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melloneah · 4 months

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How would a female near, mello, and Matt be in your opinion? Would it affect the story?

oh. my. GOD. you have opened the pandoras box rn.

so tbh ive never thought about this before u sent me this ask but god do I have some stuff to say now that I’ve given it a little tinker

obviously this will be deeply rooted in my own belief system and personal experiences bc it’s undeniably connected to gender stereotypes and nature vs nurture

Prepare for a literal essay rn. Proper punctuation and capitalisation n shit.

To start, I wanna mention that my belief is that men and women don’t differ that much in behaviours and personalities inherently or biologically, but they’re raised based on stereotypes and assumptions which forms them into individuals that are either more masculine or feminine (behaviourally, so stereotypically). This is not including the slight biological differences that testosterone vs estrogen might cause, as i do not have much knowledge on the specifics (sorry I hate biology…) and obviously some people can be born with an innate tendency towards stereotypical masculinity or femininity in their personality.

This will require me to make some assumptions regarding how old Matt, Mello and Near were when they joined Wammy’s house. Also, obviously, this analysis will be based on if they were raised as cisgendered females; this is really important to analyse how their personalities could differ based on their experiences.

So let’s assume: they all joined Wammy’s House at a young enough age to have no real recollection of their biological families. This means that their guardians’ parenting styles had no real effect on their personalities (at least no effect on their typically gendered characteristics). This also makes it easier as we have a little bit of insight into what Wammy’s could be like in the context of parenting, while we have none on the biological families. This will still pretty much be a guessing game, but at least the guesses will be somewhat calculated.

Now we could be optimistic and claim that Wammy’s is “above” gender stereotypes and the (often unconscious) differences in raising girls vs boys. As much as I would love to believe this, I feel like the story being set in the early 2000s already negates it. I am a strong believer of the fact that society and your general environment greatly affect you, no matter how hard you try to break free of the mould. There will always be internalised beliefs and tendencies for certain actions caused by your environment that are just beyond your control, and they are often unconscious. Trying to change ones biases is hard work and a long process demanding self awareness and dedication.

Roger and Wammy are old men; as much as I’d love them to be allies💅 that don’t let gender affect their decisions and behaviour towards people, I do think the bias is inherently there to some extent. They wouldn’t decide against a girl being L’s successor simply because she’s a girl - they’re above that - but I do think as girls, Matt, Mello and Near could have a tougher time at the orphanage.

Ok moving on to specifically how/why it could affect their personalities. (god this is getting so long already I am so sorry)

Mello

We all know Mello has a super fiery personality and is filled with determination, so this one is the most fun to think about for me!!!

Most importantly, her looks would be very feminine. She’d love fashion, love skirts and dresses, and be stereotypical in that context, but would be VERY PROUD OF IT!!! EXCEPT. Her personality is canonically extremely contrasting to her looks/style. She’d get in so much more trouble at Wammy’s for being loud and bullying others, because it would just be more shocking for the teachers to see a girl act that way rather than a boy. There would be no concessions. No getting out of any smallest bit of trouble just because “boys will be boys”. But this wouldn’t make her timid; it was bound to fuel her anger even more.

It was infuriating to her when people saw a "girl in a leather mini skirt", and on account of that she wasn’t taken seriously in the pursuit of her goals. But when she acted up, all eyes were on her, and the punishment was always dire.

This also brings me to the fact that getting into the mafia was NEARLY IMPOSSIBLE. Nobody took this teenaged girl in stilettos seriously, so she had to improvise. Mello as a girl would have had to be far more ruthless in her journey trying to join the mob. Crueler. Angrier. Scare people by drastic means and desperate measures into finally taking her seriously and seeing her as worthy of respect. I think female Mello would have had much more blood on her hands, and would have been really scary...

I also think Mello would be a radical feminist. She would eventually HATE MEN as a whole, as she’d get objectified SO MUCH in the mafia. She’d just be completely done with their shit, so much so, that she would just channel her anger at an entire gender bc she was just fed. up. (and probably a little traumatised)

Her most hated phrase is “that’s not ladylike”. She values her femininity very much, and hates when people use empty stereotypes to belittle it. She can scream her head off at Near and still be a Lady!

Near

Studies show that autism is only diagnosed at a 4:1 boys to girls ratio, which means that if Near were a girl, she may not have had the access to as many accomodations. She’d still be supported in many ways, but it could be done hesitantly. Her timid behaviour and hobbies could be seen as “feminine”, meaning that if she’d ask for accomodations, the necessity for them could be doubted. (I know Wammy’s probably doesn’t officially diagnose, but Near imo desperately needs accomodations to simply function) (also, this section is very much so an “if” in my mind; it could happen depending on the level of unconscious prejudice in the orphanage, but it’s extremely dependent on the staff).

I don’t think Near being a cis girl would really affect the plot, though. I genuinely believe Near’s character transcends gender a bit, maybe he’s immune to the influence of different methods of parenting? He’s just himself and doesn’t care if people tell him he should “go out and play” or “just be a boy”.

Matt

We know the least about Matt’s canon personality, so this will mostly be based on what I believe him to be like. We know that he doesn’t care about much, and he likes games.

I think Matt is the most “boyish” of our Wammy boys, so in my mind, as a girl, she’d be quite the tomboy. Her personality wouldn’t be that much different. She could have been force fed more “girly hobbies” rather than gaming (not sure if he picked up gaming himself, or if someone introduced him to it). If he was in fact introduced by someone to video games, I believe that as a girl, she could have been shown different hobbies that are more traditionally feminine instead. Or maybe just a different game, like the sims? (the sims 1 came out in 2000 so could happen) then she could branch out into different games herself.

IT is also a very masculine interest in people’s eyes, so when she found an interest for it, she may have been slightly discouraged by teachers, but that didn't stop her, and as soon as she started being decent at it, the teachers respected it.

I do feel like as a girl, the one thing that would definitely change in Matt is his attitude. She would simply care more, as she’d spent her childhood fighting wearing skirts, fighting for her hobbies and trying to run from stereotypical femininity.

She wouldn't be particularly furious at the world, more irritated, so she wouldn't chew someone out for telling her to wear a dress for an assembly - she'd just flat out refuse wearing it and ignore anyone who'd try to persuade her.

She didn't understand why everyone is so insistent on a girl having long hair or wearing make up, and it made her feel like she couldn't be herself. She always wanted to feel like a girl, but kept feeling like it was against the rules without looking feminine. She spent a long time feeling out of place, alienated and desperately wanting to be part of a community.

Once she got comfortable with herself, I feel like she'd constantly pick up typically boyish hobbies to piss people off. (But she would genuinely enjoy them too of course!!) (and be entertained by people getting mad at stupid and pointless shit like a girl being into cars)

ok jesus i spent hours on this. it’s 1400 words. i dont know how i managed this. i struggle to write 500 word essays for uni……i am normal about death note i am normal about death note i am normal about death note 🙏 ummmm enjoy? and please let me know what you guys think!!!

