those who come across this post.

I’ve included the rating and word count in parenthesis, and the fics are set in the magical universe unless otherwise noted. Please mind the tags when you click through—many fics may have triggers. Happy reading!

wait and hope by mightbewriting (M, 95k) “Harry,” Hermione began, voice very controlled, but she could feel the blade of panic slicing at her vocal cords. “Why was Draco Malfoy just screaming bloody murder about his,” and the word almost strangled her as she said it, “wife?” Harry's green eyes blew wide. Healer Lucas pinched the bridge of her nose, clearly displeased with the recent series of events. “He was referring to you, my dear,” she said. “That was the other question you got wrong. Your name is Hermione Jean Granger-Malfoy.”

Part of the Wait and Hope story universe. Draco’s POV, Beginning and End, is a WIP. (I’ve read and reread Wait and Hope multiple times in a few weeks span, so it’s safe to say that it’s my favorite Dramione story universe.)

the politician’s wife by Pir8fancier (M, 66k) This story is set twenty-three years after the fall of Voldemort. Our main characters are Ministry employees, middle-aged, and the majority of them not very happy. (This was the first Dramione fic I’ve ever read and is still one of my favorites)

the right thing to do by LovesBitca8 (E, 176k) Hermione felt the pounding in her ears again. She would see him for the first time since the Great Hall, gaunt and stricken at the Slytherin table with his mother clutching his arm. She hadn't meant to look for him. Not in the corridors, not beneath the white sheets of the fallen, not on the way to the Chamber of Secrets with Ron, but she was a stupid girl. Part of the Rights and Wrongs story universe (highly recommend Draco’s POV, All the Wrong Things, as well).

remain nameless by HeyJude19 (E, WIP) The monotony of Draco’s daily routine had become both a lifeline and a noose. But this new habit of grabbing coffee with Hermione Granger is quickly becoming a reason to get out of bed and is unfortunately forcing him to re-evaluate his inconsequential existence.

seeker fit by selinyu and etlithien (T, 2.6k) “Will the Head Girl grace the pitch with her presence for today’s match?” The timbre of Malfoy’s cool lilting drawl slid down Hermione’s spine. I recommend all the fics in the SenLithien Dramione Collaboration collection.

breath mints / battle scars by Onyx_and_Elm (E, 148k) For a moment, she's almost giddy. Because Draco Malfoy's been ruined by this war and he's as out of place as she is and — yes, he has scars too. He's got an even bigger one. She wonders whether one day they'll compare sizes.

apple pies and other amends by ToEatAPeach (M, 76k) It’s not until she’s brought a basil and strawberry sponge cake to Neville Longbottom and his new girlfriend, Hannah Abbott, a dozen rhubarb hand-pies to Luna and Xenophilius Lovegood, and another basket of ganache-covered muffins to Dean and Seamus, that Hermione admits to herself what she’s actually doing: she’s making a thing of this. It’s a veritable PTSD tour. With pastries. And hand-skimmed clotted cream. And she has no idea why she’s doing it, but it’s becoming very apparent that she is.

clean and marked by olivieblake (M, 118k and 178k) Malfoy's handsome face was contoured into a condescending smirk. "No faith in that giant brain of yours, Granger?" She looked up at him defiantly. "Maybe I don't have faith in you!" she said, raising her voice. Malfoy only looked at her. "You'll find I'm very surprising." Basically a sixth year retelling.

the best of me by MrsRen (E, 148k) Officially, Hermione Granger was killed in action during the Battle of Hogwarts. Unofficially, Draco Malfoy has never stopped searching for her. Years after the war during a mission in France, his salvation comes in the form of a little blond boy and a familiar half-Kneazle.

fortuitous by MrsRen (M, 93k) Recently divorced Draco doesn't believe in the ideology of having one true love. He certainly doesn't expect to meet his match in a Halloween themed coffee shop, but fate has a peculiar way of giving you just what you need.

bring him to his knees by Musyc (E, WIP) Draco is on the case of a murderer, but to investigate, he needs a fake relationship - and a kink club play partner. When Hermione volunteers to take the role, both do their best to maintain the lie without letting each other know the truth: neither of them are acting.

looking glass by kyonomiko (M, 99k) No one knows what happened to Draco Malfoy in the final battle, but, when his portrait shows up at Harry Potter's house, it's readily assumed he didn't make it. Hermione's perspective on the wizard starts to change as she learns more about who he really was. The more she knows, the more tragic his apparent demise seems to be.

isolation by bex-chan (E, 264k) He can't leave the room. Her room. And it's all the Order's fault. Confined to a small space with only the Mudblood for company, something's going to give. Maybe his sanity. Maybe not. "There," she spat. "Now your Blood's filthy too!"

thirty-five by raven_maiden (M, 2.3k) It's Draco Malfoy's birthday, and you'd think he'd have some say in the matters concerning his birthday. Then again, the will of four other Malfoys is hard to overcome. Part of Meet the Malfoys collection.

apples & cream by LovesBitca8 (E, 1.4k) She could have taken her things and gone through his Floo without a word. She could have ignored him on Monday morning, as though last night had been no more than a fever dream and too much Firewhisky. But she’d come back to bed.

universal truths by scullymurphy (E, 145k, pride & prejudice inspired AU) Hermione Granger is a woman of intelligence and spirit. Draco Malfoy is a man of wealth and privilege. When they meet again, a decade after the second great wizarding war—they are not impressed. But when circumstances throw them together, dislike turns to attraction, attraction turns to passion and passion may turn into something more... If they can stay out of their own way and let love take its course.

my brown-eyed girl by PacificRimbaud (M, 2k) "Give it up, Granger. We've had our N.E.W.T. results for a week. What can possibly have earned your continued academic devotion in the last four days of term?" Draco and Hermione have a lazy snuggle in the grass behind the Quidditch pitch.

bite marks by provactive_envy (E, 19.4k, muggle AU) Draco’s mouth falls open. He clutches his cookie and ignores the shower of crumbs littering his grey cashmere fingerless gloves. He can’t decide if he wants to fuck this girl or fight with her. Maybe both? Maybe at the same time?

thirteenth night by Nelpher (M, 78k) When Hermione is assigned to keep tabs on a memory-charmed Draco, she is faced with a decision that could change her life forever.

familiar faces, worn out places by LovesBitca8 (E, 7k) “You are at St. Mungo’s. You were in a coma.” He looks me over again, taking a pause. “I am a Healer here now,” he says, like it explains something. My fingers stretch, drifting across his sleeve. He looks down, like I’ve thrown mud at him. Forcing my vocal chords together for the first time, I whisper, “What’s your name?”

bone mortar by mightbewriting (M, 10k, muggle AU) Draco clenched his teeth, forcing sharp, shallow breaths through his nose as he ripped open the door to his usual lecture hall only to find— someone at his desk. Well, he supposed it was technically less his desk and more the desk as he didn’t actually own this particular classroom. But since he’d taught in it for the last four semesters in a row he at least felt like he’d earned common law ownership of some sort.

of mongolian fireflies and russian sharpclaws by barnettdidit (T, 37k) As colleagues for the F.A.U.C.E.T. (Fetching And Uncovering Creatures Experiencing Terror) department, Draco and Hermione have had their fair share of arguments. When they face their hardest case yet, mixed with an odd swarm of fireflies that glow in the colour according to how they feel about each other, Hermione is struggling to keep a straight mind.

a muggle-born magic by Musyc (M, 50k, regency era AU) Physician's daughter Hermione Granger finds herself in need of a way to pay off her father's debts after his death. Draco Malfoy, retired from the politics of the Isolationists, a group of pure-bloods bent on separating 'true' magic from lesser folk, finds himself in need of a tutor for his son, Scorpius, who appears to be incapable of magic and must learn to survive in a world without it. Draco also needs a wife and mother for Scorpius, to satisfy a promise to his unwell father. After she saves his son from an attack by Isolationists, Draco hires the Muggle-born Miss Granger for the former, and after a riot in Vauxhall Gardens and a scandalous discovery made by his mother, weds that selfsame Muggle-born for the latter. While making the best of her marriage of (in)convenience, Hermione discovers that Scorpius' history of wild imaginings and dreams is more than just imagination. As she attempts to teach him about magical abilities no one expected he would ever have, she and Draco work together to raise Scorpius and learn to trust each other.

aurelian by BittyBlueEyes (T, 255k) Two years after the war, a young stranger pays a visit to the burrow. His arrival alone is baffling, but the news he brings of an upcoming war turns the world upside down. Hermione's quiet, post-war life will never be the same.

malfoy shrugged by uselessenglishmajor (E, 11k) February 14th is just another day at the office for Hermione Granger. Shame no one else got the memo.

distance by In_Dreams (T, 138k) She’s a novice Unspeakable trying to earn her stripes. He’s a shafted Auror desperate to prove himself. When they end up forced together on a shared assignment, neither is willing to back down. But when the mission pulls them into an ancient world of mystery and adventure, they find themselves depending on each other in a race against time.

nonscents by In_Dreams (M, 10k) Granger's Amortentia smells like him and Draco can't understand why. More importantly, he can't let her figure it out.

correspondence by olivieblake (T, 5k) Every year, Draco insists that Hermione take a picture for their Christmas card. Why? Hell if she knows, but if it will make him happy, so be it.

sandalwood and gardenias by secondbutton (E, 9k) A balanced fragrance of sandalwood and something musky and earthy followed him like a shroud. Draco Malfoy smelled like a magical forest’s best kept secret. Like the moment following a storm when the sun peeks back over the clouds and living beings stop what they’re doing and pause to marvel at being able to roam outside again. It was a crisp top note with more robust undertones, and just a hint of sweetness. She thought she might love the scent if it lived on anyone else other than him.

#dramione #draco malfoy #hermione granger #fanfiction recs #fanfic recs #little to no ron weasley bashing #dramione fanfics #dramione fanfic recs #fic recs #dramione fic recs

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thewritingstar · 4 years

Note

best friends greens mutual pining roommates in college told in Butches POV?? it’s a lot of stuff in one post but i think you’re the only author i know who could pull it off (besides SBJ)

Pairing: Butch x Buttercup (Greens)

I-I don’t even know what to say. I really feel like i shouldn’t be compared to such a queen. But thank you. I hope this does your prompt justice and i love nothing more than a flustered Butch. Imma say this is rated like T to M just for the mention of certain topics. I hope you enjoy this and thank you for the ask!

Ask/Requests always open

-----

College was suppose to be fun. It was suppose to be full of random parties, random booze, random drugs and most importantly, random girls that he didn’t need to know the names of.

What is wasn’t suppose to be was ice cold showers and massive headaches as he tried to drown the feelings that were arising. Random thoughts that he should be having about random girls should not belong to his roommate. No he really shouldn’t be thinking about how soft her skin would feel against his as she disappeared into her bedroom with a random guy.

He thought it would be easy and chill to live with Buttercup and at the beginning it was. They were best friends of course and they got along like two peas in a pod. Scary movies, frozen meals and cheap beer was how the spent their nights together.

Jerking off to the thought of her was how he spent his nights alone, and he hated it.

You weren’t suppose to fall in love with your best friend. Every one who says they married their best friend is a liar in his book, at least thats what he told himself every night. All he wanted to do was forget about these feelings because he didn’t want to ruin what they had.

Of course it was easier said then done when she decided a long band t shirt and booty shorts was her usual studying attire and sometimes they would lounge in their underwear because what else to bffs do?. She would sit next to him until their shoulders touched and more than once, it felt like they were a domestic married couple living in a one bedroom apartment than two homies making it through college.

They would sometimes cook together and have study sessions. That was all normal stuff. What wasn’t normal was whispering her name praying that the random girl underneath him didn’t notice.

They had been best friends since middle school and he valued their relationship more than anything but those feelings had shifted in high school and he never got to chance, or had the balls, to tell her.

Every time he thought he was ready, she would end up tell him about a boy on the football team or baseball and he would sit there and nod. He would be there to support her time after time. Break up after break up, he was there for her tears even when his heart was ripping to shreds every single time.

But he couldn’t lose the only person who understood him on his level. He liked to punch and fight and get messy and she was right there along side him. Who else could keep up with him? Her but if it meant looking at as only a friend, then he could do so, even if it killed him on the inside.

He thought that living together would erase the emotions but they only made them stronger. His fist would clench together until his nails would dig into his palms and threaten to break the skin. His jaw tighten and the door would slam as he left every time she had someone over.

Butch couldn't be mad, he also occupied his time with random girls who were pretty and air heads at best, mostly sorority because flings were like crack to them. But even in the heat of those moments, he wished it was her. Sure the girls were hot but something about Buttercup made his heart clench.

Her presence was that of a firework. Explosive and bright and if you were lucky, got to see it light up constantly and he was taken back every time. She was her own type of beauty, no one could compare. Even with blood dripping down her knuckles as she snarled at the monster before her, she was everything he had ever wanted. A bad ass girl who wasn’t afraid of anything, except for clowns, she hated clowns.

She could be intimidating and he would laugh at the guys who would try to get with her for more than a fling and fail miserably. Even if he wasn’t the one to be in her bed, he was still miles ahead of every one. She knew that too.

And right now, he was losing it.

A simple night. The scary movie was playing, one that they had seen a hundred times before and a box of pizza that only had a few slices left. She was on one side of the couch with one foot on his leg and the other dangling off the side while his leg was propped up and the other resting while hers was on it. His elbow was on the arm rest and from the corner of his eyes he could see her blankly staring at the screen.

She wasn’t even dressed up. Her hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail and just an over sized shirt and yet he thought she looked gorgeous.

he couldn’t explain how he felt. She was a magnet or a bright flame and he was a moth ready to be burned by the light.

He sat there watching the screen. His heartbeat thumping in his chest heavily and he hate, absolute hated that she had super hearing too.

“You that scared pussy?” She said without even looking at him and he swallowed hard before grabbing his water.

He only had about a month left before winter break and then he could room with someone else, it would be better for both of them. He loved rooming with her but these feelings would only drive him crazy and it wan’t fair for her to live with him having these thoughts. Fuck she looked hot.

“Yeah.” He lied and coughed dryly.

She paused the tv and finally looked at him. “You okay?”

She always saw through his bullshit and it was one of the many things he admired about her, expect for this moment.

He rolled his eyes playfully trying to mask the redness in his face. “Just worried about an upcoming test, basic college shit ya know.”

He only heard her hum before her foot moved from the spot on his leg and he was thankful for a second.

“You’ve seemed on edge lately.” Her voice was soft and he turned to face her not knowing that she had moved and his nose almost hit hers. “And I don’t think its about a test.” No shit sherlock. Maybe its because the hottest girl in the world was hovering just inches from him and he wanted to do nothing more than kiss her, but he couldn’t

Hie eyes widened at the close proximity and he thought he was gonna die. She batted her eyelashes at him and he narrowed his eyes at her.

“Just about school.” Another lie and he could smell the crisp apple perfume she was wearing. Why was she so close?

She sat on her heels and looked at him. He was trying not to lose it.

“Can I ask you something?” She said and he nodded.

“Yeah.”

And now she looked nervous. She paused and opened her mouth before closing it again. He knew that look. It was the determining what to do next look and she only did that with him. And funny enough it was always after a break up.

In high school they would sit in a parking lot or on the school roof tops. She would finishing cussing out the guy and even wiping her tears and then give him this look.

“Why are guys such ass hole?” She would say and he would only shrug before slinking his arm over her shoulder and hugging him close.

“Relax BC, you’ll find someone.” Like me he would want to say every time but he never did.

Her eyes would be wide and even after crying you could see the individual flecks of neon green mixed with various shades and if the light hit them just right, he swore he could see gold.

Her eyes matched those right now as she thought about her next words. The light coming through the blind bounced off them and even if he was a few inches away, those gold flecks were there.

“Never mind.” She whispered, she did that on the roof tops too. He could see it now.

How was he blind before? The looks and the pink to her cheeks. The way she walked and talked around him was much more delicate than those random guys. He placed his hand on her leg, rubbing circles with his thumb.

Neither of them had been with a fling for about a month now. He was getting bored of everyone else and maybe she was too. The feeling of doubt that he had every time this would happen was in him now.

But she was a blazing bonfire and he was a moth that was so close to light, he didn’t care if he got burned to a crisp.

“Come Buttercup, tell me.” He pleaded and he hope and prayed, even begged to the gods that the look she was wearing was the sign he was looking for.

She looked at his hand and relaxed before those tears formed on her waterline. Everyone said Bubbles was the cry baby but she wasn’t afraid to let the tears fall. She shook her head and cracked a smile. Their noses now touched and her lip quivered as her hand touched his face.

She looked terrified and he was too as she inched closer and closer, their lips practically brushing together. “I don’t want you to regret it.”

“I couldn’t, not after all this time. I’ve been yours since the start.” He whispered and her lips fell to his.

He felt the firework go off. It was blinding and brighter than ever. He now understood when people said that you’ll see the stars when you kiss the one for you. And right now he was seeing the fucking universe.

He wasted no time falling into the kiss. All those random thoughts and girls had evaporated in a flash as he tugged her into his lap and kissed her senselessly. He hated whenever she talked about other guys but the wait was worth it as she was finally kissing him.

Her lips were soft and plush just like he dreamed they would be.

Their mouths moved as if two puzzle pieces finally formed together after searching for their missing half. His hand went to rest on her ass and she pulled him closer by the collar of his shirt. He let out a growl as she playfully bit his lip and pulled away, gasping for air.

“T-those fucking shorts, you f-fucking tease.” He breathed out.

“T-took you long enough you dumb ass.” She wasn’t wearing all this tight clothing just for the sake of it, no he was convinced that she was the evil one now.

“How was I suppose to know?”

“Just shut up and kiss me.”

He didn’t need to be told twice as he picked her up and carried her off to his room. Something he thought would only happen in those cold shower dreams of his.

College is fun. Its full of random young adults getting drunk at parties and taking shots of whatever they could find, loud ass music and most importantly, finding out that the person you’ve had the hots for since the 8th grade also liked you back. He was just thankfully that none of his showers had to be ice cold any more.

He now learned that you could in fact marry your best friend and kicked himself for ever thinking he couldn’t.

---

I hope this was okay!!! :)

#greens #butch x buttercup #butchercup #butchercup fic #ppg #powerpuff girls fan fic #the powerpuff girl #thewritingstar

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fallinfor-youreyes · 5 years

Text

Catch Me Off My Guard

Dani forgets her lipstick, and ends up learning something new about Malcolm. Post 1x05. Ao3

She forgets her lipstick at his house.

Dani’s not sure how she does it, but she assumes it something to do with sleeping on the counter and dealing with a highly drugged Malcom Bright.

And honestly, if it were any other lipstick, she would have already forgotten about it. But it’s not any other lipstick. It’s her favorite lipstick. Her favorite lipstick that is no longer sold anywhere, that she had bought as many as she could when she heard it was being retired. It was the last tube of her favorite lipstick, and she had been an idiot and decided to wear it out that night because she hadn’t been out in ages. Even if it was for work, and a very stupid idea in the first place.

She had looked literally everywhere else for it, but she remembered seeing it in her bag on the subway to Bright’s, which meant she probably lost it as his place.

Which is why she was here, standing outside his building on a freezing Saturday morning, because she couldn’t bring herself to text him about it, and apparently just showing up at his apartment made more sense in her mind.

If she hadn’t already rang his doorbell, she would already be walking back home. But she had, so she was here, hands stuffed in her pockets, hoping he was actually home so he could let her inside before she got frostbite.

“Hello?” His voice crackles out of the speaker just as she’s about to turn around, and her stomach plummets to the floor. She should have never left her apartment today.

“Bright, it’s Dani.”

“Oh! Hey, come on up!”

The door buzzes, and then she’s inside the blissfully warm hallway, and Malcolm’s head pops out from the top of the stairs, and this is a bad idea, she thinks. They are work friends, people who see each other in the office and sometimes at home when he needs someone to take him there, but it’s a Saturday, and this has nothing to do with work.

She should have just texted him.

“Hi!” His hair flops into his eyes, but he’s smiling at her like nobody’s business, and a weird feeling settles in her chest.

“Hey,” She says, making her way up the steps, taking in how the hall looks different in the early morning sunlight. The colors are different, and she can see the pictures on the wall, and then way too soon she’s turning the corner and almost running straight into him where he’s waiting for her at the door.

Saturday morning Malcolm is different from any other Malcolm she’s met before. His hair is soft and falling in his face, not arranged in the way she’s used to it.

He’s also wearing sweatpants. And a faded Harvard sweatshirt, and it's almost too much for her to handle.

She shrugs off her jacket and he takes it from her before she can hang it up herself, so she busies herself with unzipping her boots so she can leave them at the door, not wanting to track the gross half-snow-half-mud slush through his apartment.

“I don’t mean to barge in, but I think I forgot something here the time I was over.”

“What did you forget?”

She pauses to say hi to Sunshine before making her way inside. “My lipsti-“

Dani freezes, her eyes falling onto Malcolm standing in the middle of the room. His entire kitchen is covered in pastries. Desserts of all sorts sprinkle every available counter, and the oven timer is slowly counting down to whatever is next.

“Lipstick?” He asks, casually as he’s pulling on a pair of oven mitts, like the scene in front of her in completely normal.

“Yeah.” Dani stops at the edge of the counter and tries to count the amount of different food in front of her but she can’t. She’s pretty sure there’s more dessert than weapons on his weapons wall, and it’s making her question everything she’s ever know about Malcom Bright. “Wait, sorry, I didn’t know you baked.”

“Oh,” his cheeks flush pink, and Dani likes the sight of that way too much. “Yeah, I’m what some people might call a stress baker.” He offers her a plate of cookies, and she’s so confused that she takes one.

“I thought you couldn’t eat most foods.”

“Can’t.”

“Then what-“

“Edrissa like brownies,” he says, pointing to the corner full of brownies and cookies. “Ains likes fruit pies and tarts, Gil loves breads, J.T. like donuts, my mom likes cupcakes, and I occasionally can get through a whole slice of crumble.” He opens the oven and glances inside, frowning at whatever is still baking. “Everything else ends up in the break room at work.”

“So you’re the reason the break room has been incredibly popular the last few weeks?”

He shrugs as he closes the over door, pulling out one of the fanciest toothpick holders she’s ever seen.“What about you? I haven’t figured out your favorite dessert yet.”

Dani settles herself into the chair she unfortunately slept in a few weeks ago, right in front of an apple crumble. “I’m known to like a bunch of different things.”