#asks #mello #near #matt death note #death note #mihael keehl #nate river #matt #mail jeevas #wammy boys #wammy’s house

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moesartblog · 3 months

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There's this phenomenon that i cant quite put into words, but I feel the vibes of it sometimes

where like for media representation, people seem to be under the assumption that certain stereotypes need to be combatted by introducing an element that is less radical and subversive than the stereotype theyre trying to avoid (and then, that often becomes the new stereotype but they dont want to acknowledge that.)

Like I know I'm biased and speaking from my own perspective, but I think of things like a more masculine female character being introduced, BUT the twist is she's straight! absolutely hetero! because there's so many masculine lesbian characters that it'd be cliche to have her be queer!

Or like "too many large, or buff female characters are butch/masc, so we've designed all our buff female characters to absolutely be strong but also hyper feminine! how novel!" Let's ignore the fact that of any buff/large female character you see in media, most of the time theyre already feminine, but they have masculinity projected onto them against their will, usually as a form of ridicule. that is not somehow a bunch of masc/butch representation.

or like this camp gay guy loves flirting and wearing dresses but dont worry we know he's still a guy's guy because he has an obsession with football, or some shit

like these things arent ever really treated with nuance, and often just reads like a creator is embarrassed of being too queer or something (this can apply to a bunch of things besides queerness but I'm just focusing on it bc it's in my wheelhouse)

#just rambling #tbd #idk if this made any sense

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seasurfacefullofclouds1 · 2 years

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this mv reminded me of walls videos!! i love bigger than me (pretty landscapes iceland is so beautiful) and out of my system's vid is like everything it should be can't imagine a better one but i loved that this one was story driven like the others. what is your favorite music video so far sea?

The narrative video is Louis’ specialty, always beautifully thought out and cinematically gorgeous.

The Silver Tongues music video especially gives dignity and humanity to a difficult subject. Remember this tweet?

The video definitely gives pause to lyrics that fans might interpret simply as about Louis’ childhood, hanging out with his friends, making amateur music / bad jokes / working class social philosophy, drinking and racing in the streets.

The music video’s themes of darkness, isolation, loneliness, and being trapped in a class system where the poor are homogenized— living not only in similar house but identical rooms, where people’s individuality and feelings are unnoticed behind identical curtains and mass-produced gewgaws and collectibles— gives meaning to weight to the need to “get high on the amber waves” (drink alcohol), “going deep for the ones who do the same… settle in for another heavy one.”

Louis’ song is a form of solidarity. Louis and the people in the video are saying to each other, “I know nobody understands/ me like you do.” Not that no one understands the situation, but no one understands the inner turmoil— the private feelings.

The working class youth can sometimes break out of the system, but only through extraordinary luck— Louis by entering a singing contest, his friends through world-class talents in sports like boxing (David Allen) or football. They must win a lottery against terrible odds, and even then, they are judged more harshly for not being the “right sort of person”: they smoke, they drink, they dress a certain way, they hang out in pubs, they drive certain cars. And their accents immediately give them away as not posh, from the wrong part of the country.

Even now, the UK media still treats some celebrities from the working class (like Louis) with a classist condescension. Louis is often assumed not to be capable of writing his own songs, not intelligent enough to have led One Direction, not knowledgeable enough to be aware of pop music history or to choose his inspirations. The biases are never stated outright, but often implied. It makes me laugh that Louis says he doesn’t include Easter eggs in his lyrics, because there are plenty of statements in his narrative music videos.

In the FitF era, I’ve loved every single music video. The unifying factor for me is how utterly beautiful, elegant, intelligent the videos are. Not a shot is wasted. The filmmakers take advantage to edit every second of the videos precisely and beautifully; the lighting and colors are exquisite. They are a revelation to watch.

#silver tongues mv #louis tomlinson

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volkswagonblues · 4 years

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a lil guide to the Fire Nation for the ATLA fic writers out there

(aka. a no means exhaustive primer on east asia by an asian person)

This is a guide for fic writers want to write a canon-era story set in the Fire Nation, or featuring Fire Nation characters. A quick little primer on the tiny details of everyday life that you might not think about, but certainly stuff that would make me, an asian person, wince if I were to encounter it. BRUSHES, not quills. CHOPSTICKS, not forks.

(note #1: this was partly inspired by a chat with @elilim)

(note: #2: I originally intended it for zukka fic writers before realizing that other writers might find it useful. so apologies for a slight Zuko-bias for that reason)

(note #3: this is all stuff i was thinking about when writing firebender’s guide, in case anyone was wondering)

1. CLOTHING

Okay, I think the most straightforward way to describe what everyone’s wearing most of the time is “tunic”. They’re all just...tunics of different colours and varieties. Later when Zuko’s the Fire Lord he wears robes. The show provides a better visual guide than I could, here are a few notes to keep in mind:

a) Japanese people wear their collars LEFT crossed over RIGHT

I don’t think this would come up in writing as much as it would in art, but it’s considered bad luck to do it the wrong way because that’s only for dead people. Let my boy Zuko demonstrate:

b) There are no buttons

This is picky, but Wikipedia says “Functional buttons with buttonholes for fastening or closing clothes appeared first in Germany in the 13th century.[6] They soon became widespread with the rise of snug-fitting garments in 13th- and 14th-century Europe.” I kinda believe it. If you look closely, characters’ clothes are always tied together or wrapped in some way with a belt. If there are fasteners, they’re braided frog closures that go into a little loop, like the qipao-style dresses women wear in Ba Sing Se, or Zuko’s casual prince’s clothes in the topmost image. Anyways, I don’t think Zuko or Azula or the Gaang would technically button or unbutton anything when they’re changing clothes. Clothing is designed to be tied, not buttoned.

[so much more under cut]

c) This isn’t a real rule, but there’s something called koromogae, or the seasonal changing of clothing in Japan.

This is something I learned when I was writing firebender’s guide, and I just liked the fun detail about there being a strict calendar for when to wear something. I liked the idea of someone like Zuko, who actually spent most of his formative years outside of the Fire Nation, coming home and just suffering mutely through the summer heat because upper class etiquette says no changing into cooler clothes until August 15.

From My Asakusa:

And this website:

Generally, people change from thick, heavy, dark-coloured clothes for winter to thin, lighter, bright-coloured clothes for spring and summer. In traditional Japanese culture, particularly in formal settings such as tea ceremony, it is important to acknowledge the changes of seasons—in such circumstances, not only the patterns and colours of the kimono that are worn but also the utensils and furniture that are used are required to change. By changing their clothing, people notice and appreciate the change of seasons. [Japan Foundation]

Here are some visual guides from the official creators for clothes: (notice how it’s pretty much always left over right)

2.FOOD AND EATING

a) Traditional cuisine

It seems like the most common foods in canon are Fire Flakes and meat, to the point where poor Aang had to eat lettuce out of the garbage at some point.

HOWEVER, the Fire Nation seems to basically a big subtropical archipelago, so I would guess that seafood and rice are common. If you want to write about characters eating, a. quick google for “traditional japanese cuisine” would help you come up with a menu really quickly.

Wikipedia says:

The traditional cuisine of Japan, washoku (和食), lit. "Japanese eating" (or kappō (ja:割烹)), is based on rice with miso soup and other dishes; there is an emphasis on seasonal ingredients. Side dishes often consist of fish, pickled vegetables, and vegetables cooked in broth. Seafood is common, often grilled, but also served raw as sashimi or in sushi.

But before we get too serious, at one point the Gaang eats a “smoked sea slug” (Sokka’s Master)

Oh ATLA, never stop being you.

b) Utensils

One thing to keep in mind is chopstick etiquette. Someone like Zuko or Toph, for instance, would have completely internalized all of these.

Another thing is that there are no glasses. Cups and bowls are made of ceramic or clay. Let the Gaang show you:

And another note: characters won’t eat “bread” in the European sense, ie. a baked lump of dough. Steamed buns, yes. Fried pancakes made from batter, yes. Flatbreads, okay I’ll give it a pass. Rice or noodles should be the most common carbs of choice.

3.ETIQUETTE

“In the homeland, we bow to our elders” - angry schoolmistress in The Headband.

Japan Guide has a list of etiquette rules for visiting Japan, which is interesting but not too necessary to read. In general, based on what The Headband tells us, Fire Nation characters would have been raised with a strong nationalist curriculum that values communal contribution over individualist expression. Even someone like Zuko, who openly rebels against that, probably couldn’t help but be affected by it. In general the Fire Nation seems to have an East Asian-ish set of values. It’s patriarchal, all the positions of authority are filled by men; there seems to be a strong emphasis on patriotism; there’s a sense of diffidence and respect towards one’s elders; and finally, there’s an emphasis on “knowing” one’s place in society and fitting into what’s expected of oneself.

I don’t really know how to describe it, but in China and Japan I sometimes feel like there’s rules for everything, and even people born and raised there acknowledge it could be stifling at times. You could go down a rabbit hole researching points of etiquette (for instance, rules on who has to sit where in group dinners...), but to me the most important thing is acknowledging that Fire Nation has a rigid system of etiquette, and also, they’re an imperialist power who’s pretty prejudiced against foreigners. Poor Aang/Kuzon gets called “mannerless colony slob” just for being slow on the bowing action (!!!)

(in firebender’s guide I had a lot of fun imagining the stupid microaggressions Ambassador Sokka has to face in the Fire Nation, so obviously I’m just biased)

4.WRITING AND DESKS

Characters would probably write on paper, with a calligraphy brush. Not quills or pens -- a brush. Technically, old Japanese and Chinese texts should be written top to bottom, right to left, but the show itself doesn’t do this, so I think you’re fine.

One fun thing about traditional calligraphy is that you don’t use bottled ink. You have something called an ink stone, and then you grind your ink yourself by rubbing the ink stone in a special little dish with a bit of water. In my (very few) encounters with this stuff in the calligraphy lessons of my youth, the ink stones can be plain or have beautiful designs on the side. It looks something like this:

ATLA is an East Asian-ish universe, so characters are likely to be kneeling at a table, not sitting. To demonstrate, here’s my boy Sokka doing his famous rainbow at Piandao’s:

and here’s the war chamber meeting when Zuko speaks out against a general’s plans to sacrifice some soldiers:

THERE ARE EXCEPTIONS: This is Zuko’s cute little setup when he’s writing his goodbye letter to Mai. In this case he’s writing in a chair and table. It’s possible that some furniture items, like a sitting desk and a bed in a bedframe (not a bedroll or futon) are special royal palace features. Normally in a private setting we see characters sitting on the ground or on a slightly elevated platform with a low table. Maybe Caldera is just different? Or rich people are just different: the Bei Fongs also have a sit-down dining table + chair setup.

(That little rectangular box is his ink dish!!)

5.A NOTE ON GENERAL CULTURE

It’s worth talking about a few general points of East Asian culture. I can’t claim to speak for ALL of Asia, and I don’t think I should. But I do think ATLA fic writers who want to set something in the Fire Nation should take a few moments to at least skim the wiki pages for filial piety and Nihonjinron (literally, "theories/discussions about the Japanese"). There’s a certain...vibe to...asianness... that I’m not sure I can explain without like, a doctorate degree in sociology.

It’s a bit like gender, I guess. There’s no definitive checklist to what is a woman and what is a man, and we can argue that gender is performative, that it’s a construct, but at the end of the day gender is still (tragically) real in the sense that it still shapes people and affects how we walk and talk and dress and think. Nationality is the same. Obviously, the Fire Nation is a made up place in a made up show, but out of respect to the cultures that inspired it, I do think it’s worth familiarizing yourself with some of these cultures’ codes and values.

Also, ahem, if I can direct you to war crimes in the Japan’s colonial empire. Again, worth remembering that the Fire Nation was an imperalist colonizer too.

I might do a continuation of this post and talk through my more abstract takes about Fire Nation culture - Is Zuko an example of filial piety gone right or filial piety gone wrong? Why I think Zuko’s flashbacks are like, at least part teenage melodrama bullshit (the reason is son preference), how someone like Sokka might be treated once he’s openly Water Tribe in the Fire Nation (probably with racism...), specific aspects of asian homophobia and racism, etc. We’ll see.

This is not a definitive guide. Comments and critique welcome.

If you think there’s a factual mistake, PLEASE hop in my asks and let me know. I also think there’s a huge blind spot in ATLA for South and Southeast Asian representation, so I acknowledge that I can’t speak for all Asians, and there is no such thing as a “pan-asian” identity.

If there’s something else you’re curious about, I’m not a historian or anything, but I like research. Ask me and I’ll try to answer the best I can.

And oh, one last thing, this is how I do research when I wrote firebender’s guide, in case anyone’s interested in learning more (LINK)

#Avatar The Last Airbender #zukka #atla fic #my fic #fire nation

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honeyju · 3 years

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home run; lee minho

The four times you try to ask Lee Minho to the winter formal, and the one time he asks you.

genres: fluff, friends to lovers au, high school au, sports au (baseball player minho!!)

word count: 3.8k

a/n: merry christmas!! this is a christmas collab that i’m doing with my friend alice @jjacob in which we write for each other’s ult biases! (mine is juyeon, so if you’re interested in the boyz, i recommend reading her story here, especially since our storylines are a bit connected!) i had a lot of fun learning more about minho during the writing process, and i hope this story represents him well <333

TRY ONE: KEEP IT SIMPLE.

If there’s anyone in the world who knows Lee Minho better than you do, it’s Lee Juyeon.

The two of them have been joined by the hip for as long as you can remember, and if Minho is the relentless tease, spirited and carefree, Juyeon is the gentle thinker, all sweet smiles and wise words. So that’s how you end up frantically dialing his number at nearly one in the morning, too panicked to consider the possibility of him being asleep. You wait with bated breath as the phone rings once, twice, three times before Juyeon picks up the phone, his breathy laugh greeting you instantly.

“I was waiting for this.”

Juyeon’s words cause you to let out a small noise of surprise, and his chuckle sounds in your ear, a little choppy and distant-sounding due to the poor connection, but bright nevertheless.

“What do you mean you were waiting for this?”

“Silly girl,” Juyeon says, and you can tell he’s grinning despite not being able to see him. “Don’t think I didn’t see you look at him when they announced the dance this morning.”

Your face turns red as you recall the mention of the winter formal during the school announcements and the way your head had immediately turned to Minho’s. You were certain that no one else had noticed the longing upon your face when you looked towards your close friend, but hearing Juyeon now leaves you unsure.