“Good to know.” He flashes her a smile and then moves to wrapping up one of the pies with tin foil. “So, you were saying you lost your lipstick?”

“Yes!” She pushes herself off the chair, because she is not supposed to be getting comfortable here. “I have looked everywhere else for it, and this is the only place I can think I left it.”

“It might be in the bathroom cabin-“ the timer goes off and he glances between her and the oven and his ridiculous fancy tooth picks, and she can tell he’s going to choose the currently unknown pastry, so she nods, and starts making her to the bathroom.

“I’m not sure though. My mother sends her cleaner over here because she doesn’t think I can take care of myself and most of the time, I end up not knowing where anything is.”

Dani opens the cabinet, and it’s surprisingly bare, considering the rest of his bathroom is a full of things. Surprisingly bare, except for a perfectly sized tube of lipstick. Her lipstick. A sigh of relief falls from her mouth, and its a little ridiculous how happy she is have found it, but she has her lipstick and now she can stop feeling weird about coming over to Malcolm’s apartment on a random Saturday morning.

“Found it!” she says, when she comes back into the kitchen, and she’s about to go and get her boots and be out of his hair when she sees he’s placed a cup of tea in on the counter for her. He’s resting on the other side, his own cup of tea and plate of still steaming lemon bars cooling in the space between them.

And she knows she should leave. She got what she came for, and staying would that turn this trip into something else. But she’s curious. She has questions. She puts the lipstick in her pocket and drops herself into the world’s most uncomfortable sleeping chair, and grabs a lemon bar.

“So, where did you learn how to bake?”

“Technically, my mother.”

Dani can’t stop her face being surprised, and he laughs at that, and it makes that stupid dumb feeling in her chest grow a bit more.

“See, you’ve met my mother.” He takes a sip of his tea and plates her a bar. “She would never cook or do anything when we kids. Or now, for that matter. We always had staff for that. But on Christmas, she would always make this apple crumble, and Ainsley and I would sit in the kitchen with her. It was the only time she would ever talk about her family.” Malcolm shrugs and cuts piece of his bar. “And then when everything happened with my dad, she would start making them all the time. It became the only time I didn’t feel like the world was falling apart around us.”

He pauses for a moment, the weight of his words just hanging between them, and Dani doesn’t know what to do say. “Bright I-“

“But mother only cooked crumble, and only for a few months, so then I started sitting in with our cook when she would bake. And then whenever I was over at Gil’s house, I would ask Jackie to teach me everything. So I have a rather rounded baking education.”

“Crumble’s your comfort food?”

Malcolm blinks. “Hmm?”

“You’re comfort food. When you were high you wanted to make crumble. And I made you grilled cheese, because that’s my comfort food.” Dani tucks her hair behind her ears and grabs a bit of the lemon bar. “My mom would make us grilled cheese whenever we had a bad day, and it’s like the only meal I can make without fucking up.”

“From what I remember, it was a pretty fantastic grilled cheese.”

She stuffs the lemon bar in her mouth to shut herself up, but it’s a mistake. She wasn’t really expected anything much, but she can’t help the moan that escapes from mouth.

Malcolm laughs into his tea, and Dani can only nod and try to not stuff the rest of the dessert in her mouth.

“That’s not fair. How can you be so good at this?”

Malcolm’s smile grows. “I’ve been stressed since I was 8 years old. Lot’s of practice.”

Dani grabs another bite so she doesn’t have to say anything right away. There’s a lot about Malcolm Bright that she doesn’t know yet. And there’s a lot about her that he doesn’t know. But she does know that this conversation could be about a lot more than baking, but she needs to know if she’s prepared for that.

They are sort of friends. She remembers his face when he asked her if they were really friends, and how it fell when she said no, because she’s not good at friends. She’s not good at the trusting people and letting people in, and she has zero filter which gets on people’s nerves, and she’s been through a lot. A lot that can scare people away and a lot that has, so she guards herself.

But he looked so crushed when she said they weren’t friends. And against all odds, she likes him. He’s one of the few people she’s met who has been through even more than her, who knows what it’s like to scare people away. They haven’t know each other for long, but for some reason, she knows she trusts him. Which is pretty big for her.

“You know, if you ever need someone to talk to about whatever’s stressing you out, I’m always down for a lemon bar. Or a blueberry muffin,” she grabs her cup of tea, the scent of earl grey greeting her as she pulls it closer. “Or just a cup of tea, with a friend.”

Malcolm ducks his head and tries to hide his smile, but he’s not very good at hiding his emotions. His face is an open book of possibilities. That’s something she knows about him. She wouldn’t mind getting to know more.

“Thanks, Dani. And speaking of thanks, I want to take you out to dinner, to properly say thank you for taken care of me. Twice now,” he says.

She stuffs another piece of lemon bar in her mouth instead of answering.

Dinner outside of sharing a hotdog on stake out is more than just coworker things. Dinner on a Saturday is so much more than just coworker things.

A part of her feels like it could even be a more than friends thing. That part of her also kind of likes the idea of it being a more than friends thing.

“It’s not even 11:30 yet,” she says, because it’s the first rational thing that comes to her mind. She should have waiting for the first smart thing to come to her mind.

Malcolm nods, like what she said was an actual response, folding his hands together so he can place his head on them.

“What about brunch then? I know a great coffee place that has one of the most impressive tea walls I have ever seen.”

She should say no. She should have left as soon as she had her lipstick, but she’s still here, sitting at his counter on a freezing cold Saturday morning.

“You don’t have to take me out to thank me,” she says, trying one last time.

Malcolm’s face brightens. “But I want too.”

And it shouldn’t, it really shouldn’t, but it makes her heart jump in her chest. It make her cheeks heat up, and she tries to squash the smile from erupting on her face, but all it does it make her entire face scrunch up like she’s some 16 year old with a crush on a boy who just told he he thought she was pretty.

But maybe that’s what she is. A 25 year old with a crush on a boy who she trusts more than she should. A boy that smiles at her and has even less of a filter than she does, a boy who is currently watching her like whatever she says next going to determine the fate of the universe.

“Okay, I could be down for some more tea.”

“Great!” Malcolm’s up in the next instant, and then he’s holding out her jacket for her once she’s finished zipping up her boots, and when she turns, he’s close to her. As close as they where when he was high and wanted to dance with her.

Close enough that she can feel his breath wash over her skin he breathes out.

Close enough, that the part of her brain that she’s allowing to have a crush on him is now thinking about kissing him.

But she doesn’t. She’s not good at friends, and she’s definitely not very good at relationships, and the last thing she wants to do is mess up whatever fragile thing they have between them right now.

She she takes a step back. Tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. Turns to the mirror in the hall while Malcom pulls on his jacket, and grabs her lipstick from her pocket before smoothing it over her lips.

“It’s a good lipstick,” Malcolm says, as he finishes zippering his coat. Dani raises an eyebrow at him as he pulls on his gloves. “I understand why you came back for it.” He offers her his elbow, and it’s so very upper class New York of him that the only she can do is roll her eyes and take his arm.

When she gets into work on Monday, there’s a blueberry muffin sitting on her desk.

And if a warm feeling settles in her chest at the sight of it, then that’s her problem to worry about later.

Right now, she has a muffin to eat.

#prodigal son #prodigal son fic #malcolm bright #dani powell #brightwell #post 1x05 #look baker!malcolm got stuck in my head #and then this disaster happened #i miss them already

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peachyteabuck · 5 years

Text

eating a heart in a marketplace

summary: "[C]ommunion doesn’t need to be holy. Or even decent." - THOMAS C. FOSTER

After one of Tony’s men injures one of yours, he must present a peace offering in order to keep his black market distributor business afloat.

Good news: you accept the gift.

Bad news: the gift is Thor.

pairing: Thor Odinson x Reader

words: 5,863

trigger warnings: dubcon ig, humiliation, heavy d/s dynamics, mentions of canon-level violence, use of gags, collars, basically kidnapping, dehumanization (sexual and nonsexual)

notes/other: this fic is entirely self-indulgent and i am anticipating sequels bc i .... love it. enjoy!

sk box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

The obnoxiously long, dark oak table lays mostly bare, the only places set are the ones at each end of the exquisitely made piece of furniture.

The pink, sheer robe you’re wearing does nothing to hide the matching baby pink lace lingerie, just as the equally feminine heels donned with a strip of pink puff across the base of the toes would do nothing to protect your perfectly manicured feet from the harm of the eerie storm raging outside. Still, the garments and accessories are not meant to be something that cover you up, keep you warm, help you run from danger; they’re tools, tools you’ll hopefully use to get your way as the final meal of the evening approaches.

The entire event is set up just the way you want, with your makeup setting just as expected; the pig roasted to perfection, the pasta firm to the touch, the carrots and broccoli steamed until palatable, the champagne chilled. Most important, though, was the arrival of your guest. At exactly 6:05, your head butler comes in to notify you of the car pulling in front of your expansive home. With the wave of your hand she’s instructed to let the man come in, allow your rival to step into the palace you’d constructed for yourself when you’d risen to the top of your organization.

Well, maybe “rival” is the wrong word. “Rival” implies an active dislike or struggle, when in reality you two operate in separate spheres of influence.

“Companion,” though, seems too friendly.

As the distinct sounds of footsteps filter through the grand hall and into your study, the man you’ve decided to call “fellow leader” steps into sight. His fine pressed suit, dry as the Sahara desert, smiles as you come into his view.

“Ah, my favorite mob woman.” His eyes seems more sinister than you expected. You attribute it more to the dark tones of the evening rather than actual malice.

“Stark,” you say with a curt nod. You go up to exchange a kiss on each cheek, heart racing with the anticipation of what’s to come, excitement increasing with each step. “Come, we have a wonderful meal prepared for you.”

Anthony doesn’t protest, simply accepts a glass of Scotch a maid hands to him and follows you into the dining room. He chuckles a bit at the display you’ve put on, but doesn’t say anything outright. You two have enough respect for the other not deny their counterpart the joy of a dramatic display. He simply sits, the pig placed in the middle of the table large enough to be an obvious sign of wealth but not too big as to deny the two of you eye contact.

Small talk is exchanged as the meal is served, biscuits placed, and pork cut into thick slabs. Vegetables placed delicately on plates and napkins placed on laps. You ask how Pepper is doing, he asks if the dress you had handmade from some extravagant designer turned out how you wanted. Half your plates are clear before either of you truly start to converse.

You’re the first to break the silence as Anthony begins on his mashed potatoes. “I appreciate your understanding of the deal. I’m not a fan of bloodshed, and the demonstration at the club that night are something I wish to forgive and forget as soon as possible.”

Anthony nods, speaking around a bite of the creamy starch. “I agree. Odinson’s actions were inappropriate, wildly and unpredictably so. In truth, I’ve thought he was a liability since he joined, but I never thought he’d lash out like that.”

As you slice through a particularly thick cut of meat, your fork slips and scraps against the china. Both of your winkles your noses at the grating sound.

“Yes,” You pause to chew. “cutting off Barnes’ arm during a bar fight does seem a little…” The bite of biscuit you had gotten was just perfect, the equal amount of butter and brown sugary, apple flavor from the pork together. God, you really do love a good meal. “Rash.”

Your guest hums in agreement. He then clears his throat, preparing to talk. “To symbolize my apologies, I have brought you the gift we spoke of earlier,” he pauses, raising his left hand just above his elbow and bending his first two fingers forward. You sit up, intrigued.

As the large French doors behind him open, from the dark depths of your hallway comes the man who scarred your oldest friend for life, cost you hundreds of thousands of dollars in medical bills, and has put your best hitman out of commission. He’s tall, fills the doorway like a key in a lock. His scruff thick and dark, bags under his eyes from lack of sleep.

Something deep in you stirs, and squeezing your thighs together does nothing to stop it.

Thor Odinson is clad in a suit, as most of Stark’s enforcers are. Though, the handcuffs keeping his hands behind his back are new.

“Interesting addition,” you note, staring at his straining arms in the expensive fabric.

Anthony doesn’t give any indication that he hears, let alone cares, about your sarcastic comment. “I’m assuming this” he gestures to the man. “Will put me back in good spirits with you and the rest of your crew?”

Odinson walks to your side, head hung in shame and hair tied in a tight bun as his former employer speaks. He knows what he’s in for now, has been told in so many words he is now something less of a person – and it’s obvious this has put him to shame.

You consider it – think about letting all that happened go with a simple olive branch. Before you can do that, though, you must make sure that the merchandise lives up to the promises on the box.

“Down,” you command. Immediately, he drops to his knees. You smirk, dragging your baby pink nails down his stubbled jaw.

“Oh, yes. This will do just fine, Stark. Just…fine.” The last two words are long, almost forgetting to finish them as your mind travels to all the things you could do with him.

Anthony smirks. “Perfect. I’m assuming business with resume as usual?”

Your fingers stroke at the sides of Thor’s face and trace around the shell of his ear. “Of course. I’ll call the appropriate people later. Everything should be up and running by midnight.”

Suddenly Anthony tenses, his fingers moving to fidget with his tie. “If I may-”

“You may,” you tell him, not meeting his eyes.

Anthony audibly gulps, fidgeting in his seat and with his tie. “That’s quite late, that’s hundreds of millions of dollars that we’ll miss out on if we-”

You hold up your hand flat while your gaze remains locked on your new toy. “That’s the earliest I can assure you. Whether or not it happens before that is,” you stop to try and feed Thor a small bite of carrot from your hand. He hesitates but accepts after a few moments, plucking the orange vegetable with beautiful teeth and a gentle bite. He doesn’t make eye contact like you originally wanted, but this is a good start. “Not guaranteed.”

Anthony knows that you’re stubborn, much too stubborn to be moved away from your current stance. He’s done all that he can do to sway you, and now whatever income he hopes to make between now and the end of the day depends on Thor.

In short, Anthony Stark Junior (and his bank account) are royally, utterly fucked.

As he leaves your home he can hear you call to your head servant to tell Customs and Border Patrol to let his packages in (an assured start to him not losing a fortune), but he still wrings his hands as he slides into the backseat of his solid black Escalade. As the partition opens to reveal the man at the wheel, the thought of angry text messages from smugglers trying to get their goods into the States flash in front of Stark’s bloodshot eyes.

His driver, Happy, notices the fellow man’s anxiety as he looks at his boss through the rearview mirror.

“You think Odinson is gonna be okay, boss?” He asks, sort-of worried but mostly focused on filling the deafening silence in the expensive car. Money can buy a lot of things, but it can’t fill the awkward spaces in conversation that always come post-transaction.

Tony just laughs, typing something into his watch. “Of course not. That woman is going to chew him up and spit him out by the end of the fiscal year.”

Happy chews at his bottom lip. That’s two weeks from now. “You really think it’s gonna be that quick?”

“Probably,” Tony shrugs. “She’s never been known for mercy.”

The other man nods, quiet as he makes his way to the Stark residence. The quiet, cold night air strikes the mobster as he steps out of the car; the sharp grass smells fills his sense and bloodstream, calming him as he steps into his home. Pepper’s at the counter, stirring something in a pot. She doesn’t turn around when she hears his footsteps, but knows he’s somber nonetheless.

“Hard day at the office?” She asks, giving him a small taste of the homemade alfredo sauce.

Tony snorts, moving to lick at the wooden spoon. “Oh yeah,” he mumbles, wrapping his arms around her waist. She’s in one of his t-shirts and sleep shorts, the soft material comforting him. “You could say that.”

You only make good decisions when you’re in a good mood, and right now said mood depends on Thor Odinson - a man so insecure he once got himself tortured just because his captors told him he couldn’t take it. The man is a stubborn, uncontrollable mess with an anger issue to rival that of Lyssa, or a lighting on a field of dried grass.

He was feared within the Nest and by the lower Excidium members, but he didn’t make palms sweat and hands shake and hearts beat faster quite like you do.

No one fucks with you because you’ve very appropriately placed yourself on a pedestal based on madness, control, and desire for power. Thor’s just feared because he’s a dumbass with a short fuse. It’s the difference between a forest fire and a crazy, drunken uncle holding a lighter; one you can try and prevent, coax it into submission and run away if necessary. The other? More unstable than Francium.

(At least you know that thing’s only going to last twenty-two minutes, though. At least it’s predictable in its instability.)

Back inside, you’re more than ecstatic to have a new plaything. You were fully prepared to let the kid’s behavior slide, especially since the Nest brings in a hefty amount of revenue. But if Tony wants to give up a weak link, you’ll gratefully treasure the broken piece of steel you picked up from the gravel.

Thor stays like that, on his knees and eating out of your hand, for so long his legs fall asleep. You spend the rest of the night chatting at nobody, talk to him like he’s an old, deaf cat who just remains in your favor because he’s soft to pet and is cute. You sign some deals, check the language of some proposed treaties, write your to-do list for the next day all at the dinner table. Thor only dares to look at you when you’re too busy conversing with maids or chastising someone who works under you or any time your head is turned enough that he can make out the scar that runs from behind your left ear to the back of your neck.

Your form, the way you speak, he’s obsessed with his chance finally take it all in.

He hasn’t seen you in person before, just heard rumors and conspiracy theories and whatever else people spend their time making up about you. Thor always passed it off as fiction, simply inflating the higher-ups to pass the time. Everything about you, though, seems exceptionally true. Maybe even underestimations. It’s true you walk around your house in matching lingerie sets, possibly a robe if it’s breezy. The East Coast heat can be unexpectedly warm, but as the sun sets on the July day he can see goosebumps rise across your soft skin and the shivers that sometimes shake your spine. Your house fits all the descriptions he’s heard, too. The decor seems almost welcoming, faded oranges and pastel pinks and dull whites and baby blues and mustard yellows. Plush, velvet furniture the same deep magenta, mirrors trimmed in what Thor can assume is real gold.

It’s like a scene from Mean Chicks or whatever those 2000s teen movies are. If one of those movies took place in the home of an incredibly powerful mobster, it’d look like this.

“What do you think, pet?”

Oh shit. Thor was supposed to be listening, wasn’t he? When he looks up, Bucky Barnes (the man who called him a pussy and “Stark’s whore,” prompting him to grab one of the decorative - but still fully functional - swords from the wall of the bar they were in and just...slice away at his tormentor), Steve Rogers (who looks like the human version of a sugar cookie while specializing in torture) , and Sam Wilson (a sarcastic little shit who knows exactly how to get anything past the feds) are all staring down at him. Barnes’ left arm (stub? It’s mostly just stub now) is still bandaged, but he’s at least walking now. Thor was told he might die from blood loss, but no. Thor Odinson would never be that lucky.

“They never listen, do they?” You sigh, rolling your eyes as you shift to face them. None of the men sit, knowing they won’t be there long. Plus, they get a much better angle of Thor’s tortuous position while standing.

“You don’t think that deserves punishment?” Steve asks, a smile curling at the sides of his mouth that speaks volumes.

You shrug, not looking at him. “Later. Now I want you to donate fifty thousand to the Vermont special elections. I need that entry point into Canada or else there’s no way we can get out shipments into that garbage country in a timely manner. Also,” you turn to Sam, whose eyes are caught staring between Thor’s left upper ribs. “Call CBP. Stark held up his end of the deal, I have to hold up mine.”

All three of them huff, both at the large sum of cash you’re about to give to a twenty-something know-nothing frat guy who knows nothing about politics but everything about being open to bribes and about them not being able to watch the man they hate become the most embarrassed version of himself in front of the man he tried to kill and his two best friends.

Whatever. The trio’s time for revenge will come, you promised them that - promised Bucky when he was in the ICU that you would find the man that did this and would make them pay.

Bucky has never known you to break a promise.

When the three leave you and Thor, you raise your left arm high flick your wrist towards the large doors. Understanding the cue, your maids wordlessly close them to seclude you from whatever responsibilities you were intending on dealing with tonight. Whatever it is, was, can wait until tomorrow, can wait until you’ve begun Thor’s assimilation into your home.

There’s a moment of quiet, of stillness in the house before Thor hears the sounds of several pairs of footsteps – maybe four, he counts – that enter the large dining room with haste. He’s quickly escorted down a long hallway and up a winding set of stairs. Thor can’t see much as he’s rushed away, and the little he can make out is a baby blue wallpaper with gold patterns etched into it, and fine paintings that appear sporadically on the walls. Some are black and white with abstract patterns, others depictions of angels, a few featuring intricate designs that resemble the sky and sea.

It feels like a forever before Thor is slammed down onto the floor of your bedroom, his knees hitting the wood with a painful smack. Despite the earsplitting sound, he doesn’t wince, doesn’t even flinch as his hair is pulled back by one of the maids so he’s forced to look at you. As you gaze upon him he bares his teeth; you can see fire behind his eyes. What a cutie, you muse to yourself.

“Wrists,” you instruct. Another maid moves behind him with dusty pink rope, securing his wrists together behind his back. “Legs,” you tell them next. Thor is easily flipped onto his back, arched at an uncomfortable angle because of his arms. Just as quickly as before, his legs are tied so that his calves and the backs of his thighs meet. When he’s flipped back up, all he can see is you smiling devilishly. “I’ll do the rest myself ladies. Go ahead and take the night off, I want him all to myself.”

“Yes ma’am” they respond in unison, Thor unable to see their hurried steps but understanding that when he hears the door closing behind them, he’s completely and utterly alone.

For a moment you two just stare at each in silence, his nostrils flaring and chest rising from anger and adrenaline. He heaves as you calmly gaze upon him, pissing off your captive even more. All Thor can do is react while you stand there, stationary and speechless.

Within a few moments, he’s lashing out to break the painful quiet. “This fucking sucks,” he hisses through clenched teeth. “That Barnes fucking deserved that shit, you know? He’s a whiny bitch that gets into shit he doesn’t belong in. I bet he’s fucking compensating for something, ya know? He’s not even a big enough man to come at me himself, needs his master to do his bidding ‘n shit. Why the fuck am I ever here anyway, do you go through boytoys so fucking often you just steal them so that you don’t have to pa-“

You roll your eyes, shoving three fingers into his mouth. Thor looks more confused than anything else, but he does immediately stop talking. Good, exactly what you wanted.

You two stay like that, your jaw tightened with one eyebrow raised – daring him to defy you - and him looking up at you like a puppy who’s just pissed on the carpet in defiance. “Listen, you little brat. I used to babysit for twenty dollars an hour. I put myself through grad school twice on money from too-rich white-ass parents who couldn’t control their kids so they pawned them off to underpaid college kids. I got here because I worked for it, dealing with men much more powerful than you acting like children. If you think for a fucking second that I will tolerate this behavior in my house, under my roof, then you are wrong. Very wrong. Do you understand me?”