“Was I that obvious?” You groan, burying your face in your hands out of embarrassment.

“I wouldn’t worry that much, it wasn’t too apparent,” Juyeon assures you, and yet the spark of doubt in your mind still lingers.

“You think he knows?” You question as you run your fingers through your hair.

“That you like him? I don’t think he’d get that from just one glance.” Perhaps he’s right, for you know that Juyeon is just naturally more perceptive than others, and the things he picks up on don’t tend to be the same as what others notice.

“I hope you’re right. This isn’t how I wanted him to know,” you groan.

“Oh? So you’re planning on telling him? That’s why you called, right?” You know Juyeon’s teasing you by the tone of his voice, and you resist the temptation to whine at him.

“Help me ask Minho to the dance, Juyeon,” you plead, trying to let every ounce of your desperation show in your tone, praying that his response will be yes. There’s a pause, and you find yourself holding your breath in anticipation as you await his next words.

“Well, I can’t exactly ask him for you,” he starts, “but I’ll try to give you some advice.”

“Thank you, Juyeon,” you breathe in relief, switching the call to speaker mode so you can peel it away from your cheek.

“Don’t mention it. First things first, though . . .”

Juyeon trails off without an explanation, and you understand why a few moments later when you catch a flicker of light erupting from your phone out of the corner of your eye. When you lift it up a little higher in your hands, you see that Juyeon has turned his camera on, his face just slightly too close to the camera and his smile filling the screen. You rush to turn yours on as well, switching on a lamp so your face can be seen in the near darkness of the room. After an exchange of waves, Juyeon clears his throat, and even through the blurry quality you catch the blaze in his eyes that suggests he’s gotten idea.

“Y/N, Minho’s at your place right now, isn’t he?” Juyeon asks, and there’s something about his tone that strikes you as a bit too bold for your liking.

“Well, yeah,” you answer hesitantly, “but I think he’s asleep right now.”

“How about you just ask him whenever he’s awake?” Juyeon suggests, and you raise your eyebrows incredulously as you watch him shrug his shoulders like he’s just told you to do the easiest thing in the world.

“Are you insane?” You shriek, immediately slapping a hand over your mouth when you realize how loud you’ve gotten. Juyeon only laughs, his eyes morphing into crescents and his bunny-like smile widening. “You think I should just ask him like that, no preparations or anything?”

“Trust me, Y/N. It’s nice to make things special, but I think that Minho will appreciate your honest confession more than anything else.” Juyeon’s advice is laced with sincerity, and you don’t need to look at his face in the camera to know that he wants the best for you.

“I’m blaming you if things go wrong, Lee Juyeon,” you sigh reluctantly. “But I suppose there’s not really any other way to do it.”

“Give it a try,” he encourages. “I think he’ll like it.”

“Thanks, Juyeon. For picking up so late and for the advice,” you tell him genuinely, and he smiles.

“Anytime, Y/N.”

With that, the two of you hang up, and your head automatically drops to the table to rest in between your arms.

“Just ask him whenever he’s awake,” you mutter to yourself, “How am I supposed to do that? Oh, good morning Minho, breakfast is over there, and by the way, I was wondering if you wanted to go to the winter formal with me?”

The words sound stupid no matter how you say them, and you can’t stop yourself from the feeling of hopelessness that strikes you as you trudge back to the bed where you find Minho laying peacefully on his side. You smile, tilting your head as you watch him for a moment until he suddenly turns over so he’s lying on his back, blinking repeatedly until his eyes focus on you.

“You’re back?” His words are hoarse and followed by a yawn, which you laugh at softly.

“Sorry, Minho, did I keep you up?”

Minho says nothing and instead pats the space beside him on the bed, to which you oblige, instantly climbing in to lay next to him. He inches closer to you, resting his head next to your shoulder and quietly snuggling into your side. Trying to ignore the way your heart has sped up in response to his figure latching onto yours, you recall Juyeon’s words from before, realizing that he’s awake right now, and perhaps you have a chance.

“Minho?” Your voice comes out in a whisper, and you don’t dare to look at him out of fear for your heart.

“Hmm?” Minho’s response is sleepy, slightly muffled from your shoulder but unbelievably soft.

“Are you by any chance going with someone to the winter formal?” You ask hesitantly, squeezing your eyes shut out of embarrassment. Minho makes a small noise of disagreement, and you can feel his head shaking against your side as if in extra confirmation.

A relieved sigh falls from your lips, but your next words get stuck in your throat when you come to the realization of just how scary it is to confess. You can’t stop the swarm of worries that hit you, overcome by the question of whether he doesn’t see you as anything more than a friend, and if asking him to the dance will jeopardize your relationship with him. You know that you can’t hold your feelings in forever, though, and you think of Juyeon’s kind motivation when you say your next words.

“D’you maybe wanna go to the formal together?”

There’s a heavy silence, your question lingering in the air unanswered, and your heart sinks in your chest at the lack of response.

“Minho?” You try again quietly. Dread overtakes you as you guess that perhaps his silence is a form of his rejection, and you can’t help but wonder how you’re going to get yourself out of this one. When you turn on your side to face him, however, you find that he’s already fallen back asleep, light snores emitting from his parted mouth. A small smile creeps up your face as you unconsciously lift your hand to stroke his hair, mindlessly dragging your fingers through the silky strands. He leans into your touch, eyes still closed as he mumbles meaningless words out of fatigue and shifts so he’s closer to you.

Maybe tomorrow, you think to yourself, resting your head on the top of his and letting your eyes fall shut as sleep overtakes you.

TRY TWO: MAKE IT SPECIAL.

Your heart pounds as you tug the door open to the café, peeking inside to find the area mostly empty save for a handful of students at the far end. You thank the heavens for appearing just on time, the familiar sight instantly soothing your nerves. You set the large plastic bag you’d brought along with you on one of the tables, laughing a little as you begin to empty it of its contents one by one.

“Look at you, Y/N,” you mumble to yourself, “bringing this food and getting all dressed up for a man.”

The last item in the bag makes you smile, despite yourself, and you pull out the small box of chocolates that you had bought in the morning, setting it down to complete the collection. You marvel at the assortment of treats you’d gotten for him, shaking your head as you sit down to try and calm yourself from the slight tension of it all. Glancing up to check the time in one of the clocks hung up on the wall, you realize with jittery anticipation that he’ll be arriving soon.

Five minutes pass, and he’s nowhere to be seen.

You think nothing of it until another ten minutes pass, and you begin to wonder what’s holding him up, trying not to let the feeling of unease get to you as you assure yourself that he might just be running a bit late. Your foot begins to tap quietly against the tiled floor, an anxious habit of yours you’d never managed to quite get rid of.

Thirty minutes pass, and you pull your phone out from your side pocket, unlocking it to stare at his contact in part hesitation and part concern.

Should I call him?

You weigh out your options, wondering if you’ll sound too demanding if you call to ask if something’s wrong. However, your phone appears to solve the problem for you, the shrill sound of its ringing interrupting you from your thoughts. You jump at the sudden noise, but accept the call instantly upon seeing the caller ID.

“I was just about to call. Is everything okay?” You ask, and your eyes widen in worry at the sound of Minho panting on the other end.

“Y/N,” he breathes, “I—I’m sorry. Coach is keeping us in an extra hour, and—”

“Slow down, Minho,” you urge, “first catch your breath.”

He hums in agreement, and your face falls when you process his words, realizing the true reason he called. Although you know he’s not the one to blame, you can’t help the feeling of disappointment that creeps up inside of you as you glance down at the chocolates and favorite foods of his sitting on the table.

“You’re saying you can’t make it today, right?” The words come out softer than you mean for them to, and Minho sighs regretfully.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. You know we have that big game coming up tomorrow, and—look, if you want, I can leave practice.” His voice is gentle, apologetic, and tears sting your eyes upon hearing how willing he is to risk getting kicked from the team for you.

“No, you can’t,” you shake your head frantically. “I’m not letting you suffer the consequences of that for something this small. Go have fun, okay? We do this regularly anyways, we can just meet up next time.”

You hear a rustle on his end, followed by the voices of his teammates calling out for him. “Are you sure?” Minho asks, a twinge of concern in his tone.

“I’m sure! Now go, they’re calling you,” you encourage, trying to sound as cheerful as you can to convince him.

It works, to your relief, for Minho’s next words are bright. “You’re a lifesaver, Y/N,” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice before he ends the call.

There’s a moment of silence as you look at the goodies once more, before your eyes land upon the box of chocolates, and you pry the lid open to find them already beginning to melt. Reminding yourself that you won’t be seeing him today anyways, and that there’s no use wasting a perfectly good box of chocolates, you pop one of them in your mouth. The corners of your lips tug upwards at the savory taste, and you let out a deep exhale as you remember that you’re not out of ideas just yet.

“More for me, I guess,” you mutter, trying not to lose hope. “On to try three!”

TRY THREE: GO ALL OUT.

The sign leaning against your legs serves as a constant reminder of just how whipped you are for Minho, and at times it amazes even you just how far you’re willing to go for him. Making sure no one else can see it, you take yet another glimpse at the cardboard sign you spent the entirety of last night making, lifting it enough for it to rest in your lap. You stare at the bolded words drawn on the surface in capital letters, surrounded by small designs and stickers in a variety of colors.

I might strike out asking, but will you go to the winter formal with me?

An embarrassed laugh bubbles out of your throat and you find yourself yet again bewildered by the sheer cheesiness of it all. You can’t bring yourself to raise it, however, telling yourself that tensions are too high right now and that you’ll show him later when there’s no potential of the sign distracting him. You set it back down at your feet, and you look past the sea of people to search for Minho in the group of players on the baseball field.

Murmurs of “the score is so close,” “we need a home run to win,” and “we’re gonna lose, aren’t we?” echo around you in the stadium, and your mind immediately flashes back to Minho’s words from before the game.

“If I win, you have to do any one thing that I want for me.”

You had teased him and asked him what he’d do if he lost, but Minho had only shrugged nonchalantly, telling you that he’d do anything you wanted if that was the case.

Looking down at him on the field now, you watch as he readies himself at the batter’s box, and despite the near-impossible chance of him securing the team a win, something about the blaze in his eyes tells you that he won’t be losing today. Just before the pitcher can pitch the ball, he looks up towards the stands, his eyes scanning the crowd to find you. When he does, he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t mouth anything, but somehow through his gaze, you already know exactly what he wants to tell you: he’s going to win.

The pitcher steps forward, raising his leg and leaning back with the ball before he throws it with a single fluid motion. The ball spirals forward towards Minho with immense speed, and you watch breathlessly as he positions himself to hit it. He swings the bat, and a gasp leaves your mouth.

What happens next is a blur, and by the time you can process what’s happening, Minho has already tossed the bat and reached base one. You squint your eyes as you search for the ball, managing to glimpse it right before it falls outside the gates of the field. You cover your mouth with your hands in shock as you look back down to Minho just in time to watch his foot touch the second base.

“He hit it all the way out!” Shouts and exclamations of surprise reverberate around you as the audience rises to its feet eagerly.

Base three.

All attempts to stop him are useless at this point, you realize, for Minho’s already making his way to the final base, his features hardened by determination. Just before he reaches the end, Minho finds you in the crowd once more. His gaze remains locked on yours as he flashes you a small grin, his foot touching the home plate at the exact same moment.

Home run.

For an instant, there’s nothing but dead silence, and then the entire audience erupts into applause, the noise turning almost unbearable as it rings in your ears. The edge of the sign scratches against your leg as you stand up, and you’re reminded of the dance as you impulsively grab hold of the cardboard, getting on top of your seat as you prepare to raise it. When you inspect the field one last time to ensure Minho is still there, you find that he’s lost in the arms of his teammates, all shouting excitedly and clapping him on the back among cheers.

Your shoulders slump as you realize that there’s no way he’ll be able to see your sign with all the ruckus, and you dejectedly get down from your seat, making your way off the stands and exiting the stadium.

As you trudge home, you wonder if you’ll even be able to face him without blushing, let alone ask him to the formal.

TRY FOUR: NO INTERRUPTIONS.

The next time you see Minho, you’re stepping through the open door of Chan’s house, and you’re met with the sight of the entire team laughing recklessly, joking around and shoving each other playfully over a set of pizza boxes. Small decorations and streamers are hung up in colors of red and green to highlight the approach of Christmas, and something about the setting makes you feel delightfully warm. It’s somehow exactly the kind of celebration you imagined, and when you look towards the team once again, you find Minho in the center of all the chatter, just as you always do.

When he catches you standing before them, he freezes, and his gaze morphs into something different, almost hungry, as his eyes slowly trail over your figure from top to bottom. The intensity of his stare seems to burn into you, and you watch in quiet anticipation as he separates himself from the group to walk up to you.

There are no excuses now, you think. No interruptions, no distractions, no reasons to prevent you from asking him.

“‘Come to the celebration party at Chan’s place, and I’ll tell you there,’” you greet, quoting his text from hours before, and Minho smiles sheepishly. “Well, I’m here now. What is it that you want?”

“You look beautiful,” is his response, and your next words are forgotten as your face goes up in flames.

“I’m glad you think so. It took me a long time to find this dress,” you mumble, staring down at your feet to hide your blush.

“I’m not talking about the dress,” Minho says, and your eyes widen as you look back up to search his face. He turns away before you can look too hard, rubbing the back of his neck as his cheeks turn red. “Anyways,” he mumbles, avoiding your eyes, “you told me you wanted to ask me something too, right?”

“You first,” you blurt, still too flustered from his compliment to think straight. Your words, however, are drowned out by a particularly loud screech emitting from the other end of the room, followed by the booming laughter of the rest of the team. Furrowing his brows, Minho cups his ear and leans closer to you, prompting you to repeat the words in his ear. Another series of laughs sounds from the room, and Minho takes your hands in his to bring you to a more empty section of the house.

“Finally,” he breathes when the two of you are safe from disturbances. “I swear, they can get so loud sometimes.”

You giggle at his words. “Tell me what you want for winning,” you urge him, trying to do whatever you can to delay your turn. Minho’s face darkens, and something about the way his gaze turns intense makes your heart race.