Thor’s eyes narrow, and though he doesn’t bite, he does press his teeth into the skin of your first knuckle. It’s enough to keep your attention entirely on him, eyes locked on his as you throw your phone onto the bed next to you. You know this game, and you know breaking first would mean he has some sort of holding over you. Unblinking, you stay silent as he swallows around your fingers.

The tension in the air is thick; it’s nothing you can’t handle, nothing you aren’t used to. Thor is the first one to surrender, looking down at your baby pink stilettos. “Good boy,” you huff, moving to open a drawer that conveniently sits just within arm’s reach. You withdraw you hand from his mouth but don’t move to wipe his spit from your fingers. Thor can’t see anything you’re doing, but does hear a smaller (and less used, judging by the squeaking noise it makes as you open it) drawer open, the sound of a little bell, and then the loud scraping of both drawers closing on top of each other and hitting the back of the structure that holds it.

“Head up,” you command. “Look at me.” Thor’s hesitant but ultimately obeys. His eyes widen as he sees the items in your hand. The first is a simple, black ball gag and the other a frilly, pink collar with a small bow and equally tiny bell at the front center. In the back, an adjustable metal clip.

The gag is slipped on first, the uncomfortably large sphere blocking any searing remarks from leaving his lips. As spit pools below his tongue and from the corners of his mouth, all he can do is growl low in his throat.

Despite your long, pointed nails you open the clasp of the collar with ease, flashing it close to your captive’s face like an owner showing a dog his new restraint. Thor may be your pet, and you may be his rightful owner, but the move isn’t one that builds trust. It’s one that makes his insides curl, because it’s a demonstration of how much power you have over him. Look at this thing, the gesture conveys. Do you understand now? You’re mine. Everyone will know that. Everyone will know what you did. This is your retribution.

“Are you gonna shut up now?” Thor doesn’t move, but he also doesn’t make any disgruntled noises. “Good. Now, let me make myself clear, since it appears you do not know the terms of Stark’s and my agreement; Stark settled to give me the man who permanently injured one of my best men in exchange for my forgiveness of the entire event. That means two things. First, Stark gets the money he needs from my business in order to remain powerful. Second, I get to do whatever I want to you. Understand?”

Thor’s eyebrows furrow. What do you want to do to him?

“For now, though, I am going to untie you and go to bed, because I am tired, and it has been an exhausting day. Got it?”

Thor nods.

“Good.”

He flinches as you kneel down to his level and begin to untie him from the complicated binds. Your fingers move with purpose, your nails occasionally scraping across his electrified skin. With his body uninhibited, he flexes his fingers as to examine the indents in his flesh.

“Don’t worry,” you tell him. “Those will go away by morning.”

Somehow, he doesn’t believe you.

He spends the night on the cold wooden floor, occasionally making a desperate attempt to fit himself on the tiny plush pink carpet that the dresser rests on. Thor doesn’t get much shut-eye, time either spent shivering or trying to plan for survival. He can’t escape, it’s been made very clear that both Excidium and the Nest will both be hunting him down if he so much as pisses where he’s not supposed to. It seems keeping his mouth shut, following orders, and taking whatever it is you want to put him through with whatever tiny amount of dignity he has left.

(As the night progresses, he realizes the last part will be the hardest).

When the world comes alive again, Thor remains mostly ignored. As the sun comes up and you awaken with your alarm, he barely gets so much as a brush of fabric as you pull off your white nightgown and slip into a pale-yellow sundress with a long, white cardigan. It’s much different than what you were wearing last night, but as you readjust the strap of your lacey white bra from its improper place on your shoulder, he guesses that was more show(wo)manship and a reiteration of hierarchies than an honest exchange between business partners.

As the first full day under your whim progresses, he’s left behind as you move to your office. You feel some time apart may be good for his insolence, even if his fierceness amuses you so.

You like a challenge, especially one you know you can win; a little tussle didn’t hurt anybody, has it?

You instruct one of the new recruits to buy you a dog bed – the largest one they can find – and you have it placed on the floor next to your bed so you can keep an easy eye on him throughout the day. Thor’s kept on a leash attached to the collar on his neck; the piece of leather is flimsy at best, but the man still refuses to break out of it for fear of punishment.

There, on a large, baby pink pet meant for some Doberman or Pitbull or other bigass dog, he waits, ears perking up whenever someone, anyone steps into the room. But, while he craves human contact, the hushed voices of the maids that clean up the dirty clothes and make your bed make the hairs on the back of Thor’s neck stand in fear.

Natasha, lover, retribution.

Bucky, money, revenge.

Loki, trip, return.

He can’t tell which name fills him more with dread. Barnes is barely healed and full of rage at his injury, desperate for vengeance against the man that hurt him so. Natasha Romanoff is a woman that Thor has never truly met, only seen when Stark and you have business that requires some back up. Even so, the stories of her apathy and brutality need no introduction; once, she cut a dude’s dick off, made a wallet from the foreskin, and sent it to him while he was recovering in the hospital. She carries a switchblade in the inside of her bra. She only has red hair because the blood crusted onto it permanently stains the follicles.

And Loki…

Well, Loki and him have been estranged since they were both late teens. They’ve both had daddy issues since birth, and Loki’s so happened to manifest in a weird mix of picking up mercenary work, becoming a serial sugar baby, and wearing a lot of black. The last thing Thor would expect is for Loki to settle down for someone like you, a woman who requires loyalty of heart, mind, soul.

His thumping heart and terrifying internal monologue are interrupted by a maid, one he hadn’t yet seen, whose face scrunches up when she notices your absence from the room. She then sighs, and beckons two other maids – one pushing a cart filled with a small buffet of food, one carrying a cart with cutlery and dinnerware – through the threshold. The three of them stop at a bone-white desk, fretting about as they set up what Thor can only assume is a late lunch.

As you step into the bedroom – pushed through the doorway by the maid from before – Thor can tell you are less than happy.

You’re annoyed, to say the least. Can’t even tell why, really, can’t find an even barely comprehendible reason for you to be tearing through financial documents as if they were important family heirlooms that were on fire. No reason for you to snap at a recent recruit for misspelling the code name of a spy you had placed in the Nevada Supreme Court three courts back. Some madness bites at your skin as you nibble on small sandwiches and drink a large glass of cold sun tea, and Thor can tell it’s tearing you apart.

Thor can’t see much from the floor, but he can feel the electricity in the air as you scribble in a notebook that he guesses is where you plan all of your mob’s heinous activities. He wonders what your handwriting looks like, how you keep all the people you’re blackmailing straight, what kind of code you use. Stark keeps everything on paper as well, in a locked room inside of a secret room inside of his basement (well, maybe. Thor’s never been there, he’d never gotten high enough in the Nest to warrant being given access to such a space, but he’s heard the rumors).

It's about an hour later when the head butler from before, the one who led him, his (former) boss, and his (former) bosses men through your maze of a home, steps just into view of your tired eyes.

“Miss, you need a break,” she says simply.

You sigh, rubbing at the bridge of your nose and then your temples. Resting your head in one hand, you use the other to grant her permission to grab your paperwork. It’s only when she’s gather your things and left the room that you speak.

“She’s right,” you let out a small chuckle before sauntering over to the white dresser in the far corner of the room. “I do need a stress reliever.”

The man on your floor can’t see what you’re doing, his eyes only widening when you place the thickest, blackest dildo he’s ever seen into his view.

“Wh-“he starts to speak, trying but failing to push himself away from you. “What are you doing to do with that?”

You shrug, eyeing it up and down. “I don’t know. Could fuck myself with it…could fuck you with it…”

Thor’s stubbled face is beet red from embarrassment, even more so than when you made him kneel in the dining room or gagged him with your fingers.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, you little slut,” you hiss. When he doesn’t look up at you, you grab his chin and force his head back. He doesn’t want to admit it, but it wouldn’t be fun if he just gave in the second you put the tiniest bit of pressure on his overly-tough facade. “Tell me you love sucking my cock.”

But all Thor does is open his mouth wide as it can go and pushes his flattened tongue as far out of his mouth as it’ll go. He’s got this glimmer in his eyes and a smirk on his lips that tells you Thor knows what he’s doing, he knows he’s pushing every button he can think to push.

You’ve danced this routine before, though this time Thor’s much more confident, willing to push further, push harder.

“You want to be a brat?” You ask, begging him to give you a smartass response. “Then take it like one.”

With swift movements of your right leg he’s pushed flat on the ground, his back hitting the hardwood with a low thud. “Flip over,” you tell him. With an unfortunate lack of protest, he does, toned stomach settling onto the floor barely warmed by his back.

You climb over him, leg on each side and core pressed into him as you gather his hair in your first. “You’re such a fucking tease,” you hiss through grit teeth. Thor makes a similar – but more pained noise – as you wretch his head back. “Such a little tease, begging me to put him in his fucking place. If you wanted me to fuck you like you deserve, you should fucking ask for it next time.”

Smack, the deep sound of your callous hand hitting the soft flesh of his ass almost makes him flinch more than the pain. Smacksmack, two more, quicker this time.

“I’ve met little fucking brats before, but never like you,” you pull the rest of his clothes off with minimal protest. “Gotta get you cock drunk before you’ll figure out how arrangement of ours works, don’t I?”

Thor, with his eyes scrunched shut and mouth lax, says nothing in return.

Your hand reaches under him, hips lifting to provide a small space between him and the floor. He’s already hard, aching, leaking, and he moans brokenly when you wrap your hand around him.

It’s rough, hurts more than it pleasures, but it still feels so, so good all the same. Thor almost wants to say so, too, but can’t make himself push the words from his throat.

“So easy to get you all fucked out isn’t it?” You whisper low in his ear. “So easy to break brats like you, makes me wanna make you cum and then leave you here for the rest of the night…”

The subsequent whine from Thor makes you laugh and push him harder into the floor. “But I won’t do that, can’t leave little things like you all alone, would be like leaving a baby bunny to a bunch of wolves.”

Thor doesn’t disagree, doesn’t try to build his demolished ego back up.

“Doesn’t that feel good, sweetheart?” you purr, hand keeping a slow, torturous pace. “Doesn’t it feel good to be good?”

All Thor can do is squeak and push his face into the floor, trying to hide the deep redness in his cheeks.

For once, you don’t punish him. You want to, want to stop and make him beg for forgiveness for his nonanswer. Maybe tie him up and fuck him with your fingers until he’s ready for your biggest strap, pounding into him.

Oh, Babyboy, you’re being so good taking this whole cock inside of you, aren’t you? So good for your owner. I bet nobody’s ever fucked you this good.

Maybe you’ll tie him up, edge him until he’s sobbing. Wait until he’s just about to cum and pull a vibrator or your hand away – make him whine and tease him as his whole body twitches.

Are you not enjoying yourself, baby? Because it looks to me like you are. Look at those glassy eyes, do I need to slap you to make you pay attention?

Thor screams as he cums all over your floor, whole body tense then completely lax within the span of seconds. His breathing is loud enough to be heard across nations, each exhale laced with a small moan.

He cries, deep and low, when you climb off of him, tries to arch his spine into the nothingness that once held you.

“Shh,” you tell him. “Mommy’ll be back in a second.”

Thor seems to calm with that, heart still racing but head and body slumped.

When you come back, you hold a bit of salmon - small grains of buttery jasmine rice and cranberry sauce stuck to the pink meat. You’ve grasped it with three fingers – thumb, middle, point – and have it nearly pressed to Thor’s plush, pink lips. It’s still warm, dinner having been served by the maids despite your absence from the dining room.

“C’mon baby,” you tell him. “You gotta eat sometime.”

Thor glares at you but knows you’re right – his already flat stomach howling in pain from lack of sustenance. Reluctantly, meekly, he pulls your fingers between his lips and swallows the soft food.

“Good boy,” you tell him. “See? Following directions isn’t that bad.”

Thor, for the first time in days, says nothing to the contrary.

#thor odinson x reader #thor odinson smut #thor smut #lukis writes stuff #thor x reader #thor odinson imagine #avengers smut #avengers imagine #sub!thor #sub thor #thor x reader lemons

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stahlop · 5 years

Text

Not all Treasure is Silver and Gold (sometimes it’s chocolate)

Summary: Killian takes his children on a trick or treat treasure hunt to learn about the town’s history and reflects on his own in the process.

Here is my CS Role Reversal collaboration. Thank you @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 for the artwork! It is amazing and inspired the fluffiest story I think you’ll ever read.

A big shout out to @profdanglaisstuff for being my beta.

This is probably the fluffiest, sweetest thing I've ever written in my life. Enjoy!

Rated G

A03 link

They turned on to Main Street, the witch and two pirates, carrying with them some of the loot they had already discovered. The witch, though small, was the de facto leader of the group, instructing the small band of characters where to go with the map in her hand.

“The last clue said that we would find the fruit of the Evil Queen where the werewolves lie. That’s at Granny’s and we’re looking for apples,” the witch said matter of factly, as if that were the most straightforward answer. The smaller of the two pirates looked a little wary.

“You don’t agree with the lass?” the larger of the pirates asked. “Do you have a different idea?” He prodded the other pirate. The small pirate looked pensive, as if he had a question he wanted to ask but wasn’t sure how to with his limited vocabulary. The witch put her hands on her hips in a perfect imitation of her mother, not liking that they had to wait when she clearly knew she was correct.

“Daddy?” The small pirate finally asked in a small voice, his green eyes opened unnaturally wide. “The apples won’t put us to sleep will they?” Killian Jones gulped. Oops.

“Of course not, DL. It’s just a game!” Hope Jones, 7-years-old and knower of everything there was to know (obviously), huffed at her little brother. Killian tried not to laugh for DL’s sake. Dylan Liam Jones was only three and couldn’t always distinguish between fiction and reality, or in this case, the past and the present.

Killian got down on one knee to talk with his son, not a small feat as he was in his full pirate regalia, something he only brought out for Halloween nowadays. And they were in the middle of Main Street with swarms of other trick or treaters around them. “You know I would never do anything to hurt you, right DL? The clues are both to help you understand our history and to get candies, sweets, and treasure!” He said reassuringly. The boy nodded, his pirate hat a little too big for his head and falling forward on each nod. Snow had tried to make the costume as close to Killian’s pirate ensemble as she could, but the hat they’d had to buy from a costume shop in town (even after all these years, Emma didn’t quite trust Jefferson to help her out, even though he’d apologized profusely to her once the curse had been lifted and he was reunited with his daughter). Even though Killian didn’t wear a pirate hat, DL had seen Peter Pan quite a few times and wanted a hat similar to that of Captain Hook. Killian had been horrified.

“Can we go now?” Hope said in an annoyed tone. She was impatient when it came to DL and also had the attitude of a teenager, or so Emma had told Killian.

“Are we ready, lad?” Killian asked DL. The little boy nodded. Killian took his hand.

“Finally!” Hope exclaimed starting to run ahead.

“Hope Alice Jones,” Killian said firmly. Hope stopped in her tracks. She knew she wasn’t supposed to run ahead. She turned around and headed back to her father and brother. “Good lass. Now, we have a whole row of houses to procure candy from before we get to Granny’s. Are we ready?” Killian asked.

“We’re ready!” the Jones children shouted.

“Onward then!”

Granny’s boasted all sorts of candied apples. Regular candied, caramel, some with nuts and some with sprinkles, whatever the kind the children were in heaven. Granny was nice enough to cut them into slices to make them easier for the children to eat.

“Might I bother you for a bit of pumpkin pie?” Killian asked Granny as she brought the sugary treats to their booth. Granny nodded and gave him a smile. She still had a soft spot for the pirate and denied him nothing. Even when there were children swarming all around.

The apples came with their next clue. Killian had to hand it to the Storybrooke Town Council, they knew how to get the town involved. The Storybrooke Historical Scavenger/Treasure Hunt had become a town staple over the past five years. It was a fun, yet educational, way to introduce the children to the town’s fairytale past while getting treats and sweets at the same time.

Killian took the card they had been given and read the next clue. “Fill me up with candy and I might explode when you say boo! But don’t feed any chocolate to the cats and dogs that might be around you.” Killian paused and looked at the kids. They looked at him expectantly, caramel and sprinkles clinging to their faces. “Any ideas?” He asked them.

DL scrunched his face up and thought over the clue. “Fill me up with candy and...what was the next part daddy?” he asked. Hope huffed again, annoyed that her little brother couldn’t remember something so simple.

“I might explode when you say boo. It’s a ghost pinata!” She exclaimed. “Like the unicorn one I had at my last birthday party. Remember, we hit it with a stick until candy came out?” Her tone of voice had changed midway through to excited. “But where is the pinata, daddy?” Hope asked.

Killian reread the last part of the clue again. “But don’t feed any chocolate to the cats and dogs that might be around you. Know of any place that might have cats and dogs, little loves?” Hope and DL put their heads together and discussed where they thought it might be.

“The Storybrooke Animal Shelter!” they proclaimed.

After cleaning up their sticky hands and faces, they trick or treated their way over to the animal shelter. Sure enough there were several ghost pinatas waiting for children to come and take a whack at them. The shelter was now owned by Ruby and her girlfriend, Dorothy, who were also running the pinata stations and telling their stories. Ruby talking about how she discovered she was a werewolf and Dorothy telling about her adventures in Oz, both dressed up in Red Riding Hood and Dorothy costumes, respectively. The two also had cats and dogs up for adoption.

Hope and DL delighted in hitting the ghost pinata along with several other children until it finally broke. They gathered up many different types of candy into their pumpkin baskets.

“Can we get a cat? Please, please, please?” both kids whined. Killian and Emma had discussed it this year. Hope had been asking for a cat for the past few years, and of course, since big sis wanted a cat, DL did too.

“I think your mum and I have decided we can get one this year. Why don’t you two pick one out and we’ll pick it up in a few days after it’s had all its shots and everything,” he said, smiling. Killian had never seen bigger grins on his kids’ faces.

The children came out a little while later having picked out the most ‘perfect cat’ in the entire world. Ruby told him to come by the next day to fill out the paperwork and once the cat was fixed, she would be all theirs.

“There is one final clue,” Dorothy said, handing Killian a card. They all thanked Ruby and Dorothy and walked over to a nearby bench to look at the clue.

“When the Savior came and broke the curse, time started to move and things got worse.

But the curse was broken with True Love’s Kiss, come read about these tales if there were any you missed.” Killian paused for effect looking at his two children to see if they understood the clue. He could see Hope recognized where they needed to go in an instant, but DL wasn’t quite sure.

“Good Witch Hope, do you know where we need to go?” Killian asked, so the pressure would be off DL.

Hope gave a sly smile that matched her father’s. She might be the spitting image of her mother, but she had his eyes and his smile. “It’s the library!” she announced.

DL’s eyes lit up wide. “We go to see Auntie Belle?” he asked hopefully. For only being three, DL already had his first crush on Belle the librarian.

“Yes, DL, we go see Auntie Belle. Lead us onward fair witch!” Killian cried.

The trio passed by a few shops that had workers passing candy out front that Hope and DL got to add to their loot. The kids were getting excited the closer they got to the library, DL going on and on about Auntie Belle and Hope running through what the final prize or candy would be once they reached their intended destination.

“I just hope it’s actual candy and not a book. Not that I don’t love reading, Father, but books just aren’t appropriate for Halloween,” Hope said knowingly. She had also inherited his language skills and had recently taken to calling him Father because it sounded more ‘grown up’.

“I’m sure Aunt Belle will have sweets for all of you,” Killian said rolling his eyes and smiling at his precocious daughter.

Belle had completely outdone herself when it came to the library and clocktower. For a place that had once held torturous memories for Killian (fighting an undead Maleficent in the caves, Rumplestiltskin literally holding his heart and almost killing him, leaving Emma in the elevator in the Underbrooke version), it was now a magical place. Happy Halloween banners were posted at the front entrance and on several walls inside, plastic skeletons were hanging everywhere, fall leaf garlands decorated every shelved surface available, and scarecrows that jumped out at you guarded each doorway. In the center of the library was a large craft table that had hundreds of mini pumpkins on it. Next to them were small cups of paint for the children to paint them. Another table in the room next door had a pumpkin carving station for the adults. Belle was in the reading nook where she usually did storytime for the town’s children, wearing a gold dress, reminiscent of this world’s version of Belle (although she told Killian once that she had a dress very similar to that back in the Enchanted Forest, so maybe Disney wasn’t completely off on all their stories), and telling her own tale of Beauty and the Beast.

Belle and Rumplestiltskin’s son, Gideon, and Snow and David’s son, Neal, were running the children’s mini pumpkin area. Killian thought that was pretty much the blind leading the blind (as they were 10 and 13 respectively), but the other kids seemed to be having a good time. A sign at the circulation desk let them know that to get their final treat for the night they needed to paint a pumpkin and have it examined by the official Pumpkin Inspectors, which also seemed to be Gideon and Neal.

“Ready to paint some pumpkins?” Killian said to both his children. Hope didn’t even answer, just ran off to the station delighted at getting to paint. DL nodded his head and took Killian’s hook (something he liked to do when he wanted to feel calm) and led him over to the station. As much as Killian would like to do the pumpkin carving (he’d won that contest the past two years in a row), he knew DL would get overwhelmed easily with too many paint options. Emma often worried that he was overly sensitive about things, but Killian was sure he’d eventually grow out of it. The town did tend to go overboard with everything and it was a lot to handle for most adults, let alone a 3-year-old.

Hope had already grabbed an apron so she wouldn’t stain her costume and started painting her pumpkin an array of colors. Killian had DL pick out three colors (one for each year he was) that he would use and got him into an apron as well.

When they all finished (Hope having painted a unicorn with the stem as a horn, and DL having made a bunch of purple, green, and black splotches all over his pumpkin), Gideon and Neal, the Pumpkin Inspectors, came over and declared them wonderful pumpkins. All pumpkins would be displayed throughout the library for the rest of fall. They headed over to Belle to hear her story and get their final prize.

Killian had to admit, listening to Belle’s retelling of her love story with Rumplestiltskin made it sound like an epic adventure and not the abusive tale that it had been throughout much of their time in Storybrooke. Even 10 years later, Rumplestiltskin and Killian avoided each other whenever possible, even if Rumplestiltskin was considered a more upstanding member of the town now.