“Look up,” he whispers, his hands tightening around yours. You obey, your eyes drifting up as you find yourself staring at what you think could be one of the most beautiful bunches of mistletoe you’ve ever seen, hanging from the ceiling and twinkling under the soft light. You gulp upon realizing its implications, your tongue swiping over your lips out of nervous habit. You look back down to face him, and you find that his expression reflects the same desire he displayed before, his eyes sparkling as the corners of his lips turn up.

“We can’t break tradition, now can we?” He teases, leaning forward just enough for your noses to touch, his lips barely ghosting over yours so you can feel the warmth of his breath upon your face. When you close your eyes, your own lips parting, he closes the distance.

Time seems to freeze in place as his soft lips meet yours, his hands dropping to your waist as his lips move slowly against yours. There’s a passion in his kiss that you’re reciprocating before you even know it, and a slight smile shapes his lips that you can’t help but mirror. He’s the first to pull away, resting his forehead on yours for a moment as he catches his breath.

“You have to do any one thing that I want right?” He breathes. “Go to the winter formal with me.”

Your breath hitches in your throat, your eyes flying open in shock and immediately finding his as you soften at the sincerity in his face.

“You mean that?” You murmur, and a smirk graces Minho’s features, one you’ve become so familiar with after countless years of him teasing you.

“’Course I do. That’s what you were gonna ask me too, right?” He raises his eyebrows knowingly. You blink for a moment, tilting your head slightly as you process his words. Then it hits you.

"Juyeon told me I wasn’t being obvious!” You grumble, pouting in dismay.

“Well,” Minho laughs, “I only had a small idea that you liked me. What confirmed it was that sign you made—I might strike out asking, right? I may have gotten a peek at it when you left to get water before the game.”

“I thought you said you wouldn’t look! That’s not fair,” you whine, hitting his shoulder playfully.

“It’s the reason I’m asking you now though, isn’t it? So tell me, Y/N. Will you go to the dance with me?” Minho smiles softly, the light in his eyes is akin to that of the mistletoe berries gleaming above you. You can’t stop your mouth from pulling into a wide grin, wrapping your arms around his neck as you pull him closer to you, letting your lips answer his question as they meet his once more.

LEE MINHO; TRY ONE: SUCCESS!

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unfunny-quips · 4 years

Text

Shouta had been sized up before.

Many times during his life, in fact. As a student, as a hero, as a teacher. He’d always met the assessments with the same steady, unflinching gaze of his own. He knew his capabilities, and no amount of side eye or stare down would make him think twice.

That did not mean he was in any way prepared for Midoriya Inko.

Nezdu’s assistant - soft spoken, unassuming, and sweet - had a way of making her scrutinizing gaze seem gentle as it swept over him. Her sharp eyes taking in every detail, weighing and measuring every fact she gathered. She always had a bright smile and a kind word, a gentle hand to guide when needed. And yet, somehow, she was one of the very, very few people Shouta had ever met that made him nervous.

It shouldn’t have been surprising, he supposed. For all the things he had faced down in his career, he had never faced true, unwavering evil the way she had. The green haired woman had been married to the single most dangerous man in Japan - very possibly the world - and had come out of the experience with her heart of gold intact.

An impressive enough feat on its own merit. That she had managed to pull one over on that villain - gathering up her sons and a damning amount of information and sweeping them away to safety before All For One had even a chance to understand what was happening - that was terrifying. She’d stormed the police, stared down the Symbol of Peace himself, and forced the Hero Commision themselves to give her a deal placing her family in the highest amount of security available.

Most terrifying of all, she had impressed Nezdu.

The woman was a force of nature and Shouta was smart enough to know he wouldn’t survive the storm if it’s ire was turned on him.

Midoriya herself, dressed disarmingly in a smart grey suit with a teal blouse, finally brought her gaze to meet his and offered him one of her cheerful grins. It was warm and soft, the kind of thing mothers gave he supposed, not that he had a terrible lot of familiarity with that. The gentleness of the smile did not make him forget the steel of her spine or how she could make that smile turn predatory when the need arose.

“Aizawa-San, it’s lovely to see you today!” She greeted him, standing from her desk - immaculate and clearly organized to the height of perfection - and rounding it to greet him.

He should have anticipated the crushing hug she’d pulled him into, but as always her unwavering cheerfulness had sent him off balance and she’d pressed her advantage before he could regain his senses. She did it with all the staff, with the exception of All Might and Nezdu. Aizawa suspected All Might’s great height - even in his skeletal form - prevented her from pulling him in for one of her crushing hugs. Nezdu, for his part, was a fellow apex predator and therefore exempt from such treatment.

He wished, not for the first time, that Zashi had come with him. He sometimes was able to hide behind the other man when Midoriya Inko started hugging. Sometimes.

Then again, she’d sometimes just sweep the both of them up at once, and Zashi took it as an invitation for a group hug, trapping Shouta entirely.

“Midoriya-San.” He awkwardly greeted when she’d released him. She ignored his discomfort, and moved back towards her desk where a stack of papers waited.

“You’re just in time, I just finished compiling the pre-approved applications for the transfers. Oh!” She paused, turning away from her desk and darting through the door just off her office to the small kitchenette hidden there. He blinked after her, feeling bewildered, and watched as she moved to pull two bentos from the fridge. “I noticed your schedule today didn’t allow for lunch.” She told him, shoving one of the bentos into his hands. “So I thought we could enjoy a meal while we reviewed everything.”

He barely managed not to fumble the container as she dropped it in his hands, whisking off to sit at her desk before he could even think of refusing. He blinked after her, then turned to the bento. The fabric it had been tied into was a soft blue and printed with adorable chibi versions of Hizashi in fully hero gear. It was adorable and mildly terrifying to think she had noticed something in Shouta he thought he’d locked down and hidden away years ago.

“You didn’t have to, I have -” Any protest he might have made died the moment he glanced up and saw the sharp look in her eyes. She was still smiling, but there was a certain gleam of warning in her gaze as she looked at him.

“Protein pouches are not an appropriate substitute for a proper meal.” Midoriya said with the kind of finality that left no room for argument. Not that there would be any. Shouta certainly wasn’t going to be fool enough to pick a fight he knew he couldn’t win - more than once, at least. Especially not when she had that soft, warning expression pointed at him.

Instead he clamped his mouth shut and took the seat across from her, dutifully untying the knot in the colorful bento wrapping at her warning glance. Inside he found onigiri made to look like cats tucked in with a variety of protein rich, healthy foods and some apple slices cut to look like bunnies.

It was adorable.

How she managed to find time to make him something so elaborate and cute while balancing care for Izuku and Tenko, the running of the school and keeping up with Nezu while also being constantly vigilant for her villainous estranged husband was beyond him.

“Now there were a number of transfer requests made to get into 1-A” Midoriya began, glancing over the documents on her computer after she had ensured that Shouta was indeed eating the food she’d given him. “About two hundred total. Most of them were sifted out due to grades and overall performance which brought it down to sixty-two. From there we accounted for teacher evaluation to whittle it down to a more reasonable seventeen.”

She pulled up a list, tilting her screen to better show him the names and pictures of seventeen promising first years. Hitoshi, as expected, had made it through the initial two stages of the transfer process. Just two more stages to go.

“Interviews have been scheduled to speak to their classmates, friends and family. Nezdu suspects will have only seven or eight remaining afterward those have been conducted.” Midoriya explained, casting another warning glance at Shouta to ensure he was still eating the lunch she’d prepared for him. He dutifully began digging into a Tsukune. Satisfied, Inko unwrapped her own bento and allowed Shouta to review the short bios of the students as she ate her own lunch.

Each student he reviewed gave the impression of a serious hero course candidate. A class full of good students who hadn’t made the cut initially due to a system biased against their quirks. Nezdu expected nearly ten of them wouldn’t make the interview process, and Shouta didn’t doubt the principal’s estimate, he was rarely wrong about such things. Usually there were only three or four remaining after the interviews, it was an unusually adept group that year it seemed.

After the interviews would be the practicals, followed by the faculty review of those remaining. Despite his personal interest, Nezdu had permitted him to remain on the faculty board to judge the students, confident in Shouta’s ability to remain objective.

“Oh, I nearly forgot,” Midorya said, breaking him from his thoughts. He watched as she set her lunch to the side and turned her attention to one of her desk drawers. “Izuku gave this to me to pass along to you. He was worried he wouldn’t have the chance otherwise with midterms coming up.” A plain file folder was held out to him, innocent looking.

Shouta squinted at it suspiciously. “He could have brought it in during my office hours.” He said, reaching for it anyway. He’d started calling Midoriya Izuku Problem Child in the first couple days of class, but in no way was the boy actually a troublemaker. Only over eager and overpowered with no sense of self protection. He was a good student, though, and a good kid from everything he’d seen and everything Hitoshi had told him. Not one he’d expect to use a go between for passing notes on to his teachers.

Midoirya Inko gave one of those knowing smiles that put Shouta’s hair on end. “I think he wanted to avoid taking any of your time that could go to other students for something that isn’t related to his own school work.”

Shouta blinked at that, then flipped the folder open and blinked again.

“Are these -?”

“Recommendation letters, yes.” Midoriya said, smile growing bright at Shouta’s bewildered expression. “Hitoshi-kun mentioned they’d help him during his application for the hero course so Izuku got some put together for him. I wrote one of my own, and All Might was similarly happy to make a recommendation based on what he’s seen of Hitoshi’s excellent character.”

#My writing #Fic snippet #aizawa shouta #Inko Midoriya #izuku midoriya #tenko shimura #tomura shigaraki #nezu #mamadoriya #dad for one #all for one #hitoshi shinsou #dadzawa #inko midoriya is a matchmaker #erasermic #inko and nezu are friends #everyone is terrified #izuku and shigaraki are brothers

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broadstbroskis · 4 years

Text

surprises- pt 8 | mat barzal

oooffff it’s been quite a long journey and thanks for sticking with me through the wait! it’s finally here- the next and last part of surprises! thanks to everyone for reading, thanks for all your lovely feedback and kind words throughout this series, and all the support as i worked through this last part! it’s meant the world to me and i hope you all enjoy this last part!

When you wake up one morning to absolute silence, you get suspicious. No baby cries, no sounds of Mat breathing next to you, nothing.

But when you investigate, you find Mat sprawled out on the couch, holding Maeve against his chest, and they’re both passed out. She’s grown, definitely grown a lot since you brought her home, but his hand still covers most of her body. You reach for your phone, snapping a picture (to add to the many you’ve taken of the two of them over the past month), only to fumble it when you see the instagram notification on the front screen.

Mat’s tagged you in a post and you sit down on the floor in front of the two of them as you slide to open it. And then, you gasp, immediately reaching to cover your mouth and hide the sound, as you look through the roll of pictures that Mat posted.

One Month with Maeve: You Like: eating, sleeping, anything your mom does You Dislike: tummy time

When you look up, Mat’s watching you, with a hopeful look on his face. “Hi.” He says quietly.

“Hi.” You return, flipping your phone around to him. “I call bullshit.”

He laughs-gently and quietly, so as not to wake Maeve-and then grins. “Oh yeah? On what?”

“That she likes anything I do.” Maeve’s just...so content anytime she’s in Mat’s arms. Anytime he’s just in her proximity. She’s recently started to recognize his voice, turning her head for it anytime she hears it...sometimes even over FaceTime. “You are definitely the favorite.”

Mat kisses the top of Maeve’s head gently; it’s a favorite thing for both of you right now, you’re pretty sure. “Maybe, but we still like anything you do.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “We?”

“Yeah, both of us.” Mat says, like it’s something he says everyday, totally normal and casual.

Cheeks flushed, you stand up. “I’m going to go make breakfast.”

“We’ll come.” Mat stands, careful not to jostle Maeve too much.

“You don’t have to.” You offer. You know how tired he is all the time now, between Maeve and playoffs. He could use all the rest he can get.

“I want to.” Mat settles himself on one of the chairs by the counter and re-adjusts Maeve. “I feel like I barely get to see you guys right now.”

“Somebody’s gotta pay off that nice, big house.” You chirp, pulling out the eggs to make omelets.

Mat laughs. “Can’t even move into it yet and it’s already costing me money.”

“Don’t think about the price tag until you get paid this summer.”

“Once again. You cannot max out my credit card in the Target Home Section. Even with a bonus this year.”

“I gave you the most perfect human ever and this is how you repay me?’

Mat looks down at Maeve, unable to stop the smile that grows over his face, and in return, you feel one spread across yours as you watch him. “Go crazy.”

-----

Two Months with Maeve: You Like: the new hockey mobile Uncle Tito bought you, when your mom and i talk to you You Dislike: the carseat, more tummy time

When you slip into Maeve’s nursery in the new house (just barely unpacked, but still the most unpacked room in the entire house by far), Mat’s got the same sad look on his face that he’s worn for the last three days, standing in the middle of the room, watching her sleep. You give him a minute, see if he notices your presence, and when he doesn’t acknowledge you, you slide behind him and wrap your arms around his waist, dropping your head between his shoulder blades. “You’re still amazing.”

Mat’s laugh is hollow and you know he’s thinking about how he was held scoreless for the last two games this series, thinking about all the things he could have done differently so that they weren’t eliminated. “You’re biased.”

“Like I’ve ever held back from telling you that you suck before.”

It’s not a smile, but the corner of his lips do turn up. “Fair.”

You smile, hiding the grin in his back. “We’re happy to have you home more.”

“Even though this means we won’t get to put Maeve in the cup?” You can picture his eyebrows raise with the question, even though it’s dark and you’re not even looking at him.

“I mean, she would have looked really cute in it.” You poke his side. “But I’ll get over it. We’ll just have to take cute baby pictures with her somewhere else.”

“You mean, like this new house we just moved into?”

“This new house we just moved into where every room is either filled with boxes or has no furniture?”

You feel Mat hesitate. “Maybe there’s a park nearby.” He says and you laugh.

“Maybe.” You agree, slipping around to curl into his side, so you can both watch Maeve sleep.