“And now,” Belle drawled with a big smile on her face,” your final treat of the night!” The children started to clap and cheer. She then put her finger to her lips and the children immediately went quiet. Everyone knew to listen to Librarian Belle. “There are actually two treats tonight.” The children waited with bated breath. “You will get to pick out your own Halloween or fall themed book,” she paused before the big reveal, Killian already noticing the look of disappointment on Hope’s face, “And you will also get a scoop of loot from our treasure chest!” Belle moved the pillow off the large box she’d been sitting on to reveal a very large pirate’s chest. She opened it to show it filled with (chocolate) gold coins and candy jewelry. A large cheer went up from the children as they got up and filed into a line to get their treasure, Belle giving them each a large scoop as they walked past. Killian noticed that the scoop pretty much filled up the rest of their trick or treat bags. Then they got to choose a book from the table set up near the back exit.

The small witch and two pirates made their way back to their beautiful seaside home. The denizens of their town were dwindling in number at the (somewhat) late hour of 8:15 (late for most of the trick or treaters anyway). The witch was content to read her book under the street lamps while sucking on a Ring Pop liberated from her loot. The smaller pirate was passed out on the larger pirate’s shoulder, as he’d barely made it out of the library with his eyes open. On the front porch, a beautiful blonde was handing out candy to the last few stragglers. She wore a black dress decorated with pumpkins and a black cat mask. As the last trick or treaters left the porch, she gingerly collapsed into her rocking chair.

“Mommy, Mommy!” Hope yelled excitedly as she ran up the porch steps. She was not too grown up to continue calling Emma Mommy. “Look at everything we got!” She ran up to Emma and showed her all the spoils from the night. Emma smiled and removed the mask from her face.

“It looks like the town will be having a candy shortage in the coming weeks,” she said, laughing a bit. Then she put on a serious tone. “Are you prepared to pay the candy tax?” She held her hand out for payment. Hope looked up at Killian and he nodded that, yes, she needed to give her mother some of her candy. Hope reluctantly gave her two chocolate coins and skipped into the house.

“I see this one barely made it home?” Emma said, softly patting DL’s arm that was hanging down near her.

“Aye, Swan, passed out right as we were leaving the library.” He shifted DL slightly. “Let me get him into his night clothes and then I’ll come out with you.” Emma nodded in agreement.

It took Killian a little longer than he anticipated to get DL out of his costume. He eventually just kept him in his muslin shirt and forwent trying to wrestle pajama pants onto him, letting him sleep in his underwear. He folded the parts of his costume he was able to get off and placed them on his dresser. He then gave him a kiss before turning on the nightlight DL needed to sleep, and closed the door.

Killian checked in on Hope who had already changed out of her witch costume and put on a nightgown. She was still reading the book she’d received from Belle.

“Did you brush your teeth, little love?” he asked. She gave her patented Emma eye roll.

“Yes, Father,” she said not even looking up from her book. Emma said they were going to hate the teenage years if she was already this dramatic. Killian walked over and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Don’t stay up too late, there is still school tomorrow,” he told her. She grunted an acknowledgment as he left.

He walked outside and joined Emma on the other rocking chair that was out on the porch. Yes, they were a two-rocking-chair-on-the-porch-type people now. Emma had already eaten her candy tax and was now working on one of the fun size bags of Peanut M&M’s that she had been passing out to trick or treaters.

“And how many of those did you eat tonight, Swan?” he asked, snagging a bag for himself from the bowl next to Emma’s rocking chair.

She blushed a little at his question. “There’s peanuts in it. That counts as protein, right?” she asked.

“Ah, is that the excuse you’re using then. Peanuts for the peanut, aye?” He reached over and rubbed her swollen belly. “We missed you tonight,” he said, reaching over to grab her hand and kiss her knuckles.

“Yeah, well, being on modified bed rest for this little one takes priority, I guess.” She took back her hand and put both of them on her belly. “At least it’s only two more months until this little peanut graces us with their presence.”

Killian reached his hand back out for hers, admiring the wedding band that graced his ring finger and the engagement ring and wedding band that adorned hers. It was amazing to think that it had been nine years since that whole ordeal, and here they were, about to welcome their fourth child (and the fact that Henry was married and expecting a babe of his own was a lot scarier to Killian than adding another to their brood). Killian just thanked his lucky stars that life had consented to let this old pirate settle down and be blessed with the greatest treasure one could ever find.

“Let’s go to bed, love,” he said, standing and pulling her up with him. Emma smiled and gave him a peck on the lips.

“Let’s go to bed.”

Please leave comments and reblog! Also, let me know if you want to be tagged in future stories

@profdanglaisstuff @thisonesatellite @mariakov81 @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @jennjenn615 @csrolereversal @cshalloweek

#CS fanfics #canon divergence #pretend season 7 didn't exist #Swan-Jones family #so sweet you'll get cavities #cs role reversal #cs halloweek #family halloween

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unityghost · 5 years

Text

All Cretans Lie

Part 24 of Post-Asmodeus Sabriel Feels. Here thar be angst, mateys.

This story is based on a prompt from @commonercommenter, who suggested:

The voices start to fade, start telling Gabe to hate himself less and less. He finds he’s compelled to do it himself.

Thanks, commonercommenter!

At the moment I'm not taking prompts, but suggestions are welcome. Thank you for reading! Please take note that there are subtle references to sexual assault in this story.

Perhaps Gabriel should have been horrified, or frightened, or - at the very least - just a little bit concerned.

The truth was that he had anticipated this, no matter how much he didn’t want it to happen.

He confined himself to bed that morning, trying to ward off a splitting headache. He knew he ought to drink water, but couldn’t bring himself to move. That he had been up much of the night, caught between vivid nightmares and vague but terrifying images he couldn’t quite recollect upon waking, didn’t help any of what was going on.

When he hadn’t exited his bedroom by lunchtime, there was a knock at the door. Gabriel couldn’t make himself sit up, but he managed to turn over when the door clicked open.

“Don’t mind me,” Gabriel muttered. “Just a headache.”

“Uh-huh.” Dean moved closer to the bed and peered down at Gabriel. “You know, Gabe, just because Sam isn’t here doesn’t mean you gotta hole up in your room.”

“Excuse me?” With all the appearance of effortlessness he could manage, Gabriel pushed himself up onto his elbows. “Pardon my audacity, headmistress, but I have no plans to swaddle myself in misery. I prefer to think there’s a difference between being neurotic and being lazy.”

“Hey look, come on, I didn’t say that.” Dean sat down on the edge of the bed. “I know you don’t need Sam to spoon-feed you. Just thought I’d check in.”

Gabriel groaned and edged into a proper sitting position. He massaged his temples. “I’m fine. Are you looking for help with something? Translations? The Sunday crossword? Leftover coffee that’s gonna go to waste if no one drinks it? Because I’m up for - ”

“Why don’t you just tell me what’s the matter, huh?”

Gabriel froze, then looked away. “I …”

“Even if it’s just that you’re missing Sam. I know it can be a little - ”

“All right, give me some credit, will you? I think I can keep my separation anxiety under control for a couple of days. You know what’d help? A fistful of Excedrin.”

“Are you sick or what?”

“I’m not sick.” Gabriel paused. “Not technically. More … uh …”

Dean waited.

Finally, Gabriel sighed. “Don’t freak out. It’s my grace.”

“Yeah?” Dean sounded unperturbed. “What’s wrong with it?”

“I mean it’s … I mean … right now, it’s …” Gabriel cleared his throat. “It’s not there. It’ll come back,” he added hastily, without meeting Dean’s eyes, “It will. I promise. This happened a hell of a lot with Asmodeus. Made sense: he’d take a truckload of it and suddenly it had a mind of its own, fighting back, in some kind of panic mode. Spring into action so hard it hurt. Then, other times, it was as resigned as I was.” Gabriel’s shoulders tensed. “Can’t say that made him too happy.”

Dean took a few seconds to process what Gabriel had told him. Then, slowly, he nodded. “I just made some lunch. I know you don’t have a strong stomach right now but if your grace is down for the count then you should have something to help get it back in gear.”

“I know. I know I should.”

“Here, come on, come out to the kitchen. Jack’s gorging himself on pizza. You should have some. Or something lighter, if that’s what you want. Come hang out with us.”

“I’m not much fun at parties right now.”

“Jack wants to feed you.” Dean got to his feet and clapped Gabriel on the shoulder.” Come on, buddy, get up.”

No, Gabriel thought, neither of them really wanted him there; and if Jack thought otherwise, he’d quickly recognize his mistake.

Gabriel closed his eyes.

Shut up.

He opened them again.

No one’s lying. No one’s delusional.

“Are you a hundred percent on that?” Gabriel asked Dean.

He’ll say yes.

“Yeah, we’ve been saving you a seat,” Dean told him.

And he means it.

It had been months since Gabriel’s arrival, months since Sam had begun telling him that it was possible to get better - to shake off at least a fragment of his self-abuse, so that the pain became sometimes, and not always; to have fewer dreams, fewer attacks of memory; to ask for help without the fear of violence or derision.

“All right,” Gabriel agreed. “Just … give me a few minutes.”

“Come out when you’re ready. It sounds like you’re sure this isn’t anything to call Sam over.”

“Let the kid have his downtime.”

“Ah, sure, yeah, downtime. Look at all the fun he’s having over in Tulsa.” Dean pulled his phone from his back pocket and, after a few seconds of scrolling, held it out so that Gabriel could read Sam’s text messages: Had to tell them I learned to be “respectfully dominant” toward my wife from my preacher dad. And then, half an hour later: I’ve been prescribed a double dose of prayer; take twice a day.

“Ha,” said Gabriel, “Gross. What is he doing?”

“Masquerading as a religious fanatic so he can get an inside look at what’s going on with kids under ‘Satanic influence.’ Their parents keep ending up dead, which is apparently all it takes for the kids to snap out of it. Not a pretty picture.”

“And is Cas putting on the same show?”

“Probably not as convincingly. Sam’s really good at looking remorseful.”

“And Cas has a penchant for looking confused. Proud of them both. It’s not every day you find that kind of raw talent.”

“So what do you need from me, then?”

Gabriel tensed. “You’re not pissed. That’s … appreciated.”

“All right. We’ll be waiting for you.”

“Consider me officially RSVP’d.” Gabriel forced himself to stand. His head stung, but he wasn’t dizzy or nauseated. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

While Dean was gone and Gabriel was getting dressed, he took inventory of his body - not to assess the effects of gracelessness, with which he was sorely familiar, but to better understand his response to Dean’s invitation to Sam’s absence, and to the question of, What are they going to do to me so long as I’m useless?

Over these last several months he had learned to read each one of them. It was anything but a smooth or rapid process, but Gabriel knew that he wouldn’t have fallen for Sam’s imaginary repentance in a house of prayer - because by this time, he could recognize when Sam was being honest. He could recognize when Dean was being honest. Neither of them had the time for diplomacy, Castiel couldn’t help being frank, and Jack had the colorful forwardness of any child.

There’s nothing to be scared of, Gabriel told himself, just to see whether he could identify his own sincerity.

And there it was. Wherever the assertion had come from, it was likely correct.

“Uncle Gabriel!” Jack exclaimed when Gabriel came into the kitchen. “Dean made pizza.”

“Dean made pizza,” Gabriel agreed.

“You should try some.”

“I … should not. Because I’m not hungry enough to take advantage of his masterpiece.” If that’s okay, he considered adding, but didn’t. “Gonna grab, I don’t know, an apple or something.”

“Uncle Gabe.” Jack looked somber. “You really should. Sam says that - "

“It’s fine,” Dean interrupted. “Guy’s just not up for it. We have apples.”

Jack shrugged. “Okay.” He bit into the slice of pizza, shut his eyes, and made muffled sounds of delight.

“He’s having a religious experience,” Dean told Gabriel.

Gabriel smiled. “I’ve been responsible for some of those, and I wouldn’t disagree with you.”

He spent most of the rest of the day locked in his bedroom, per routine; but, a few hours after lunch, decided to search one of the medicine cabinets for something to relieve his headache. He found two separate bottles of aspirin, one two years past its expiration date and the other unopened.

Gabriel hesitated. If someone noticed that he’d had the gall to take from an untouched bottle of medicine …

But there was what Gabriel told himself, and there was what Sam would have insisted upon.

Within half an hour, the headache was nearly gone.

That evening, he got a knock on his door. When he opened it, Sam smiled at him.

“Oh!” Gabriel was surprised. “I didn’t think you’d be back until tomorrow at least.”

“No, this wasn’t a hard case. Just some witch with too much time on her hands.”

“And I hear you’ve become quite the thespian.”

Sam laughed. “You’re doing okay?”

Gabriel hesitated, and Sam’s face fell.

“Turn that frown upside-down, soldier,” Gabriel said. “I’m not falling apart. But - you didn’t talk to your brother, by any chance?”

Sam looked worried. “He gave me some pizza but … not really.”

“Oh. Well, okay - don’t freak out, all right? Because there’s no need for it. But. When I woke up this morning …”

Sam folded his arms, watching Gabriel with fear in his eyes.

“When I woke up,” Gabriel finished, avoiding Sam’s gaze, “I didn’t have any grace. And it’s fine, it’s - it’s happened before. It’s always come back. Always. If it can rebound when I’m in Hell, having it ripped out of me like a tree root, I figure it’ll be fine. I mean, not fine, just - in flux. Not permanently gone.”

Sam frowned, contemplating, searching Gabriel’s face. “You look like you don’t feel good.”

“I’m not the usual picture of health you see every time you come into my room to mop up vomit in the middle of the night, but I’m in one piece.”

Sam bit his lip. “Sorry I wasn’t here this morning.”

“Don’t be. I survived. You know I always do when you need a break from - ” Gabriel paused. “From routine.”

Useless.

Gabriel stiffened. The word, the thought, had come out of nowhere - a hand clawing its way from what appeared to be an otherwise undisturbed grave.

He swallowed. “Anyway, don’t worry. There’s no problem. I’m …”

Nothing.

Not nothing, Gabriel pleaded with himself, No, that’s not what they think. With grace, without grace, that’s not how they -

“Well,” said Sam, “How’re you feeling?”

Gabriel found himself unable to speak.

Here it was again: that thick, dark feeling that swallowed him up, held him down, and gagged him. That putrid warmth coloring the normal with the sinister and contaminating the benign with the grotesque.

Memories, Gabriel told himself; these were memories. Don’t be afraid. Stop being afraid. It’s okay.

Alarm passed over Sam’s face. “Hey - ”

“Um - ”

“Gabriel.” Sam took him by the wrist. “What happened? Why are you shaking?”

“It’ll stop,” Gabriel told him, but didn’t pull away. “It’s just the shivers.”

“I’ll sit with you.”

Gabriel shuddered, overcome by something like fear, or relief, or uncertainty, or perhaps all three at once. “And I won’t fight you on that.”

Sam led him to the bed, lowered himself so that they were side by side, and gripped his shoulder. “I wish I could tell you I know what that feels like.”

“Oh, trust me, you really don’t.”

“When it happens … is there anything that pulls you out a little bit?”

Gabriel shrugged. “I’d like to say that you do, and you do, but it’s still there; it hangs around until it gets bored.” Then, worried that Sam would think he was ungrateful: “But it’s better than being alone. Really. A thousand times better.”

Sam offered a sad smile. “But you don’t tell anyone when it happens, do you?”

“Why should I? It’s just a feeling. It’s not real. I have to wait, that’s all. No need to call for help.”

“It is real,” Sam objected. “The feeling is real. The next time you - ”

“I know, Sam.” Gabriel closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. “It’s habit. Instinct. I don’t want to ask for anything.” He looked up at Sam. “Ever.”

“I know.”

Gabriel was overcome with a sudden chill, so that he shuddered once more. His heartbeat hadn’t slowed at all. An unexpected surge of nausea washed through him.

“Calm down,” Sam said softly. “You’re practically seizing.”

Gabriel shrugged Sam away, and left the room as quickly as he could without actually running.

“Gabriel, wait!” Sam followed him into the hallway, where Gabriel began retching.

“Oh crap, hey, no - ” Sam rushed him into the bathroom and helped him lean over the toilet. “Easy, easy does it. You’re okay.”

Gabriel’s breath came in cold, shallow gasps. In his graceless state, he vomited and let Sam hold him in place as it happened.

“I know you don’t care,” Gabriel sputtered. “That you don’t care about how much grace I have. I - ” He heaved again before he could finish.

That was the food that Dean had given him, Gabriel recalled. Dean had expected responsibility that Gabriel couldn’t exercise.

Gabriel couldn’t be trusted - not with their food, not with their hospitality, not with their kindness. He had unwritten the peace of earlier, had spoiled the maybe of “Let’s have lunch together,” defaced the possibility that things were going to be okay.

“Sam, I thought - I - I asked for - ”

He had asked for what he wanted, asked for their food, stolen their medicine -

“Gabriel,” Sam said softly, “Just relax.”

Sincerity made no difference. However genuine their concern and kindness might be, there was no guarantee it would last. Impatience was always waiting in the shadows; Gabriel could smell it just as he could smell his own vomit then and there. Their affection and dedication was like the aspirin he’d removed from the cabinet earlier: there was a cutoff that Gabriel had acknowledged in the past, an inevitable conclusion that he had somehow managed to dismiss lately.

“I didn’t mean to,” he whispered. “My grace isn’t - I’m sorry - ”

He should not have allowed himself access to I think it might be okay. Instead, he should have continued waiting for what had to come eventually. When they made up their minds that he was a burden they simply couldn’t handle anymore, the waiting game - which was a special kind of torture - would at least be over.

Gabriel shivered and gagged.

“Breathe, all right?” Sam sounded as though he was trying hard to remain calm himself. “I’m right here; it’s okay, Gabriel.”

He would be in danger if he forgot his place. He shouldn’t have permitted himself to forget that he was their sick patient, their delinquent foster child, their pet that just couldn’t seem to be house-trained.

The end, Gabriel reminded himself, was long overdue.

“Slow down,” Sam instructed, gently lowering him to kneel on the floor. “Just - I don’t know what I did. I’m sorry.”

Gabriel should have reminded himself that the others were poisoning themselves by touching him, by speaking to him, by listening to his voice, by acknowledging that he was there at all.

“Sam,” Gabriel choked, vomit still clinging to his lips.

“Yeah, hey, what is it?"

“I - I haven’t told you everything, and - ” He paused, waiting to see if he would get sick again.

“You mean about Asmodeus?” said Sam. “I know that.”

“You don’t, though; you haven’t seen any of the worst. You don’t realize just how - ”

“No,” Sam said firmly. “We’ve talked about this before.”

There was nothing left for Gabriel to vomit. All that remained was him, only Gabriel - and that couldn’t be gotten rid of. “I’m better, or I’ve been feeling better; I go back and forth, Sam, and I just don’t know!”

Sam guided Gabriel upright. “Let’s go lie down. In my room. Okay?”

“I don’t know,” Gabriel repeated.

“Come here.” Sam half-carried him out of the bathroom and back down the hall.

“All right,” Sam said, easing Gabriel onto the bed, “There we go. I gotcha.”

Gabriel, still trembling, wrapped his arms around his middle and pulled his knees toward his chest.

Sam sat on the edge of the mattress and peered down at him. “If I scared you - ”

“You didn’t. I - that feeling, it wouldn’t stop; it wouldn’t go away. I feel sick and I can’t control anything right now, and I - Sam, I’m not just trashing myself for funsies. There’s a reason I say you shouldn’t care about me. There’s a reason I’m so convinced of that, Sam. Dozens of reasons.” He swallowed, tasting the remnants of vomit in his mouth. “It’s just that you think you have no proof of it. Dad knows why you’d believe something like that after everything I’ve put you through, but all I can do is cram the really, really effed-up shenanigans as far away from you as possible. Because there are whole lifetimes I just can’t talk about. They’re too humiliating, and - and I can’t let you see what he - what I - ”

“You don’t have to, but you can.”

“And,” Gabriel continued hoarsely, “You’re just going to have to take my word for it. This is the one thing you can trust me with, because I was there. I can’t be wrong about what he made me do.” When Sam didn’t reply, Gabriel went on: “I know this is hard for you to hear. And I’m sorry. You just - if you want what’s best for me, for all of you - I don’t know, I guess I deserve the pain of whatever’s in store for me. Why not let myself get hurt, right? You’d think I’d be eager to let it all happen, wouldn’t you?” His breathing began to shallow. “A slow death. A little more of this here, of me lying on your bed with you looking at me like you’re about to cry; and then I’m worried about what’s best for you, and if I can’t trust myself then I’m wrong and you’re the one with your priorities straight. Sam - when the Cretan tells you all Cretans lie, what the hell are you supposed to believe? This is the most confused I’ve ever been and I can’t figure out what to do with any of what’s tearing at the inside of my head.”

Sam took a second to consider his response. Then he answered, “A few of my law professors brought that up in seminars. The Liar Paradox. I used to tell my professors that whichever way you look at it, that guy couldn’t’ve been a Cretan at all. Which means he has no authority.” Sam offered his hand. “That means there are answers. Somewhere. You just gotta think creatively.”

Gabriel’s throat tightened. “So then what’s the answer?”

Sam took his hand. “I don’t know.”

If Sam was made aware, if Sam could witness some of the depraved acts in which Gabriel had engaged - not because he’d wanted to, and yet they had still happened, every one of them - he would not allow this to continue.

Undoubtedly, Sam would think twice about giving up: he felt he had to keep his promise to protect Gabriel, to nurture Gabriel, to show love he probably had to convince himself he really felt. But he would choose to end it, because Sam couldn’t ignore what he knew, in his heart of hearts, to be right.

Sam squeezed his hand. “You can talk to me, you know.”

Gabriel kept his eyes averted. “I just did.”

“If you’ve got more to say, I’m here.”

“I always have more to say.” Let go. Let go of his hand.

“I have a question,” Sam said softly, and Gabriel caught the hesitancy behind his words. Maybe it was now. This was as good a time as any; Gabriel had, after all, just implored Sam to make it swift.

“Listen,” Sam murmured, “Hasn’t it ever crossed your mind that maybe I worry you’ll give up on me too?”

For a few seconds, all Gabriel could take in was the voice in his head - let go; let go of his hand - and then his mind went blank for a few seconds, and finally he heard what Sam had just told him.

“Uh,” said Gabriel, “No.”

“What about the other day?” A twinge of discomfort flickered over Sam’s face. “When I spazzed out about the - ”

“About that self-destructive young whippersnapper who ran into the middle of the road? I just wanted to help you.”

“Well, sometimes I figure there’s no reason you’d want to do that, and maybe you’ll eventually see why I think so."

Gabriel tried to assess his own response to Sam’s confession. On the one hand, he wasn’t very surprised: Sam’s relationship with himself was hardly more impressive than Gabriel’s. Even so, the very idea was almost laughable - but also sickening, and Gabriel felt some of the nausea resurface.

“Shut up,” he told Sam. Then, after a moment’s hesitation: “Are you lying? Part of me hopes you’re bullshitting me. Part of me hopes you’re the non-Cretan.”

Sam shook his head. “Dean’s given up on me before. The guy who knows me better than anyone. If that’s my metric, then ... “ He looked away before returning his attention to Gabriel and forcing a smile. “Kind of proves me right, doesn’t it?”

“No offense to your brother, but his patience is on the low end of the bell curve. And I know he’s sort of your hero, Sam, but the only one who has the final say in who gets to give up on who isn’t Dean.”

Sam shrugged. “I was just trying to make a point. We’re not really talking about me.”

“Aren’t we, though? Because I feel like self-revulsion has become a tautology with us."

Sam frowned. “What?”

“It’s like we’re throwing it back and forth. In fact, I - Sam, it’s almost as if you’re trying to take it away from me. Like if you keep on hating yourself enough, there will only be so much left for me.”

“What makes you say that?”

“It’s like you go grabbing for it. Except - and you should know this by now - there’s an infinite supply of that ugliness to go around. It doesn’t matter how much you try to take on; there’s always going to be more for me. For all of us.”

Sam fidgeted. “Yeah. Fine. But that has nothing to do with anything. Not right now.”

“I don’t want you to get the idea that this isn’t about both of us. There’s so much wrong with me, but I’m not an idiot. I know why you’re so good at what you do.”

For a few moments, Sam was quiet. Then he asked, “You want some water or something?”

Gabriel recoiled.

“Would you like some water?” Sam amended.

There were a few moments of silence. Then, eyes trained on Gabriel’s hand clasped in his, Sam said, “I don’t know how to read you. Sometimes you seem all right, but I can’t be sure, because what would I do if I got it wrong and didn’t think to check in and you …” He swallowed. “What if I miss something?”

“What if you do? It isn’t your responsibility to take my vitals every day.”

“Gabriel, you know what I mean. If something happened to you, just because I looked away for a second, I …” Sam trailed off.

“Nothing’s going to happen to me.” Gabriel knew Sam needed to hear him say it. “And even if it did, it wouldn’t be your fault.”

Sam shifted his gaze to his lap.

“You’re not stupid,” Gabriel pressed. “You know I’m always going to come running to you when things get out of hand. Plant my feet beneath your window, throw some pebbles, get down on one knee, give a speech. I don’t even have the capacity to - ” Here Gabriel paused, because it was precisely this that had soured the afternoon.

Sam looked back at him. “To what?”

Gabriel was suddenly overcome by a memory that turned his stomach again: Asmodeus, holding him down, as a second demon raised Gabriel’s arms and pinned them to the floor so that he couldn’t defend himself. This, Asmodeus knew, was a more effective method than any magical restraints could have been. Magic didn’t have a voice. Magic didn’t have a body that could be clawed, punched, and bitten to no avail. Magic robbed Gabriel of only so much dignity, because with magic there was no hope; there was no wasted combat, no maybe I can get away from him that bled through resignation to the inevitable. When Gabriel was attacked, he flailed under the foul illusion of possibility.

It didn’t matter how safe Gabriel might be now. That feeling, that awful feeling, had lessened in frequency, but increased in intensity whenever it returned. There was no safety. There couldn’t be. The closest Gabriel might come to being truly safe was to ensure awareness that he would never be safe.

“Hey,” Sam said quietly. “What’s the matter, Gabe?”

Gabriel gritted his teeth. The ceiling blurred. “I don’t know.”

“Listen, your grace will come back, and even if it didn’t we’d - ”

“Have every right to throw me away.”

“No."

“And when it’s good to go, I’m a valuable asset, so if someone finds that out and comes looking for me and offers you payment - ”

“I told you that’s not gonna happen. Gabriel, none of this crap is worth your time.”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m giving it my time. My time is running to these questions with open arms. I can’t stop it. I can’t stop myself. He was - the memories are too strong.” Gabriel blinked and felt a tear glide down his temple and into his ear. “I can’t fight them.”

“I can help!”

“You are helping. You’re at the helm; you have been since the beginning. You started digging through the rubble at ground zero. And I - and - ” Gabriel let out a tight sob. “You need to lower your expectations, Sam. If you think you can change me then you’re only going to end up blaming yourself.”

“Okay.” Sam slid his hand out of Gabriel’s and lifted him upright. “It’s fine. You’re fine. You’re safe; everything’s okay.”

Gabriel squeezed his eyes shut but allowed Sam to hold him close. “You and Dean and Cas - you’re good at fixing things. You’re the world’s handymen. You’ve got wits as your wrench and the universe is a blocked sink. But I …”

“Gabriel, we’ll figure it out.”

“Things come back so fast; a - a memory, and then something in that memory - it leads to another memory. Sometimes I remember things I didn’t even realize I remembered. So I hear these voices telling me to clear out before it gets too late, and the next thing I know he’s telling me about how no matter where I am, he’ll always be with me - inside of me. And then I start thinking about how I gave in when it all got to be too much. Which makes me think of the things he did, the things he made me do, the things I let him do.”

Sam tightened his grip. “You didn’t let Asmodeus do anything.”

“I could’ve at least tried to stop him, though; it just - after a while it felt like there was no point in trying anymore. But where’s the honor in not fighting back? How can I forgive myself for going down just because he told me I would lose? I believed him. I couldn’t help it.”

“That’s not - ”

“Except I don’t think I could have won, because I … because … Asmodeus was stronger, yes, but there’s more than that. Asmodeus was right. I know that’s not what you think, and I believe you - at least sometimes. I just - I know it. The same way I know my grace, and when it isn’t there. It’s automatic, Sam; it’s in my blood at this point. I just know he was right, like I know glass will break when it falls. He was right about never being able to escape, never being enough for him, for anyone; never being quick enough to give, and being greedy enough to take everything he had to offer, pretending like I deserved any of it - his food, his love - ”

“Don’t say it like that. He didn’t love you.”

“And so what if he didn’t? Is that better? What does that say about me, that he had me locked up for so long and never even learned to love me? It’s like I told you, he was right. The proof is there, Sam, right in front of you. You see it every day. What have I done to show I’m worth anything more than what he said I was? He saw me as - ”

“He saw you through his eyes. I have my own. And for all your talk about weakness, you certainly haven’t stopped trying to fight back against me.”

That surprised Gabriel. “Nobody’s trying to fight you. I’m just … I need you to … to know what I am. That’s all. For my sake. And for yours too. So that I’m not thrown off when it happens, and you don’t keep forcing yourself into the pain that you do.”

“‘It’ has nothing to do with this. And I’m not in pain. But you are. Which isn’t your fault. It’s not because you’re not trying, or because you can’t get better. It’s because anyone, even you, even any of your family, or any of us, would’ve had to put in the same work you are after being put through so much torture.”

Feeling slightly frantic, Gabriel pulled away. “Wrong. You went through it yourself, Sam, and you’re miles ahead.”

“It was different, and I’m different, and I’m not not still a mess; you know that. You’ve seen that, Gabe. And also, you were there a lot longer, and when you got out you had more you had to face, and - I don’t know,” Sam finished, suddenly helpless, “Just cut yourself some slack, man.”

“I’m trying,” Gabriel grated out, “And I can’t.”

“Not yet, maybe.”

“I can’t, Sam, because I - because - ”

“Because what?”

“Because I shouldn’t.”

Sam didn’t say anything for a moment. He watched Gabriel, studying his face, building an answer from whatever he saw there.

Then, at last, Sam said: “You never have to talk about what else he did to you. Not if you don’t think you can. That’s fine. But you have to trust that I know it was his fault, not yours. Those thoughts, Gabriel, those memories - they can haunt you, they can hurt you, but they shouldn’t make you feel guilty.”

Gabriel remained silent.

“I need you to trust me,” Sam continued. “I know you usually do. You’ve got to take that a step further. Whatever I hear from you … it’s not going to make me think you’re disgusting. No one - not him, not you - can change my mind about that. Do you know why?”

Still, Gabriel said nothing, just looked at him.

“Because I know I’m right,” Sam told him. “I know it like I know glass breaks when it hits the floor.”

Gabriel’s breath shallowed.

“It’s okay,” Sam said. “It’s all gonna be fine. It’s just me right now.”

No more of this, no more crying, no more crying, please -

Sam laid a hand on his arm. “Relax.”

There had always been uncertainty. Not once had Gabriel allowed for a unanimous vote in his mind so that Sam’s declarations of loyalty could be accepted, beyond reasonable doubt, as wholly honest.

Now, looking into Sam’s face, something shifted. For a moment Gabriel felt the same sense of absoluteness, the same unquestionability, that he knew every time he thought about his own worthlessness.

For a fleeting second, the verdict became obvious.

“Just for tonight,” Sam told him. “Just for tonight, let me help; don’t ask why. Just for today. We don’t have to worry about tomorrow.”

“I don’t know,” Gabriel stammered for the third time. “I don’t - I don’t know. I can’t figure it out.”

“You don’t need to right now. There’s a lot to figure out. I know that.”

“It’s not; it shouldn’t be. I know I don’t deserve this, and I know I can trust you, and I can’t make them work together.”

“They aren’t working together. One of them’s a lie and we can toss it.”

“What if I know it isn’t a lie?"

“What if I know it isn’t a lie?”

Gabriel stared at him for a moment, and then turned away as he choked on another strangled sob.

“Gabriel, look,” Sam said, “As much as I want you to learn to trust yourself, this definitely isn’t the right time. If all you’re thinking is that we don’t want you here, or that you can’t get better, then you need to come to one of us instead of taking your own word on blind faith. I hate to say it, but if the question is between trusting what I tell you and what you tell yourself - what Asmodeus tells you - listen to me for a while. Only me."

Gabriel kept his eyes averted. “I can’t.”

“Yeah. Exactly. You have to let me take charge a little bit, Gabriel. Until you can stop being so violent with yourself. Not like - I don’t need to watch your every move, and you don’t have to tell me what you’re not ready to. That’s fine. All I’m saying is if you’re not sure who’s right about you, assume I know what I’m talking about. Just trust me, is all.”

“Sam - ”

“Try. Just for tonight. There’s no contract. Just try.”

Gabriel wiped his eyes with his sleeve. “I don’t - ”

“You don’t have to know. Not right now.”

Gabriel stared at him bleakly, feeling numb. Then he leaned into Sam and allowed himself to go limp.

Sam held onto him. Neither of them spoke.

“Don’t make me tell you,” Gabriel muttered at last.

“I won’t. Remember? You called me out on that. And I’m glad you did.”

“I might never, though. I might never be able to.”

Sam hugged him more firmly. “No worries about that.”

“I - ”

Sam remained still, waiting.

“For tonight,” Gabriel whispered.

“Yeah. That’s all.”

“Okay.”

It was then that Gabriel realized that some of the terror had begun to abate. His head hurt, but he no longer felt sick.

There was darkness around him, darkness inside of him, but no darkness in Sam’s embrace.

More importantly, there was no insincerity. Just for tonight, the language of Sam’s touch could be read as easily as anything else.

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honeyedhoseok · 6 years

Text

Should We Go Downtown?

Genre | angst, smut // friends-->lovers->friends au

Word Count | 9K

Summary | “And I don’t touch you, goddamn, I want to / Can we go downtown?” Taehyung has watched you struggle in your relationship with your boyfriend for a while, always being your shoulder to cry on. He’s learned the best trick to pick you up when you’re down--besides his sensation of his mouth on yours–is a trip downtown to the riverfront at nighttime, so you can see the boats coming in on the harbor while he tries to piece back together the girl he absolutely hates to see sad.

Warnings | Detailed smut, smoking, foul language, dirty talk, infidelity.

A/N | Listen...this was supposed to be a simple, short, angsty piece that turned into a 9K smut. I have no idea what happened but I hope you like how it turned out as much as I do! Also, thanks @risinginfire for proof-reading part of this and making me really excited to post it, ily <3

Read the rest of the V2 Series HERE!

--> Based on THIS song by The Ready Set

It’s the shrill, annoying sound of a phone call that breaks the bustling atmosphere of a get-together with your friends.

Actually, most of these people weren’t even your friends—they were really closer to Hongbin—and you were there because you were his girlfriend and therefore your presence was required but not necessary, because no one was talking to you.

You stood to the side in the kitchen, nursing a slice of greasy pizza that sat in the box beside you on the counter. Your friends were the reason you hadn’t left yet—the few that decided to show up to Hongbin’s casual, casual, casual (he stressed this to everyone multiple times during the week) party at his new apartment—and they surrounded you in a semicircle.

It was a ringtone you knew well, one that you’d told Hongbin a thousand times to change because it was too loud for someone who could hear perfectly fine. You thought it made him seem like a senior citizen with a smartphone they didn’t know how to work. He only chuckled each time you brought it up, as if you were just being silly. But now, of all times, you really wished his ringer wasn’t loud enough for everyone in the world to hear.

It’s nighttime—nearing 12 a.m.—and every acquaintance that Hongbin had was standing in the midst of his living and dining room, including you.

The first ring makes a few people around him quiet down just enough for you to catch the tail end of it, and you look up and over the shoulder of your friend Yeonwoo, who was standing directly across from you.

You watch Hongbin dig for his phone in his pocket, pulling it out to check the caller ID just as the second shrill ring sounds through the apartment. You flinch at its ferocity, the sound seeming to pierce not only your eardrums but your heart, as well. You knew what a call at this time of night meant.

You watch your boyfriend excuse himself from the circle of people around him, catching your eye accidentally in the kitchen as he makes his way through the living room and into the bedroom the two of you shared to talk to his awaiting caller.

Any mood that you had for the casual get-together was certainly ruined due to the interruption—and it was not unnoticed by your friends, especially to one set of eyes in particular that had been lingering on you all night.

As those around you struggle to revive the conversation that had just been interrupted, ultimately feeling the strange mood twist and turn around the circle like fog, one pair of dark eyes captures yours and reads you like a book.

Taehyung knew you well enough after being your longest and closest friend that the sad attempt at a smile that tugged around the corners of your mouth was as phony as the black acrylics that donned your fingers. He takes a sip of the cheap beer clutched in his hand—provided so graciously by the host, who was now busy talking to his other girl in the bedroom—and watches you struggle to compose yourself.

You shift your weight from foot to foot and widen your eyes as you look at Hyebin—an attempt at looking ultimately interested, but Taehyung knows it’s a method of keeping the hot tears filling your water line from crashing over onto your cheeks. You laugh a little too loudly, a little too much, for a joke that Hyebin told—which made her laugh nervously in return, obviously not sure if she’d really told a joke that was worth that much. Your reaction probably made her think she had miraculously turned comedian in the last five seconds.

Taehyung sighs, shaking his head a little to himself as he finishes off the last sips of his beer, crumpling the can in his hand before sinking it into the trashcan across the room. It was cheap, low percentage and left a bad taste in his mouth, much like Hongbin. He knew what you needed, and it wasn’t another story about Yeonwoo or Hyebin’s antics from the weekend before.

“Hey, Y/N,” he says, waiting for a break in conversation. “Come outside with me right quick—I just put a new stereo system in my car and I wanted you to hear how some bass-boosted songs sound.” He pauses, grinning at you. “I swear it’ll move your hair to the beat if it’s turned up to twenty-two.”

You blink once at the random request, but your brain quickly catches up—Taehyung was doing this to get you away for a few moments—and you nod, letting him wrap warm fingers around your wrist and lead you outside.

You expect him to stop once you two are outside of your apartment door, but he keeps going, leading you down the stairwell and out to the parking lot where his beat-up, black Honda sits in one of the visitor’s spaces.

“Door’s unlocked,” he murmurs, clicking the keypad in his hand once.

You open the passenger door, listening to it give a usual protesting groan. You push yourself inside, settling into the familiar sights and smells of Taehyung’s car. An old Yankee Candle air freshener swings lightly to and fro from his rearview mirror, it’s fragranced inside shriveled from years of the sun; Taehyung has had it in his car as long as you can remember—in fact, you’re positive he took it from his mom’s car and put it in this one when he brought it, despite having little to no scent left.

Once inside, Taehyung turns the key in the ignition once so that the radio lights up, but the motor doesn’t run. He cracks the windows on both your sides, letting in a cool, fall night breeze that caresses the warm apples of your cheeks as it swirls between you two.

A light tune floats from the radio—one of Taehyung’s driving mixes, you guessed—but he doesn’t turn it up and instead, lets it settle as background music. You can tell he did get a new radio and new speakers, but he doesn’t intend on letting you hear them just yet.

Once you are outside and away from the bustling crowd of people inside your apartment, the reality and embarrassment of what had just happened finally settle in. You look down at your hands in your lap, fiddling with a loose piece of gel nail polish lifted up on your ring finger, and avoid catching Taehyung’s eyes.

He hates seeing you like this, hates the way that Hongbin can snatch a good mood from you so quick without having to say a single thing. He was a piece of garbage, through and through, but somehow you loved him through all of it—it was something Taehyung would never understand.

You sniffle suddenly, breaking him out of his trance and he looks over at you to watch as a single tear rolls down your cheek.

Taehyung busies himself with searching in the middle console as you wipe angrily at your face with the sleeve of your shirt, turning away from him to look out the window instead. He needs something to do, something to focus on so he doesn’t go back in the apartment and rip Hongbin a new one. Finally, his fingers grasp the box he’s looking for and he pulls it, along with a lighter, out of the compartment.

“You mind?” he asks you, showing you what’s in his hand. You shake your head no, as always.

Taehyung’s obsession with cigarillos was as puzzling to you as your obsession with your shitty boyfriend was to him. But you didn’t mind it—you didn’t mind a lot of the things Taehyung did because he put up with you all these years—and besides, the kind he smoked let off an air that smelled sweet and so like him. When he was around you, you would catch whiffs of it sometimes, like he himself was the embodiment of the skinny rolled tubes he smoked daily.

“I found a different kind,” he says conversationally. When you turn to look at him, you have new wet marks trailing down your cheeks, but he chooses to ignore it for the time being. “Cherry vanilla. Smell.”

He lights the end, inhaling once and then takes the skinny Black & Mild out of his mouth so he can blow its perfumed smoke in your direction. You sniff, wrinkling your nose at first, but he’s right—it does smell nice.

“I still like the summer blend the best,” you say.

Taehyung shakes his head in annoyance, taking another inhale. He blows this one in your direction, too. “Too bad they discontinued them,” he says, smoke coming out of his nostrils as he speaks. “They discontinue all the fucking good flavors.”

Silence settles over the both of you for a while. Taehyung sits with his cigarillo in hand, blowing clouds of smoke out of his cracked window and into the night air. A lot of it stays inside instead of escaping through, covering you two in a skinny, sweet smelling fog that reminds you of your hot-boxing days in high school.

Things were much simpler back then, when Hongbin wasn’t thought of and it was just you and Taehyung every day. During your senior year, Taehyung got you to skip more than you actually attended class. He could always tell when you weren’t feeling up to going to school as soon as you got into his car. He would toss your bookbag in the backseat, giving you a wicked grin as he backed out your driveway—you’d realize it as you pulled up to the school still going forty-five miles per hour that Taehyung had no intention of stopping, and instead was going to take you on one of the many adventures you two embarked on that year.

Each one was simple—a trip to an old bookstore or record shop, sometimes to a park, sometimes to eat at a ratty stand downtown—but his plans were always a way of getting your mind off things.

Taehyung was good at reading you, good at only speaking about whatever was bothering you only when he knew you could handle it, good at just being there for you—whether it was in silence with his hands, lips and tongue to keep you distracted, or with just being a shoulder to cry on and a hand to hold.

But that was then, and this was now. Things were harder when he wasn’t first on your list of people to vent to. You had a boyfriend—and even if he was shitty—he was the center of your universe. Well, except for when he took calls from other girls like the sleazy piece of fucking garbage that he was.

Taehyung inhales deeply after a puff, trying to calm himself once more by letting the smoke reach the deepest parts of him. He steals another glance at you after opening his eyes and you are looking at him too, your watery eyes searching the planes of his face.

He looks so cool and relaxed in the dark with his face lit up from the lights of the radio—something you’ve always envied about him. You feel like you are an anxious, shaking mess all the time, but Taehyung never seems bothered by anything.

“I don’t want to go back in,” you say, breaking the silence. Your bottom lip shakes slightly, and your teeth sneak out to latch onto it, stilling it for the time being. “Can we just stay out here?”

“He’ll come looking for you,” Taehyung says. “You know that.”

“Then let’s leave.”.

Your voice is pleading, and Taehyung hates that. It sounds like honey to his ears—this is how you hold him in, with that little sweet voice of yours that keeps him trapped and sticky. You aren’t doing it on purpose—you certainly can’t know what kind of hold you have over him—but he still hates it.

Taehyung sighs, dropping the end of the cigar into an old fast food cup sitting up front. He rattles the contents side to side, making sure the water in the bottom puts out the existing flame before sitting it back in the cup holder.

“Please?” you say, making sure he hasn’t forgotten your mention from earlier. “Tae?”

“Put your seat belt on,” he grunts, reaching out to turn the key in the ignition.

Your face lights up with gratitude and you sit back in your seat, clicking the belt over your waist with a grin.

You look like a maniac. Your makeup is a little smeared from the crying and your eyes are red but at least you’re smiling. You’re smiling because once again, Taehyung and his Honda are going to take you away from all your problems, even if it’s only temporary.

Taehyung cuts the radio up a little louder once you’re on the road, and it’s an R&B mix that’s playing through the speakers. This song seems to be just the beats; he listens to a lot of music without lyrics because lyrics are distracting, or so he claims. But over the years, you’ve gotten attached to the style. You listen to lo-fi playlists when you have big projects to work on, and it helps you concentrate.

You roll your window down a little more, allowing the night time air to rush through the car. With your elbow propped on the door, you rest your chin on your folded arms. Tonight, thanks to the mix that plays through the speakers, you’re able to focus on the scenes of the city-scape coming into view as you drive down familiar streets away from your apartment.

“Are we going downtown?” you ask, your hair whipping around your face as you turn to look at Taehyung. He’s put the black hood of his jacket up to shield some of the wind from his own face, but he gives you a nod in answer.

You turn back around to the scenery flying by you, your lips twisting up in a small smile. Taehyung knows you love going downtown because the riverfront is there, and your new favorite thing is to watch the boats going past while the city lights reflect on the murky harbor water.

It’s the weekend, so downtown is a little more crowded than usual. You realize this as you pull into the city blocks that hold the many bars, restaurants and clubs that downtown has to offer. A party bus comes to a stop beside the car as Taehyung waits at a red light to pull into the parking deck, its inhabitants laughing and talking loudly enough to overpower the pounding baseline coming from the speakers inside. It looks to be a pre-wedding celebration of some kind—you can see a congratulatory banner on the side of the bus, but it pulls off before you can finish reading the swirly script it’s printed in.

Taehyung drives through the brightly lit parking garage, stopping and parking on the first floor thanks to a car reversing out of its spot just in time. He winks over at you at his good luck and places the parking ticket on the dashboard before getting out.

You follow him in his haste, excited to be away from your crowded living room and on to indulge yourself in the night life of the city you lived in. Downtown had its own energy that permeates you as soon as you step out of the parking garage and onto the cobble stoned streets. Your flat-bottomed sneakers allow you to feel each ridge of the rocks on the arches of your feet.

Taehyung stops once you two round the corner onto the main street, pulling the box of Black & Milds out of his pocket to light one up. He hovers in front of a parked car, the hood of his jacket still up and covering his face. He uses it like a shield, blocking the slight breeze from putting out the little flame produced from his lighter.

“You look so emo in this lighting,” you tease. “Let me take a picture.”

Taehyung quirks an eyebrow at you but says nothing as you pull your phone out of the pocket of your jacket.

You were always taking pictures of everything—always wanting to document your visits to places—but at some point in your friendship, he realized you really enjoyed taking them of him. You had so many of him doing mundane things like eating, talking, walking, and he never understood why. He let you take them though, and imagined that sometimes, maybe, you sat at home when he wasn’t around and looked at them, missing the time you two spent together; he knew he certainly did the same thing when you weren’t around.

With that in mind, he stands in front of the car with the lights of the city reflecting behind him and hides his cigar behind his leg while you snap pictures of him.

“Wanna see?” you ask when you’re finished, but he shakes his head.

“I’ll just want you to delete them.”

“But these are really good,” you protest. “Just look. You’re like a model, Tae.”

Taehyung takes a peek at the phone and lifts one shoulder in response, grunting in semi-satisfaction.

You didn’t understand why he hated to take pictures—there were rarely times where he ever wanted to pose for one, regardless if it was with you or a group. You roll your eyes at his unenthusiastic response, clicking the lock on your phone and stuffing it back in your pocket.

“Mean,” you mutter, bumping Taehyung’s shoulder as you walk past him and down the sidewalk.

It wasn’t long before he caught up, his long legs bringing him to you in no time, and he was bumping your shoulder back. A small smile plays on the edges of his lips and you both know all is forgiven. Taehyung doesn’t move over on the sidewalk as you keep walking, switching his lit cigar from his left hand to his right so he can take drags, with his other shoulder nudging yours occasionally.

It takes one, two, times of his hand bumping into yours before he grabs it finally, sifting his fingers through your own in a tight hold. You don’t mind this either—his hand is big and warm and feels like home, and so you let him hold it.

“Let me try,” you say after walking a few steps, reaching for the lit cigar in his other hand.

Taehyung passes it to you, watching you bring it to your overly pursed lips and breathe inward. Your form is bad because you don’t smoke, but at least from being around him all the time you don’t cough on the inhale.

You blow it out, hard, in the direction of his face and giggle. “How do you like it, huh?” you say, grinning. “How’s this feel to you?”

Taehyung inhales air deeply using his stomach muscles, yanking you by the hand to come closer and breathe on him again. The action makes you laugh, loudly this time—a brilliant sound to his ears—and you take one more drag to blow softly on his face, which was now mere inches from your own.

The smoke cascades over his tanned cheeks, seeping into the cracks of his hoodie and settling around his neck and hair. He accepts it gladly, breathing in the sweet scents of cherry and vanilla and something reminiscent of the virgin Pina Colada you’d had earlier. He was glad he’d brought you out—you were so pretty when you were happy and smiling like this, your eyes sparking from the lighting of the shops downtown and staring with excitement into his own.

You hand it back to him, still grinning as you continue walking.

“Let’s go in there,” Taehyung says softly, nudging you with his shoulder in the direction of a bar across the street. “We can get those shooters you like.”

You nod, leading the way and dragging Taehyung behind you as you cross the street to the sound of the walk signal beeping. You both flash your IDs to the bouncer and Taehyung drops the remains of his smoke on the ground, stubbing it out with the toe of his sneaker before following you inside.

You walk straight up to the counter, flagging down the bartender and ordering two green tea shooters. You hand her your card, telling her to close the tab while you wait for the drinks, Taehyung hovering somewhere behind you. When she hands you the glasses and your card back, Taehyung’s arm appears over your shoulder, reaching out to grab his. He waits for you, and you two clink glasses before tipping them back.

“The green tea is so good!” you yell, moving closer to his ear to be heard over the loud atmosphere inside of the bar.

His hands fall to your waist as you lean in, steadying you on your tip toes, and his own answer comes at your ear, “But I like the purple Gatorade better.”

You pout at him and he gives you another wink, and then you’re grabbing his hand in yours again to pull him out of the bar and back onto the sidewalks of downtown. This time you make a beeline straight for the street that runs behind the buildings of downtown—the one paved in front of the river.

With you glancing back at Taehyung every so often, your hair whipping around your face as you give him a grin while you lead him through the throngs of people on the sidewalks—he can’t imagine how Hongbin has the audacity to hurt you over and over. The simple thought of it gives him a pit in his stomach, which you wash away with each and every look you throw back at him over your shoulder. Its like you think he’s going to disappear if you don’t keep turning around to check, which is silly: the tight grip you have on his hand says that would be quite impossible.

And Taehyung wouldn’t want to be anywhere but here right now, anyways.

“It’s so pretty!” you exclaim upon rounding another corner, finally able to see the riverfront from where you are standing across the street. You wait for a car to pass by before tugging Taehyung along again, until you’re on the dock that hovers over the water. There’s not many people on the riverfront—most are doing their part in the bustling nightlife that encompasses a few blocks behind you two.

There’s seating right in front of the railing, but you chose to stand, wanting the best view of the boats. Taehyung hovers by your side, his own eyes trailing over the water, over the evening skyline back-lighting a bridge in the distance.

You pull your phone out again to snap a blurry picture of what’s in front of you.

Taehyung watches your face fall as you realize your phone can’t quite capture the beautiful scenery seen with your own eyes, and he reaches out to take the phone from you.

“Let’s take one of you with the water in the background,” he says, backing up a few paces.

You pose effortlessly, tucking your hair behind your ear and leaning back against the railing, placing your elbows on either side. You look side to side while he snaps pictures before laughing at your own modeling antics. The one with the wide grin on your face turns out to be the best picture of them all, though when Taehyung turns his phone around to show you, you wrinkle your nose in distaste.

“My mouth looks funny,” you say, imitating your own grin in exaggeration. “Don’t you think?”

“It looks big,” Taehyung responds. But cute, he thinks. And kissable.

You smack him on the shoulder playfully before turning your attention back on the water.

A few years ago, if Taehyung was in this situation, he would be able to walk up behind you and wrap his arms around your waist. You would lean back into him, and he would press a few soft kisses to the warm apple of your cheek or your temple before resting his chin on your shoulder and watching the skyline with you.

He can feel the imprint of you on him like it’s still there—the way you fit together so effortlessly, your body always soft and warm beneath his hands. There’s an infinite amount of times he’s taken you into his arms and breathed you in, keeping his hold on you tightly until you squirmed out of his reach, giggling each time he held you tighter so you couldn’t go anywhere.

He itches to do this now, until he realizes you’re crying again.

You swipe at your cheek once, twice, with your shoulder until the tears are falling too freely and you have to use both of your hands, taking them off the railing in front of you to wipe your face clean.

“Y/N,” Taehyung murmurs softly, and now he’s right at your side instead of somewhere behind you, his voice close to your ear. “What’s wrong?”

“Why am I not good enough for him, Tae?” you whisper, your voice on the edge of breaking. “Why does he keep doing this to me?”

When you turn to look at him, your eyes are rimmed red and glassy again. Your lips are parted, the bottom one trembling with how hard you are trying to hold yourself together.

“He’s not—” Taehyung trips over his words, trying to hold back his own feelings on the situation. “He’s not thinking right. He’s making mistakes.”

“Mistakes,” you scoff. “You’d think after a while he’d get it right.”

“Maybe.” Taehyung shrugs. “Maybe not. Guess it depends on how single-minded someone is.”

“I know it was a girl calling him tonight, Tae. I just know it. He’s been acting weird for a few weeks now, you know—how he always gets when he’s tired of me again—”

Taehyung takes a deep breath in as you say the words so casually, as if that were a normal part of the ups and downs of a relationship.

“—and then he started turning his phone over on the table, started putting it on vibrate when he was around me, started taking a really long time in the bathroom.” You pause, sniffling. “So, I listened in on him the other day—the shower was on—and he was sitting there, talking on the phone while the water was just running.”

“Could you hear was he was saying?”

“No, he was talking too low, so it was just murmurs. But why take a phone call in the bathroom?”

“Maybe he’s planning you a surprise birthday party,” Taehyung offered, picking up a rock by his foot launching it over the railing and into the river.

“Can you be serious?” you snap, suddenly looking at him with pinched eyebrows, your lips pouty with hurt.

“Okay then,” Taehyung huffs. “What do you want me to say, he’s a piece of shit? I think we both know that, Y/N.”

“I don’t know,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest to hold yourself. “Tell me why boys always hurt me.”

“Now that is unfair,” Taehyung says, turning his own hurt gaze on you, now.

“How?” you ask stubbornly, wiping at a stray tear streak on your face. “Didn’t you do the same thing?”

“I was young.”

“And Hongbin isn’t?”

“He’s not in high school, Y/N!” Taehyung explodes, slamming a hand down on the wood railing. “He’s not some dumb kid who didn’t know how good they had it until it was gone, okay? Hongbin is grown. You two live together, and he still can’t get his fucking act right. He’s done this what, three times now? And you keep going back to him, so I don’t know who’s stupider—you or him.” He ends the statement with a pointed, shaking finger at your chest and then one out to the lit bridge in the distance, where your shiny new apartment with Hongbin lies.

“Or you,” you spit at him, slapping a palm on his chest. The movement catches Taehyung off guard, giving you the opportunity to land another one as you release your anger. “What about you, huh?”

“What about me?” Taehyung asks incredulously. His tone raises an octave before he realizes there are people down the dock from you two, and he repeats in a whisper, “What about me?”

“Why are you still around, Taehyung? Why are you still here if this bothers you so bad!”

Taehyung chuckles humorlessly. “You want me here just as much as I want to be here, Y/N. Let’s not kid ourselves. We both know you use me—in many ways, I might add.”

“It was one time!”

“And another time after that, and once more, and then a make out in my car, and then you came to my house in the middle of the night—” he ticks the moments off on his fingers, tilting his head in confusion. “Oh, I’m sorry, do those not count?”

“You’re disgusting!” you cry, hitting him again. “You’re fucking disgusting—”

“Not as disgusting as your boyfriend who does this to you,” Taehyung says, holding you by the shoulders in order to stop your assault on him.

Your chest is heaving up and down and your face is contorted, streaked with hot tears that don’t seem to be stopping anytime soon. You’re sure you look like a really drunk girl to anyone passing by, mad at your boyfriend for talking to other girls in the club, so he bought you to the riverfront and away from the parties in order to calm you down. If only they knew how spot-on that scenario actually was in the moment.

“I would never do this to you, Y/N, do you hear me?” Taehyung says softly, pressing you to his chest. “I was just a kid back then—don’t hold that against me now.” He pauses, seeming to think of a nicer way to put his words before he says bluntly, “Unlike him, I won’t make the same mistakes twice.”

You let him hold you, knowing there’s some truth in his words, but there’s also a lie wrapped in there, too.

Taehyung knows this as well, because as you pull away from him, he cups your jaw with both hands softly, wiping away a stray tear with the pad of his thumb before he leans down and connects your lips in a familiar, soft kiss.

But kissing you is his mistake, because it means he failed once again to separate himself from his feelings. And this is certainly not the first time he’s chosen his heart instead of his head in the last three years that you’ve been with Hongbin. He’s sure it won’t be the last, either.

You respond to him feverishly, leaning up on your tiptoes and wrapping your arms around his hoodie-clad neck, bringing you chest to chest. There’s a beautiful city-scape behind you, but nothing compares right now to the slow and delicate way Taehyung’s tongue tastes every inch of the inside of your mouth with hot, slow licks.

He knows exactly how to kiss you to make you lightheaded, it seems. His hands comb backwards into your hair, scratching lightly at your scalp and you whine at the pleasurable feeling, separating your lips with a loud smack that has him smiling.

He kisses you a few more times—just soft pecks to your lips with your eyes closed. When you open them, his are still squeezed shut, eyelashes fanned out on his cheeks and his bottom lip barely brushing yours as he murmurs, “Should we leave?”

You nod, suddenly nervous and aware of the wandering eyes around you. You grab Taehyung’s hand for the second time that night, pulling him back through the streets and to the parking garage with determination. Downtown fades into the background as your need for each other takes over—this is something you are used to, as well.

The days when you would skip in high school were nothing compared to the moments when Taehyung would take you back to his parent’s house after your adventures, curling up with you on his bed before ravishing your body until just before they got home. You two would sneak out, all kisses and giggles again despite having left his bedroom smelling of sweat and sex, and he would take you home, his hand encased with yours over the middle console the whole drive.

He clicks his keypad as you two near, and his Honda gives an answering headlight flash as the doors unlock.

Once the doors are shut and the radio is playing softly in the background, you don’t waste any more time before you are swinging your legs over the middle console and settling yourself into Taehyung’s lap.

Your lips lock onto his again and he grunts, shifting you into a more comfortable position so you aren’t squishing his dick against his leg before his lips answer yours in fevered movements.

You push his hood backwards so that you can run your hands through his dark chocolate tresses, tangling your fingers within the fine strands and giving them a tug. Taehyung grins against your mouth, nibbling on your bottom lip as an invitation for you to do it again.

Taehyung’s hands roam your waist before pushing the fabric of your jacket off your shoulders and into the passenger seat. He carves a trail of sloppy, wet kisses down across your jaw and neck, fiery movements that seem to ignite your whole body.

It’s the smacks of mouths and breathy sighs that drown out the song playing on the radio. For once, you’re happy Taehyung’s windows are tinted a little darker than a normal car since you haven’t moved from the parking space in the garage. But you can’t wait—you want him, and you want him now.

It’s never like this with Hongbin. God, you couldn’t even remember the last time you had a quick, hot, passionate moment with him. Every moment like this in your memory is tied to images of Taehyung—his mouth, his hands, his cock—and each time it happens you get a little more memory for your spank bank when Hongbin is too busy for you.

Your mind isn’t allowed to linger on those thoughts for long, because Taehyung commands your attention, his hand shoving its way under your shirt to knead at the fabric of your bra. His mouth, hot and heavy on your neck, lap waves on your most sensitive spots. He licks and sucks his way up to your mouth and down again, all while you rut against the center of his lap shamelessly.

“God—” he murmurs against the skin of your clavicle, “you’re so fucking hot. Want you so bad.”

“Have me,” you say back breathlessly, mind foggy in the moment. Dirty talk is saved for only these moments with Taehyung, and you use it to the fullest because you know it gets to him. “I’m yours, Tae.” You breathe into his mouth, dragging your tongue across his bottom lip in a lazy manner. “Touch me, please.”

You don’t have to tell him twice—his hand immediately leaves your chest and travels south at your command. Taehyung unbuttons your bottoms with ease, snatching your zipper down and trailing his fingertips over the expanse of skin beneath your belly button.

You shiver a little at the ticklish sensation and let your head loll backwards, giving him a clear view of all the parts of your neck he hasn’t ravished yet.

Somewhere in between kissing you and feeling you up, he’d taken the opportunity to slide his seat all the way back, so when his fingers finally graze your most sensitive area, your body sinks back against the steering wheel into a more comfortable position.

A sigh escapes your mouth as he circles your clit, warming up the bundle of nerves with a few twists of his wrist. You grind down in his lap once more, finally feeling the bulge of his half-hard dick sitting between your legs. The thought makes your mouth water—knowing that the sensation of him filling you up is in the near future.

“Don’t tease me,” you whimper, leaning back up to suck at the skin on his neck. He grunts in response to your tongue laving at his throat, the tendons in his neck sticking out with how hard he’s trying to control himself.

Taehyung wants nothing more than to push you into the backseat and pound into your soaking wet center until you’re chanting his name, but he isn’t sure if that’s what you want tonight or not. Sometimes your hookups were just kissing, sometimes just oral, and rarely ever did you engage in full-blown sex.

When you’d shown up at his house in the middle of the night a few months ago, he’d thought you just wanted a body to sleep next to while Hongbin was out of town. Little did he realize you came over with a mission—or, he did realize it, when you swung a leg over him as you laid beside each other in bed, luring him in like a siren with your sinful hands and mouth. But you’d felt guilty afterwards, and so he never wanted to push you if you didn’t want it first.

“Please Tae,” you whine. You hand drifts down to his lap, squeezing his erection softly over his jeans. The feeling of you touching him makes him groan, and he pushes further into your pants, dipping a fingertip into your wetness. “I can’t—ngh—wait anymore.”

He doesn’t realize what you mean until you’re moving his hand away from your center, lifting off him to pull your own pants down just enough to expose your dripping core. You go to work at pulling his down then, too, and Taehyung groans again as your hand finally grips him, finding his erection through the hole in the front of his briefs.

“Fuck—” he grunts when you run your thumb over the head of his dick, swirling the bead of precum gathered at the top.

“I want you,” you whine, still not sure if he’s getting the point. “Do you want me?”

Taehyung picks his own head up from its relaxed position against the headrest just in time to see you pop your thumb in your mouth, spreading the taste of him all over your tongue. The sight is enough to make him twitch in your grip.

“’Course I do,” he says, his tone dropping an octave at the confession. It isn’t until he takes in the position you’re in—sitting on his lap, half-naked, with his cock in your hand does he realize what you mean. “Fuck, Y/N, right here?”

You nod slowly with your thumb still in your mouth, looking at him with those wide, blown out eyes that he can’t help but give into.

“No condoms,” he breathes, watching with half-sheathed eyes as you stroke his length with a soft touch.

“Don’t care,” you say. You lean your head down to let a line of spit dribble from your mouth and onto Taehyung’s cock, using the movements of your hand to lubricate him down to the base.

He’s hard as hell and in no position to tell you no. So, when you lift your hips above his, using your spit-soaked hand to line him up with your entrance, all he can do is watch you with his teeth sunk into his bottom lip.

You press onto him, letting him fill you up in a warm stretch that is so welcoming to your quivering insides. Taehyung lets out a low groan, his hands immediately latching on your hips with fingertips pressing into the skin of your thighs to aide your movements. You lean forward into his embrace, lowering your head onto his shoulder and burying your face into the soft, smoky scent of the material of his hoodie.

It’s sloppy and enclosed and hot inside the car because the air conditioning isn’t on and you’re both wearing way too many clothes, but a thrill runs through you at the thought that Taehyung wants you so much he’ll take you anywhere. He smells so good to you, starting to sweat a little around his temples and you want nothing more than to taste him, taste every inch of him you can get. You run a hot trail with your tongue up his neck, latching your teeth onto his ear lobe as you rise and drop your hips.

Neither of you know when this will happen again, and so you want to make the best of what time you have with each other.

“Fuck—” he grumbles, tilting his face to the side to capture your lips with his in a kiss that is hard and all teeth. “You’re so fucking hot like this—fucking yourself on me—”

A whine escapes your mouth at his breathy, low narrations. The bundle of nerves inside you is tightening, twisting into a ball in your stomach that you welcome with faster movements of your hips. Taehyung’s dick reaches all the right places inside of you, filling you up just right, like this is what he was meant to do: make you fall apart on top of him.

“Does that prick Hongbin f—fuck you like this?” he growls, leaning forward. While still aiding your movements with his hands, his lips latch onto your neck, sucking the skin into a pretty shade of pink with hard drawls of his mouth.

“Tae—” you whimper, because your head is too fuzzy right now to talk about Hongbin. All you want is him, him, him—but he doesn’t give in that easy.

“Does he?” he asks in a commanding tone against the skin of your throat. “If I’m so disgusting then why do you keep coming back, Y/N? Hm?” He trails one hand from your hip, pressing his thumb against your clit—it’s a movement that has your complete attention suddenly, your body on red alert as he makes slow, circular patterns that has your stomach muscles jumping. “It’s because you love this cock, isn’t it?”

He’s right, you do, and so you nod in agreement. But there’s something else about Taehyung that’s exciting and irresistible and comfortable and utterly familiar that you just can’t let go of. He’s unlike any other person you’ve ever met, and despite how hard you are trying to build a life with Hongbin because you know that’s what’s right, you still find yourself coming back to Taehyung for him to fill all the holes Hongbin can’t even think about reaching—in the literal and metaphorical sense.

Taehyung’s other hand comes up to grip your chin, making you open your eyes and look at him. His tongue darts out to wet his own lips, taking in your pretty face, eyes half-lidded as you continue to move up and down on his cock.

“Say it,” he says, in the softest voice. His ministrations on your clit fall unhurriedly to the smallest of circles, and you want to cry out at the diminishing tightness in your stomach as you slow your hips. “Tell me, Y/N. Tell me how much better I fuck you, than him.”

You kiss him with all tongue to shut him up, hard, wet and sloppy, hoping it will satisfy him. But you know Taehyung better than that, and you’re not surprised at all when he tilts his mouth away from yours, a devilish grin twisting the corners up.

“You don’t want to talk now, huh?” he asks impishly. “It was all Taehyung fuck me earlier, but now, nothing?” He mocks you in a girlish, breathy voice.

“Well, you’re not doing much fucking, are you?” you ask with a tilt of your head, playing along with his game.

He chuckles darkly, and you can feel the vibrations through his chest and onto yours from how pressed your bodies are against each other. His cock twitches inside of you, as if your words rile him up for a few seconds.

“That’s certainly not your pretty fingers between your legs, so I’d say I am."

You trail kisses along his jaw line with a smile—small pecks in order to warm him back up to you. You know he isn’t really bothered by all of this, Taehyung just loves to see what kind of dirty shit he can make you say when you’re all fucked out and desperate to cum. As usual, you give into him because you do want a release—but also because it’s somewhat fun. And somewhat the truth.

You start the slow movements of your hips again, loving the way Taehyung’s mouth parts and he lets out a sigh when you clench around him.

“I come back—” you mouth across his throat, making a trail up to the shell of his ear, “because you’re the only one who can make me, fall apart—like this, Tae.”

Your words seem to sate him for the time-being, and he releases his hold on your face, one hand coming back down to your hip while the other tends to your pulsing clit. He’s aiding you faster this time, the claps of your hips against his echoing through the car.

“God, yes, yes—” you cry out, eyes squeezing shut. “So good, Tae. So fucking, good—”

“Mm,” he grunts, feeling your warmth squeeze around him as you work quickly back up to your orgasm, “You’re so pretty with my cock filling you up.”

The car is filled with a cacophony of noises—your wanton moans and Taehyung’s deep, breathy murmurs in your ear, making you closer and closer to you release with each sinful thing that slithers from his mouth. Both your hips in rhythm with each other can surely be heard from outside the car—you just hope and pray with all your might that no one walks by to get into their vehicle until you’re through.

Taehyung’s fingers work magic on your sensitive bud and you grab onto the scruff of hair that sits on his neck, your fingernails scraping at his skin as you chase the impending snap of the coil in your stomach. Your whole body is tense, shaking, sweaty as you focus on his dick hitting you at just the right angle, scared to move too much for the feeling might diminish even the slightest.

“Gonna cum,” you pant, “Tae—Tae, I’m gonna—”

Your voice cuts off as your orgasm hits you, a heavy sigh releasing from your mouth as your body goes limp on Taehyung after the first wave rolls through. He takes control then, determined to help you ride out the searing pleasure as he ruts into you from the bottom. Each time his hips connect with yours, filling you up to the hilt, you swear you fall in love a little more.

“That’s it, baby,” Taehyung murmurs with a sated smile, nipping and biting along your collarbones. “Cum on me.”

You’re clenching around his length so well, the sounds of your heavy breathing in his ears as you come down off your high, he almost doesn’t catch it. As you press your lips to his over and over, soft, small kisses in way of a thank you—Taehyung’s ears pick up on the sound again. His hips stutter underneath you and then stop, and he sighs.

“Y/N, your phone,” he says softly, and even you can catch the hint of disappointment that laces his tone.

“What?” you ask, eyebrows furrowing—but then you hear it, too. The soft muted hums of it vibrating against the seat in your jacket pocket interrupt the moment and you shift on Taehyung’s lap reaching over to grab it.

Taehyung can’t help but feel like he’s part of some sick, cosmic joke because the annoying, repetitive sound of a phone call has now ruined both your nights. He leans his head against the headrest, his dick still hard and twitching between your thighs.

“It’s Hongbin,” you say softly. You stare at the screen, at his contact picture, finger hovering over the green button that will surely sour the mood upon being clicked.

“Don’t answer it, Y/N,” Taehyung says suddenly. His hands are soft at your sides, rubbing up and down your hips trying to coax you back into the moment. “Please—don’t answer.”

“Tae, I have to,” you say in a hushed whisper. You give him an apologetic look just as your finger hits the button, and you bring your phone to your ear.

“Y/N, please, I told you—”

You clap a hand over his mouth, begging him with your eyes to stay quiet as a shaky hello tumbles over your lips.

Taehyung wants to take the phone from you, wants to roll down the window and toss it hard, to smash it on the ground; but he knows better than that. If Hongbin knew you two were together, that would be it. He would get no more time with you, no more visits, no more small, intimate moments—and no matter how small they might be, he still enjoyed them.

He can hear Hongbin’s deep voice on the phone. He doesn’t sound angry, and instead, apologetic as he coaxes you with his excuses to come back home. Hongbin knows you left with Taehyung at first, but you quickly tell him you caught a cab downtown. It’s no secret that you love to escape by going to the riverfront, it’s just a matter of with who.

As you listen to Hongbin tell you about the party, you absentmindedly begin to swivel your hips onto Taehyung, earning an encouraging squeeze from his hands on your ass. He’s still half-hard in between your legs, and all it takes is a few rises from your hips to get him right back into action.

This is your apology to him for taking the phone call, and he knows it.

With your hand still pressed over his mouth to muffle any sounds that might come out, you help coax him to his own high, feeling the familiar tell-tale signs of his dick twitching between your legs with just a few, heavy moments.

His fingers dig into the spaces of your hip bones, big hands splayed out over your whole side as his eyes squeeze shut, barely audible grunts forming behind your hand as he spills his pearly release into your already spent core.

When you’re sure Taehyung isn’t going to say anything you remove your hand, wiping the perspiration from his upper lip on your shirt. He looks sated, his half-mast eyes hovering over your face as you finish your phone call. With his lips parted and swollen and his chest heaving, you can’t help but feel proud of yourself for taking part in his coming undone, and you trail a few soft fingertips down the side of his face.

“Love you too,” you respond softly to Hongbin, clutching your phone hard enough in your hand that your knuckles turn white.

Your eyes sting stupidly, your waterline filling as soon as the call is over—and they should, Taehyung thinks. He’s mad at you, but letting you know would only make those hot, wet tears appear on your face again, and so he holds it in and instead cradles your jaw in his hands for a few lazy kisses. You aren’t super into it anymore, but he’s glad you at least you return them with small, sad movements of your mouth.

The ride home is quiet. Taehyung drives with tight knuckles on the steering wheel and you sit in the passenger seat with your knees up, your arms bound around them tightly.

As usual, Taehyung pulls to the curb around the corner of your street where Hongbin can’t see. He cuts the headlights on the car off and lets it sit idling while you gather your things. He has so many things to say as you do so, but they all combine into one jumbled mess in his brain.

Taehyung finally mumbles out, just as your hand touches the cold, smooth metal of the door handle to leave, “Don’t be too mad at him, Y/N.” He manages this, even though it pains him all the way to his core to support Hongbin. “I think he’s trying. Some people just need a little forgiving, you know?”

“Yeah, Tae,” you respond softly. “I know.”

You leave him then, walking around the back of your apartment building to sneak up the stairwell.

Taehyung imagines you going upstairs and unlocking the door normally, bypassing Hongbin in the living room where he’s probably cleaning up all his cheap beer and pizza from the get together. You don’t say anything to him and head straight to the shower, turning on the water until it’s burning to scrub off any and all scents or traces that Taehyung may have left while you were with him. He supposes you do this every time, and the thought makes a hurtful twinge pass through his chest.

“Love you,” Taehyung murmurs, watching your shadowy figure finally disappear up the stairs as he pulls off from the curb, waiting until he’s somewhere down the street before he switches his lights back on.

As he drives back through the city, back towards his own lonely apartment, he can’t help but hope that someday he’ll get to hear you say those words back to him again.

#armiesnet #taehyung x reader #bts scenarios #bts smut #taehyung smut #kim taehyung #taehyung angst #bts angst #bts x reader #honeyedhoseok #should we go downtown #oneshot

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sonseulsoleil · 6 years

Text

Title: in some other life (we are standing side by side)

Fandom: Anastasia (1997)/Anastasia The Musical

Summary: Dimitri knew posting a listing on craigslist was just asking for trouble, but desperate times call for desperate measures. And as far as Dimitri was concerned, his roommate moving out with barely more than a day’s notice in the middle of the month was definitely a desperate situation.

CHAPTER TWO: May-June (Also read on AO3)

It was warm, one of the first days where it felt like the chill of spring was fading to the summer heat, and Anya wanted nothing more than to be outside. But it was Saturday, which meant she had to have afternoon tea with her grandmother and her sisters….and her grandmother’s personal assistant, Sophie.

Tea with Nona wasn’t all bad. Anya loved her grandmother, she really did. But sometimes the big house and fine china and the aggressive manners were all a bit stuffy for her. Sometimes, she wanted to slouch and eat an apple without slicing it first--sometimes (most times) she couldn’t care less if her spoon clanked against the side of the tea cup. But oh, oh did Nona care. It didn’t help that Maria, Olga, and Tatiana were all perfect ladies, content to be idle and rich for the rest of their lives.

Nona respected her and her choice to be self sufficient, instead of relying on the family wealth and influence to get ahead. She picked a field outside of politics or business, where the name “Romanov” didn’t mean anything to anyone. Maybe she’d never make her fortune like her great-great-great grandparents did, but that didn’t matter. She liked her job. Or, she liked the job she used to have before she was unceremoniously fired.

She’d been working her way up the food chain at a pretty well known New York publishing house, so close to being promoted from editing assistant to junior editor that she could taste it, when the company took a nosedive and fired a good third of their staff. Including one Miss Anastasia “Anya” Nikolaevna Romanov. And now she was living in a crappy apartment with a guy she met on Craigslist. Every week it was the same questions: “Do you have a new job yet?” “Why are you still living in that apartment with that craigslist boy? You know you just have to ask, and I can give you some money.” It was nauseating.

“So, Anya,” Sophie said, breaking Anya out of her thoughts. “Olga tells me that Dimitri is a bartender.”

“A bartender!” Nona exclaimed. “That’s rather uncouth.”

“Nona,” Anya sighed, “He’s also a waiter. Sometimes he washes dishes. And he works at The Palace. Are you really calling Lily Malevsky-Malevitch’s restaurant uncouth? I’m pretty sure he gets benefits. I’ve never seen a more well treated waitstaff.”

“He works at Lily’s place?” Olga asked between sips of tea. “You didn’t tell me that.”

“I didn’t think it was relevant.”

“Of course it’s relevant,” Maria said sharply. “Bartender in general is very different than bartender at The Palace.”

"I agree," Sophie said emphatically. "The Palace is high end French fusion. It's not your average New York bar."

Anya rolled her eyes. “You’re all way too concerned about this. You shouldn’t judge Dimitri based on what he does for a living.” Anya paused under the heavy gazes of her sisters. “You should judge him for being messy and rude.”

Tatiana laughed, “I was getting worried there for a second! It sounded like you were defending him.”

Anya chuckled. “No, no. He’s infuriating. But even still, he doesn’t deserve to be looked down upon because he’s working class.”

Olga sighed. “You’re right,” she said, in her mature older sister voice. She’d really perfected that once she’d turned 30.

“Is he still leaving his dishes on the kitchen counter?” Maria asked eagerly.

“Oh, of course. He’s Dimitri Sudayev. Too busy for the dishwasher,” Anya shook her head. “Not to mention the wet towels in the bathroom and the food of mine that mysteriously disappears and his constant rude comments. I mean, really, no wonder his last roommate left.”

“He eats your food?” Nona was incredulous. “That’s unacceptable, Anastasia. I must insist that you move out of that apartment as soon as possible.”

“That’s the plan, Nona,” Anya set down her tea cup. “As soon as I find another job and can afford a better place, I’m out of there.”

“Good,” Nona nodded.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” Anya stood up. “I have a job interview to get to. Thank you for the tea and the lovely conversation.”

Dimitri awoke with a start, to the sound of screams. He sat up straight, every muscle in his body tense. “No! No, please! No!” It was Anya’s voice, he realized. He checked the time. 3 AM. He was usually on his way home from work at this time of night, but for the first time in a long time, he had a night off.

He grabbed the nearest weaponizable object--which turned out to be one of his shoes--and ran across the hall to her room, only to find it empty, except for her flailing in bed. He dropped the shoe and knelt by the bed, gently place his hands on her shoulders, and giving her a shake.

“Anya,” he said quietly, and then a little louder. “Anya, wake up!”

Her eyes fluttered up just slightly. “The voices...The voices keep coming back…” She curled into him, and he could feel her heart pounding, her tears soaking through his shirt.

“You were having a nightmare,” He said as softly as he could. “You’re safe.”

She looked up at him, blinked twice, and furrowed her brow. “Dimitri? I thought...”

“I heard you scream.”

She wiggled free from his grip. “Sorry to wake you.”

“Anya…” He hesitated. It was too dark to see her expression--he hadn’t bothered to turn on the light--but he wondered if maybe she was embarrassed. “Goodnight.”

“I understand. Thank you for this opportunity,” Anya tried to hide the bitter disappointment in her voice and remain professional, but she could tell she wasn’t doing a very good job of it. “Goodbye.” She set her cell phone down on the dining table in front of her and sighed. Another interview, and another rejection.

“I’m never going to work again!” She yelled to the air.

As if on cue, the front door swung open, and Dimitri walked in wearing a navy blue peacoat and carrying a brown leather messenger bag over his shoulder. “What’re you yelling about this time?”

“I was just passed over for yet another job,” Anya leaned back in her chair. “I’m never going to find a job.”

“Oh, don’t say that,” Dimitri smirked. “I hear the circus is coming to town.”

Anya shot him a glare. “Oh, shut up!”

Dimitri put his hands up, clearly intimidated. “Okay, let’s calm down. I’m not the hiring manager who rejected you. I just live here.”

“You’re right,” Anya huffed, “You’re worse.”

“Well, I tried.” Dimitri dropped his hands. “I give up.”

“Just leave me alone.”

“No can do,” Dimitri stepped into the kitchen and opened one of the cabinets. “It’s dinner time.”

“Whatever.” Anya leaned forward and dropped her head on the table and closed her eyes. Maybe I should just give up and work at McDonalds .

“Hey…” Dimitri’s voice was suddenly right next to her. She lifted her head to see him standing right over her. “I have something for you.”

“You--Have--What?!”

He rummaged around in his messenger bag, and pulled out a styrofoam to-go box. “I bought you dinner.”

“You...Bought me dinner?” Anya blinked, her brain unable to process what was happening. “Why?”

“I felt bad that I ate some of you food, and I wanted to pay you back,” he shrugged, as if it was just that simple.

“What is it?”

“Sushi from that place you like so much.” He ran a hand through his hair. “The place you had dinner with Maria at a couple weeks ago.”

Anya opened the box and balked. It was full of all her favorites, and definitely worth more than the yogurt cups and slices of bread he’d stolen. “Dimitri, this was expensive.”

“Consider it an investment,” Dimitri’s brown eyes were soft. “So I can eat more of your food in the future.”

Anya rolled her eyes. “Of course.”

Dimitri shrugged and averted his gaze.

“Dimitri?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

Dimitri woke up to screams for the fourth time. This time, he didn’t bother with a shoe. He still rushed across the hall to Anya’s room, shook her awake, and let her curl into him. “No, no, Mama!” she screamed.

“Shh,” he soothed. “You’re having a nightmare.”

After a moment, her body stopped shaking, and she sat up, wiping the tear stains from her cheeks. Dimitri took that as his cue, and stood up to leave.

“Dimitri,” she called out, voice small and afraid. “Can you...stay?”

Dimitri froze. “What?”

“I don’t want to be alone.”

Dimitri swallowed. “Okay.” He slid back onto her bed, and she pulled up the covers, throwing them over his shoulders. He stayed stiff and rigid on his back, not sure what exactly she wanted him to do. And then she curled into him, resting her head on his chest, and he let his arm wrap around her, because it seemed like the natural thing to do. She fell asleep quickly, and at some point he followed suit.

“Goodnight, Anya.”

Anya paced the short hallway of the apartment. It had been two nights since Dimitri had woken her up from her nightmares for the fourth time. She’d woken up first and left him in her bed, and they hadn’t spoken about it since. And that’s how she wanted it. But it was weighing on her, knowing that Dimitri had been so kind to her, and he didn’t even know why he had to do that. Which made his actions all the more compassionate and made her feel even worse. But telling him...That would be crossing a line of intimacy and honesty that she’d never crossed with anyone in her whole life.

She’d had boyfriends and friends in the past, who knew that her parents had died, and that her and her siblings were mostly raised by their grandmother. But she’d never really opened up about the accident, about the nightmares. She’d hoped that Dimitri’s late shifts would keep him from finding out entirely, but she was wrong. Apparently even bartenders get nights off.

She sighed, swallowed her fears, and rapped on his door.

“Come in,” he called.

“Hey, Dimitri,” Anya opened the door hesitantly. “Got a minute?”

The window was open, to let in the summer breeze, and Dimitri was hunched over his desk, deeply focused on whatever was in front of him, but he sat up, and turned in his swivel chair so he was facing her. “What’s up?”

“Well, I--” She looked up to meet his eye and stopped. “You’re wearing glasses.”

“Oh, yeah,” he chuckled and pulled them off, placing them on the desk behind him. “Just reading glasses. Need them to see up close.” He gestured to his desk, where she could see an open sketchbook, and a surprisingly detailed pencil drawing.

“You’re an artist.”

“It’s not a big deal,” He ran a hand through his hair. “It’s just a hobby.”

Anya raised an eyebrow. “You’re really good.”

“Uh, thanks.” If Anya didn’t know better she’d have sworn Dimitri was blushing for a moment, but it didn’t last long. “Was there something you needed?”

“I want to talk to you,” Anya took a deep breath. “About my nightmares.”

His face softened. “You don’t have to do this. It’s not really my business.”

“If you’re going to wake up to me screaming you deserve to know what I’m screaming about,” Anya shrugged. “And against my better judgement, I’ve made the decision to trust you.”

“How sweet,” Dimitri deadpanned.

“If you’re going to be a jerk, then I’m not going to tell you.” Anya turned toward the door.

“Wait, Anya,” Dimitri sighed. “Stay. I’m sorry.”

“Alright,” Anya turned back to him, and nodded towards the bed. “Can I sit?”

“Sure.”

Dimitri’s mattress was a bit firmer than hers, and the blankets smelled like him. She could never place his scent. It was something a little bit spicy and a little bit sweet, and she was never sure if it was soap or deodorant or cologne.

“So,” Dimitri clicked his teeth.

“Look, I don’t usually talk about this with people, so y’know. No remarks from the peanut gallery, okay?” Anya let herself glance at his eyes, all warm and chocolate brown and reassuring. “Just...Don’t be a dick.”

“I won’t.”

“When I was eleven years old, I was in a car accident.” Anya took a shaky breath. “It was a week before Christmas. We were going to see the Nutcracker. My mother was driving, and it was just me, my parents, and my little brother, Alexei. He was 8. My sisters were in a separate car with my grandmother.”

“Anya, I…”

“Please, just, let me finish. My mom rolled through a greenlight, and at the same time, someone coming from the opposite direction spun out of control on a patch of ice. It was a head-on collision. My mother died on impact. My father died later, in the hospital. Alexei and I somehow survived."

“I’m so sorry.” Dimitri reached out and gingerly placed his hand over Anya’s own, which she realized was shaking.

“After that, we all lived with Nona,” Anya’s voice broke. “I tried so hard to forget that night, to forget the sound of my mother screaming, to forget my father yelling my mother’s name until he slipped out of consciousness himself. I can still see the fear in Alexei’s eyes. He kept calling out ‘Mama, mama, mama!” Anya couldn’t keep it together any longer. Tears began to run down her cheeks.

Dimitri took this as a cue to get up from the desk chair and sit next to her on the bed. He wrapped an arm around her and squeezed her hand. “Hey, it’s okay, you’re okay.”

“Thank you.” Anya leaned into his embrace; it was strangely comforting. “I’ve had nightmares ever since. I think Alexei has them, too. When I was a kid, Nona would comfort me. In college, I never had a roommate. I got lucky there,” she glanced up at him, “Or I guess whoever would’ve been my roommate got lucky there.”

“You are pretty annoying,” Dimitri smirked and dropped his arm.

“Watch it.”

“But I, uh. I don’t mind it,” Dimitri murmured. “Calming you down, I mean.”

“Oh.”

“But hey, maybe your grandma can give me some tips?” He laughed, and all at once Anya felt entirely at ease again.

“She did used to sing me this lullaby,” she hesitated for a moment, before starting to quietly sing, “Someone holds me safe and warm/Horses prance through a silver storm/Figures dancing gracefully/Across my memory. She even had a music box made for me that plays the melody. Or, played, rather. It’s broken now. ”

“Are you asking me to sing to you?” Dimitri asked, nudging her with his elbow and grinning, “Because I’m not on board with that.”

Anya gave Dimitri a light shove. “Shut up.”

They fell into a moment of silence as their eyes met again, but it was not a moment meant to last. Dimitri cleared his throat, “So, was that everything?” he asked, the warmth draining from his tone. “‘Cause I was sort of in the middle of something.”

“And the jerk is back." Anya rolled her eyes and stood up and stepped toward the door. "One wonders why I even told you all that."

"I've been told I have honest eyes." Dimitri grinned.

Anya crossed the threshold shaking her head.

#Anastasia 1997 #Anastasia The Musical #dimya #Dimitri Sudayev #Anastasia Nikolaevna Romanov #otp: the only thing I lose #my fan fiction #the bickering roommates AU noone asked for

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justaramblingromantic · 6 years

Text

nii-chan has an ow

Characters/Pairing: Kobayashi Rindou, Tsukasa Eishi, Tsukasa Hi’en (OC), Tsukasa Chouko (OC)/EiRin

Type: Canon-divergent AU, Post-series, Peerless-verse, Freestyle

Word Count: 2996

A/N: Tsukasa!Family shenanigans. Four year old Hi’en is sick, and two year old Chouko has no idea what to feel about it.

“Nii-chan, play…?”

Rindou lifted her head from where she was half reclining on her son’s bed, her gaze landing on the tiny form of her daughter. Curled up beside her, snoozing fitfully in an exhausted heap was Hi’en. The younger redhead was finally out like a light after coughing and raggedly struggling to breathe through a clogged nose for the last few hours. There had been a flu outbreak at the preschool, and her poor baby had caught the particularly persistent virus from his peers.

His little sister had thankfully not been affected, but they had brought her home from the preschool yesterday all the same, as a precaution. Rindou had taken leave from work to take care of her children, though her greatest challenge so far was in keeping the siblings apart. Young as she was, Chouko could not understand why her nii-chan was not playing with her…and she kept wanting to go into nii-chan’s room and climb onto nii-chan’s bed and cuddle with nii-chan and mama but for obvious reasons she had been barred.

That did not stop her from trying to sneak in all the same. The tiny white haired toddler was hovering at the doorway, and she sidled in to cross the threshold. Her mama’s eyes narrowed, and she started to straighten, though her hand was still slowly stroking Hi’en’s hair, soothing her boy as he napped restlessly.

“Baby, don’t come in-”

But her child had obviously inherited her parents’ stubbornness. She had been trying all morning to get into the room and she wasn’t about to stop now. Before Chouko could flat out sprint towards her goal in one last victorious burst, her papa came swooping in from behind to the rescue. He picked up his daughter and neatly stopped her valiant break-in attempts.

“Chou, you can’t go in,” he told the unhappily squirming little bundle in his arms. “Your nii-chan needs rest; he’s not well. He’ll play with you when he gets better.”

Chouko stilled at her papa’s explanation. She stared at him wide eyed. Eishi gazed thoughtfully at her stunned, deer-in-the-headlights expression.

“…Ow?” she asked softly, almost mumbling to herself, and both parents looked quizzically at each other, and then back at her, not sure what she was trying to say. But they also quickly recognized that wobbly expression on her face, her big lavender eyes slowly filling with tears. “Nii-chan has ow?”

She was whimpering, lower lip trembling, finally figuring out that something was wrong with her older brother.

Rindou quickly realized what was upsetting the little one so much. She sat up fully, careful not to displace Hi’en at the same time.

“Oh baby, no. Nii-chan’s gonna be okay! It’s just a little ow. Nii-chan just needs to sleep and rest for a bit and he will be fine!”

Unfortunately, the tears could not be stopped. The little two year old was crying softly as she strained towards her brother and mother in Eishi’s arms, pitiful little sounds of ‘ows’ escaping from her as she tried futilely to reach them.

Eishi was at a loss. He cradled his youngest to his chest and petted her back, but she was inconsolable. Her tiny howls of heartrending distress woke her brother, who stirred uneasily and instinctively turned his head towards the sound. His eyes opened in a drowsy, bleary squint, and he mumbled hoarsely. “…Chou, don’t cry...”

Hi’en’s voice had an immediate effect on his heartbroken sister. The smallest Tsukasa paused mid-wail, little cherubic face red from her tragic exertions and streaked wet.

“…N-Nii-chan…?”

The boy raised his hand briefly before letting it flop on the duvet again. He was so tired.

“Don’t cry,” he repeated, voice still faint, clearly more asleep than awake. The medicine that his mother had made him take was supposed to knock him out so that he would recover faster. “…Play later, ‘kay?”

Now that she had seen and heard her brother’s assurance, the little girl’s anxiety slowly calmed. She sniffled. Her chest hurt still because nii-chan was still having ow, but nii-chan said ‘play later’…so maybe nii-chan’s ow will go away?

“’Kay, nii-chan…” she murmured meekly, subsiding some more.

Hi’en did not reply; the sick, fatigued boy had nodded off again, curling into his mother’s warmth. Chouko got teary once again but she did not cry anymore, trying her hardest to be brave. Her papa made a quiet, sympathetic sound in the back of his throat and pulled her into his embrace in consolation, long, adroit fingers reaching up to wipe away the wetness that stained her cheeks.

“…Papa, down,” Chouko muttered after being coddled and comforted for a while. When Eishi took too long to respond, she repeated her request, all but starting to squirm and wiggle in his arms. “Down, down, down, down.”

Eishi exchanged another look with Rindou, and she shrugged. At last, he conceded to his slippery child’s demand and set her back down on the floor. He was prepared to stop her from dashing right for her nii-chan, but much to her parents’ surprise, she turned and toddled out of the room instead, as quickly as her short little legs could carry her. Before Eishi and Rindou’s bemusement could grow too much, the child came waddling back short moments later, dragging with her a very familiar plushie. It was a fluffy white rabbit, almost as big as her tiny self. Chouko came to a stop before her male parent and performed a ritual that the entire family knew very well by now.

“Ow, go ‘way. Ow ow, go ‘way, ow ow go ‘way,” she petted the bunny’s head as she chanted determinedly, before she finally presented the soft toy to her papa, tugging at his pant leg, expression earnest and hopeful. “Nii-chan, give?”

“…You want to give Bunney to your nii-chan?” he asked, just to make sure. It was her precious, most favorite possession, and one which she always demanded to have with her during naps and bedtimes.

She nodded eagerly. “Give, Chouko give!”

Eishi’s gaze was soft as he took her beloved bedtime companion from her. He petted the top of her head. “I understand. Stay here.”

Chouko obediently hovered by the doorway and watched solemnly as Eishi entered the room and towards his wife and son. Rindou’s eyes were fond and warm too, as she accepted the offering from him and made a big show out of tucking her daughter’s beloved toy beside Hi’en. The doll would watch over nii-chan in her place.

“I’ll take Chou to work with me today, so you can take care of En,” Eishi spoke quietly to his mate.

Rindou lifted her brow. “Are you sure?”

He nodded. “We’re only doing stock inventory today – I’ll keep her safely entertained. We should be home before dinner.”

“M’kay, then.”

He leaned down and brushed a kiss over her cheek, his hand briefly drifting over his son’s tousled red hair at the same time. “Text if you need anything,” he murmured before pulling away.

“Will do~”

“Papa, we go?”

Chouko stared at her father with huge, curious eyes as he carried her from the nursery to the living room.

The little toddler had just been changed from her indoor clothes to her going out clothes, plus another two extra layers over her leggings and long sleeved shirt to keep her snug and warm. It was in the middle of winter and the last thing they needed was for her to catch a cold, too. Her hair had also been neatly combed and a pretty butterfly bow clipped neatly at the back of her head, keeping her fluffy white locks from getting in her face.

Eishi continued into the kitchen and set her down on the island counter, and she thumped the back of her heels idly against the vertical surface as she swung her stockinged legs, a pastel lavender creation with cute little black kittens crawling all over it.

Chouko watched her papa as he moved purposefully around the kitchen, pulling out her milk formula from the cupboard and setting aside a portion for lunch later. He also took out an apple from the fridge, washed it thoroughly and proceeded to cut it up quickly for her snack. He handed one slice to her and packed the rest away into a small Tupperware.

Chouko took the offering and chomped at the crunchy fruit with gusto.

“Yes. You’re coming with papa today, okay?”

“Nii-chan?” she asked between bites, concerned. She was still a bit forlorn, and her papa reached over and rubbed the top of her head comfortingly.

“Mommy will look after nii-chan,” he told her softly. “Nii-chan will be fine. Don’t worry.”

The bag was quickly filled with the other essentials; her sippy cup, extra diapers, wet wipes, baby powder, some toys, plus a few more odds and ends. She was already eating solid foods, starting to wean off of milk these days, and they were also just starting to potty train her, but she wasn’t fully there yet. Eishi reached over to lift Chouko into his arms, transferring her from the tabletop to the ground. He helped her into her winter wear, a puffy white monstrosity that turned her into a living marshmallow, before shrugging into his own coat. Then he slung the bag over his shoulder, picked Chouko up again, and they stopped briefly by Hi’en’s bedroom on their way out.

“Say goodbye to mommy and nii-chan,” he coaxed her.

“Mommy, bai bai,” the toddler obediently recited. Her voice was quiet as she thoughtfully waved to her mother and brother, the latter still asleep. “Nii-chan, bai bai.”

Rindou looked up from the bed, where she had a laptop perched on her lap, in the middle of replying to some fanmail while keeping her sleeping son company. Thanks to the medication and the rest, he was already starting to breathe better, and his coloring was slowly returning to normal. She smiled and waved, wiggling her fingers at her littlest baby.

“Bye bye, kawaii~! Have lotsa fun for mama and nii-chan, ‘kay?”

The baby nodded, and Eishi locked eyes with his wife.

“Then, we’re going now.”

Grinning, Rindou waggled her fingers at him too, her babies’ daddy.

“Itterasshai, drive safe~”

Bringing Chouko along with him turned out to be the right decision to make. The moment Eishi strapped his daughter into the child’s car seat and started to drive, her mood improved. It had always been that way ever since when she had only been a little baby. Car rides soothed her, and there were times when she was crying nonstop as a very young infant and they were at their wits’ end until they accidentally discovered that she would quiet down and nod off quickly whenever they put her in a moving vehicle. At the beginning, there were even some evenings where the whole family would just climb into the car and drive aimlessly around the neighborhood in circles until the kids fell asleep.

As such, Eishi wasn’t too surprised when Chouko was soon thoroughly distracted and back to her happy, curious self again, babbling to her papa beside her in a language that only she could understand and gazing out the window with wonder as they meandered through the streets of downtown Tokyo. It was nearing Christmas, and some of the main roads along the major shopping districts were decorated by enchanting and colorful fairy lights strung just about everywhere, much to the laughing delight of his little butterfly child.

By the time they arrived at the restaurant and parked, Chouko was all bright eyed and in a good mood. She had always been a happy–go-lucky baby, so her father was glad to see that she was cheerful again.

“Papa, where go?” the white haired toddler asked her male parent as he released her from the child seat and lifted her out of the car. She automatically hooked an arm around his neck to steady herself, and he propped her against his hip, sitting her bottom on his forearm so that she would not end up sliding down. He was already shouldering the bag with all the things for her, and he nudged the car door close before locking the vehicle.

“We’re going to the restaurant today,” he told her patiently, as they started to walk down the street and towards the building at the end. She gazed at him curiously, at least until a stiff, icy head wind kicked up, blowing hard enough that she made a startled sound and hid her stinging face in her father’s neck, shivering at the chill. The snow had not arrived in Tokyo yet this year and it was never a certainty if it ever would, but it was still really cold and wet around this time in December. Eishi reached up and flipped Chouko’s hood up over her head, his large, lean hand curling over the back of her skull, keeping the hood in place to protect his child from the elements. This one wasn’t as averse to winter as her mother was, but she did not enjoy being uncomfortably cold, either.

He walked them quickly to the restaurant, and it was only after they had ducked into the cozy warmth of the establishment that he finally let Chouko down. His little marshmallow daughter still had her hood up and she tottered in an unsteady circle trying to figure out where she was. Eishi’s lips twitched as he watched her orientate herself.

“Come, Chou.” He stretched out a hand towards her and she took it trustingly. He walked slowly with her deeper into the restaurant. They were closed today to deal with housekeeping matters, which was why it was possible to bring Chouko along. Otherwise, the intense heat of the kitchen and the incredibly fast paced environment during crunch time was hardly the safest and most conducive place for a very young child to be in, and her father tended to get so immersed when he was working to come up with the exquisite culinary creations that he was so well known for that he would have been hard-pressed to keep track of his offspring at the same time.

The doors to the kitchen swung open, and out ambled his assistant who had obviously just heard them enter the building. The younger man did a quick double take when he saw Eishi’s little companion. The hint of fluffy white hair and the bright lavender eyes were dead giveaways as to the little cotton puff’s parentage.

“Oh, hey Boss. I didn’t know that it was Bring-Your-Child-To-Work-Day today,” he drawled, rocking up closer to study his head chef’s youngest child. He squatted down before the tiny little thing, who was staring back at him with open curiosity. The fact that her papa was beside her probably contributed to her lack of fear before a complete stranger.

“Hello, hello,” he greeted in a sing songy kansai-ben. “So yer my Boss’s precious ‘lil princess, huh? What’s yer name, hime-chan?”

The child tilted her head, and her hood fell off at the movement, revealing a really adorable little squirt hidden underneath. She also lifted her head to look at her papa, a bit uncertain.

“Tell him your name,” her father encouraged her gently, nothing at all like the utter demon that he was in the kitchen, continuously demanding perfection out of his staff, selfishly squeezing out every drop of their talent for the sake of accentuating his cooking.

“…Chouko is Chouko…” she blurted out, shyly. Cute. It was hard to believe that his uptight ice king of a boss could physically produce such a precocious offspring.

“Hi there, Chouko-hime. I’m yer pop’s head lackey, Izumi-kun. D’ya think I’m handsome?” He lazily struck a pose, complete with peace sign.

Eishi wanted to sigh in consternation at Izumi’s antics. Why were good assistants so hard to find?

His previous sous chef had tendered his resignation a few months ago to migrate to another country to start up a restaurant as had always been his dream, and Eishi had let him go with his blessings. The problem thereafter was finding a replacement that was on par or at least not too far off in skillset, but much to his dismay, that sort of talent had been as hard to find as trying to locate a needle in a haystack, especially when taking his demanding expectations into consideration.

A few weeks ago, Kenjiru Izumi sauntered into Chateau seeking a job interview. The man had been utterly ridiculous too, citing his only prior job experience as a takoyaki chef and that he had quit his position because he wanted a change of pace and that he had lost respect for his ex-boss because ‘his balls were even smaller than the ones I’m used to flipping.’

Eishi had been very much ready to write the punk off as a joke entry…only that it quickly turned out that he was not…and so here they were now. Not a day went by without Eishi questioning himself if he had made a mistake signing the mouthy and opinionated guy on as his sous chef, but truth to be told, as outrageously eccentric as Izumi was at times, his ability in the kitchen was top-notched and even more refined than his predecessor…which left Eishi trying to figure out exactly what sort of takoyaki restaurant it was that the other man had honed his skills in.

Chouko continued to stare at this strange golden haired man with the squinty eyes and the wide fox smile, visibly bewildered.

“Please don’t harass my two year old daughter,” Eishi muttered with exasperation. “If you make her cry, you’ll be responsible for getting her to stop as well, Izumi.”

The younger man huffed with amusement. “Hime-chan, you won’t cry, right? We’re gonna be good friends. I’ll carve you a carrot butterfly if you say ‘Izumi-kun is very handsome.’”

“…And don’t teach my two year old daughter to say nonsense, thank you very much.”

#Food Wars: Shokugeki no Souma #Shokugeki no Soma #Tsukasa Eishi #Kobayashi Rindou #eirin #EiRin: Peerless AU #my fics #freestyle

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spnsisimagines · 7 years

Text

Killed a Monster

Warnings: Some blood? A death? Characters: Sam & Dean Winchester, Adam Milligan, Gordon Walker, Sister Winchester Reader Summary: Adam and the reader get kidnapped by Gordon Reader’s Age: Younger than Adam? It could technically work for any age tho? Word Count: 1723

Y/N: Your Name

A/N: LOOK AT THIS I POSTED A THING AND IT’S A REQUEST. I’m not really sure how I like this one tho I wanted it to be more Adam x reader fluff but it turned out to be more Sam x reader fluff? Which is still good but yeah. Enjoy!

Adam and you have been getting pretty close throughout the few months that he's been around. You were wary of him at first, but as the two of you got closer, you realized you didn't have just two older brothers--now you have three.

One morning you woke up in the motel room a little cold. You then notice that your heat source, also known as Sam, was gone. Dean's gone as well. It's only you and Adam at the moment.

You rolled over as a small groan escaped your lips. Adam turned his head slightly. You two made eye contact for a second before Adam turned his attention back to his laptop. You lifted your head and looked down the length of your bed to see if your other brothers were there, you saw no one. It was just you and Adam.

"Where did Sam and Dean go?" you asked, sitting up and rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

"To get some breakfast," Adam replied, his eyes glued to his laptop.

"Right..." you mumbled just above a whisper. "I'm gonna hop in the shower," you told him, he gave you a slight nod and you headed to the bathroom.

After your shower, you stayed in the bathroom to get dressed and make yourself look ready for the day. You were in the middle of brushing your hair when you heard a loud crash and grunting that followed it. You placed your brush down and looked around the bathroom in search of your gun, that is until you remembered you left it by your bed. Your eyes scanned the bathroom in search of a weapon until finally, they landed on your dirty jeans. You knelt down by them and started searching through your pockets in hopes you would find a knife, but alas, nothing. You stood back up once again, this time you noticed a first aid kit mounted to the wall. You opened it up and started rummaging through it. Finally, your hands grabbed onto a small pair of medical scissors. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing.

You crept over to the door and slowly opened it. Your eyes scanned through the small crack the door made. You opened it a little more, inching your way through. You gripped the medical scissors tight. You scanned the room, a window was broken, the door was busted, and the room was a complete mess.

You stepped out of the bathroom, looking for any signs. You glanced behind you, but when you turned back around the one and only, Gordon was standing in front of you. You took a quick breath and in one swift motion you jerked your arm up and tried impaling him with the scissors. He blocked it and countered with one fast punch to the face, knocking you out instantly.

You slowly opened your eyes, taking a deep breath as you lifted your head. Your vision was blurry, but you were able to make out a figure sitting in front of you. You tilted your head slightly and began blinking rapidly in hopes it would get rid of the blurriness.

Your vision cleared and the figure in front of you was Adam, he was unconscious. You closed your eyes and lowered your head slightly, taking a deep breath as the pain started setting in.

Trying to ignore the pain, you started looking around the room, it was an old barn. Looking to your left you saw a table covered in weapons and torture tools. You clenched your jaw, not looking forward to what will come. You turned your head to the right and saw Gordon sitting on a few haystacks, he was watching you closely.

With a small sigh, you lowered your head again.

"We're waiting for your brother to wake up," Gordon spoke, he cut off a slice of an apple and plopped it in his mouth.

"What do you want?" your voice was barely there.

"I want a lot of things. I want every monster in the entire world to be dead, that includes your brother Sam,"

"Sam's not a monster," you replied.

"Oh, yes he is," Gordon hopped off the haystack and walked over to you. He knelt down in front of you, "Your brother may look human, but deep down, he's a monster. One of the things we hunt. I think even you've noticed," Gordon stood up and sauntered back over to the haystacks.

"Noticed what?"

Gordon squinted his eyes just barely, "You mean to tell me that not once have you felt... afraid of him? That he wasn't your brother, but... something else?"

"Never," you spat.

Gordon nodded. "That doesn't matter right now, though. Sam and Dean will be here soon enough," Gordon tossed his apple aside. "While we wait, why don't we... have a little fun?"

"Why torture us?" you looked over to the tools.

"Because... I want Sam to know the kind of monster he is and when he sees his precious little siblings all bloodied up, he'll turn into one,"

You scoffed, "If someone hurt your sibling, wouldn't you turn into a monster?"

Gordon placed his hands on his knees, getting down to be eye-level with you, "I killed my sister,"

That shut you up. There was no negotiating with this guy. You know Sam and Dean will be here soon, but it may not be soon enough. You looked over and saw Adam was awake, you don't know how long he's been awake, but he seemed to understand what was happening.

Gordon moved over to you, placing a knife right against your cheek. You stared him deep in the eyes, not showing any fear. Gordon began to press the tip of the knife into your cheek, he very slowly moved the knife downwards, cutting. You clenched your jaw but kept your eye contact. Your lips twitched at the pain.

"Stop," Adam demanded, not wanting to see you get hurt.

Gordon stopped and flicked the knife off of your cheek. You released the breath you were holding.

"Y'know, you surprised me," Gordon pointed the knife at Adam. "I mean, another Winchester? How many does the world need? I think of it this way, the more Winchester's on this Earth, the more likely it'll end," Gordon turned away from Adam and set the knife down. With one swift motion, Gordon swung around and punched Adam on his cheekbone.

Adam yelped in pain, he shook his head, as to get rid of the pain, and looked back at Gordon. "You're strong, but I still think you're the weakest of all the Winchesters,"

"Do you really think this trap will work? Our brothers are smarter than you think, they won't just walk right into a trap," Adam spoke.

"Are you sure about that?" Gordon motioned towards Sam and Dean who were walking towards you guys, guns pointed at Gordon.

"Let them go," Sam's voice was firm.

"I don't think I'm gonna do that, Sammy," Gordon sauntered over to the torture tools. "I will admit, I underestimated you two, I thought it would've taken you at least another hour to find us,"

"What do you want?" Sam asked, glancing at you and noticing your cut cheek.

"Well, I would like you two to put your guns down. We're just having a nice chat, that's all," Gordon turned around and faced the two. Sam and Dean looked at each other before slowly lowering their guns. "Thank you,"

You slowly started wiggling out of your restraints as Gordon continued talking. "Sam... Do you know why you're here?"

Sam's eyebrows furrowed together, "Because you took my siblings,"

"Yes... And you want revenge. Revenge for what I've put you and your family through,"

"I think I would know if I wanted revenge," Sam scoffed.

"Oh, but you do. You may not notice it, but it's there. You know how I know?" Gordon paused, "Because you and me ain't that different. I mean, we both want to save people, we want to cure the world of this plague, but... If I were you... If I was the monster that is standing right in front of me, I would've ended it a long, long time ago. That's the difference between us. You want to believe you're okay and that you'll get this happy ending, but you know deep down that's not true."

You felt the rope that held your hands unravel and fall to the ground. You looked around for a weapon. Gordon turned back towards the tools and reached for a machete, that's when a loud bang was heard. Your eyes slammed shut, thinking that Gordon had shot you somehow. You opened one eye and saw Gordon laying lifeless on the ground. Your head snapped towards your two oldest brothers and saw Sam pointing his gun in the direction where Gordon once stood.

Sam slowly lowered his gun as Dean rushed to untie Adam, seeing as you were already free. You stood up, stepping over Gordon's body, and walked towards Sam.

You gave him a friendly smile and opened your mouth, but before you could say anything, Dean and Adam walked over to you two. Dean pulled out a rag from his pocket and placed it on your cheek. Dean then placed one hand on your shoulder and the other hand on Adam's. "Well, let's get the hell out of here,"

You arrived back at the motel. You and your brothers were packing up.

"So, Adam," Dean broke the silence. Adam looked over at Dean, "How was your first time getting kidnapped?"

"Oh, yeah, it was great. I had a blast," sarcasm dripped from his voice. You smiled at his words while you zipped up your bag.

"Sam already outside?" you asked as you threw your bag over your shoulder after noticing Sam's absence in the room.

"Think so," Adam replied. You patted Adam's shoulder lightly before heading outside to find Sam leaning against the hood of Baby. You opened the trunk and tossed your bag in before heading over to Sam.

"You alright?" you asked, hopping onto the hood next to Sam.

"I think I should be the one asking you that," he glanced at you.

"I didn't kill a man today,"

"I didn't either," Sam looked at you. You gave him a confused look, "I killed a monster."

Requested by @deanandsamwinchester21 : “Hey can you please do one where you and Adam are kidnapped by Gordon and Sam and Dean have to come and save you both? Maybe fluff as well, doesn't have to be though. Thanks! Btw your writing is amazing!”

I hope y’all like this one! I’m open for tips on improving!

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