-----

Three Months with Maeve: You Like: that new activity mat, music, afternoon walks You Dislike: pop goes the weasel, noisy birds on the walks

“These came out so good.” Molly enthuses, beaming as she stares at the pictures of Maeve that you and Mat had professionally taken, shortly after your conversation about it, to send out in cards to everyone you know.

“Right?” It had taken a little to decide where you wanted to have the pictures taken, the house still not finished and immediately eliminated. Almost all the parks nearby had been eliminated by your photographer due to lighting and the one that hadn’t, had been nixed by you. You and Mat had both scrunched your nose up at the thought of bringing Maeve to the beach already, as well as a few other suggestions. In the end, though, you can’t imagine anyone will be shocked to see the ice rink in the background of a few of the pictures, and it seemed only fitting.

As usual, Maeve’s perfectly at ease in Mat’s arms, who’s beaming down at her, in your favorite shot of the afternoon, as you hang onto his arm gently to keep yourself upright, the same wide grin on your own face as you look at the two of them. There are so many other shots from the day- Mat skating while holding Maeve; the two of you laughing while you move easily on the ice; close ups of Maeve sleeping peacefully in Mat’s arms, just happy to be close to him (unless it’s the proximity to the ice- she is definitely his daughter). And then there’s all the candids.

“Some tough choices for the photo wall.” Molly muses.

“Gonna need lots of frames.” You agree, as the back door opens and Tito walks in, bouncing Maeve gently in his arms, closely followed by Mat and Brian.

“Alright, patio’s done.”

“Perfect!” Molly claps her hands together and you give her a look because she sounds too excited. “Great timing.”

Tito huffs, still bouncing Maeve, who’s smiling away at him and probably going to start giggling at any minute. She’d laughed for the first time last week and it felt like since then, she hadn’t stopped. “We said we’d have it done in time, didn’t we?”

“In time for what?” You press, skeptically.

“Yes, “Molly ignores you completely. “But I honestly didn’t believe you.”

“Rude.” Brian teases. “The lack of faith.”

“Yeah.” Tito adds. “What’d we do to deserve this?”

“What are you three talking about?” Mat huffs, and you feel ten times better already that you’re not the only one left out.

“Oh!” Molly blinks, like it’s only just occurred to her that she hasn’t actually told you what’s going on yet. “Right. You two are going out tonight. We made you a dinner reservation and we’re going to stay here and babysit while you do.”

You hesitate, relieved that when you look over to meet Mat’s eyes, you see the same look. “I don’t know.”

“We’re not going to force you to go.” Brian says, before Molly or Tito can jump in, with what’s certain to be a much less soft comment. “We just thought you could use a couple hours out. Without having to worry.”

It’s not...the worst thought, if you’re honest, and you can see the idea growing on Mat as well. “I mean, we’re probably still going to worry.” He says, even as you can see him start to grin.

“What, now, you don’t trust me with your kid?” Tito says, feigning hurt. “And to think, I almost made godfather.”

“Because YN’s brother almost didn’t show up.” Mat throws back at him.

��Classic Christopher.” You grin at the memory of your brother literally running into the church last month for the baptism only just in time.

“You two go get moving; we promise to take perfect care of your baby.” Molly says.

“Team Baby.” Tito sticks his free hand, the one not holding Maeve to his chest, into the center of the circle you’ve all formed, and stares at you all expectantly, until each one of you piles a hand on top of his. “Team Baby!” He cheers again, and then he steers Maeve over to her activity mat and lies down on the floor with her.

“Go.” Molly gestures and it doesn’t take much more for you and Mat to turn and start getting dressed because that’s her I mean business face. “Dress nice!” She calls after you. “Suit, tie, dress, heels. The works!”

“Where could they possibly be sending us?” Mat mutters as the two of you climb up the steps toward your room, and you hide your snicker much better than he does.

“Mathew!” Molly calls, warningly.

“First shower.” You call dibs to him, and rush past him for it, laughing at the look on his face.

While Mat showers after you, you fix your hair and makeup, and then step into your closet, already pulling a face at all your dresses before you even look at them.

You’re starting to feel more like yourself after giving birth, finally, after three months, but you don’t feel completely there. You’re not sure you ever will, that’ll you’ll ever feel that easy and carefree again, or that you’ll ever look the same again, and you’ve talked with Grace and Lauren, and are coming to terms with it. Have come to terms with it, really. The trade-off for Maeve’s smiles made everything worth it.

But.

But you don’t have a single dress that fits the way you like now.

There are four dresses on the floor of your closet and at least five more that you couldn’t even bring yourself to try on before you find a charcoal colored slip dress that’s covered in a pattern of dark sequins. The strappy heels that go along with it are an old comfort; they, at least, still fit you.

Mat’s holding a tie up in the mirror when you come out of the closet, like he’s debating if he actually has to wear it, but the second he sees you through the glass, his eyes go wide and the tie drops from his hand.

“Now those hands aren’t going to earn you that new contract.” You tease, unable to handle the thick silence that’s fallen between you.

“What?” It’s like he didn’t even hear the joke; his eyes are roaming up and down. “Fuck. You want to skip dinner?”

You actually kinda do. You’d seen Mat leaving the old apartment all spring in a suit on his way to the airport or the arena, all the way up until they’d been eliminated, so maybe it was just the context of the evening, but he looked unreal tonight. You nod, but then immediately bite your lip...which just makes Mat groan. “They’re not going to let us just stay here, though.”

Mat grins, reaching for your hand. “Trust me on this.”

“I do.” You smile at him, squeezing gently in return,

And it takes the two of you almost thirty minutes to leave the house after that, despite the heated looks in your bedroom, because neither of you wants to leave Maeve again once you see her, but Molly shoves you out the door with threats about missing your reservation, and once the door’s closed, that’s all it takes for Mat to turn his gaze right back to you.

There is, blessedly, still furniture in his old apartment, still his as he continues to decide whether to sell it or rent it, and you’ve never been so thankful for his unusual moment of indecisiveness as he lies you down into his old bed, pressing kisses onto any spot of skin he can find.

-----

Four Months with Maeve: You Like: playing with your toes, sitting, laughing and babbling You Dislike: when anyone takes a toy from you

Expecting Mat, you’re a little surprised when you turn and see that the form that’s flopped down in the shade beside you and Maeve is actually Tyson. “How’s my best girl?” He coos at her, as entranced with her as anyone else has been since you and Mat had come up to Canada last week to see Mat’s family.

Maeve giggles, babbling some noises back at him, and reaching her hands out for his curls. “Don’t.” You warn him, but he’d learned that lesson already this week, and he intercepts her with his thumb instead, a wide grin on his face. “Sucker.” You tease.

“How can you say no to this face?” He cries and yeah, when she’s laughing and smiling like that, you can see what he means. Especially because it’s Mat’s smile she seems to have inherited, even if it looks like the rest of Maeve’s features might be all you.

“Mmmm, you get used to it.” You tell him anyway, and Tyson grins knowingly, so you close your eyes, relaxing in the sun for a moment, confident that someone is watching your baby and you can get a few minutes of rest.

It doesn’t last long, because shortly after closing your eyes, you feel something heavy and wet plaster itself to you and you open one eye to glare, which is as much as you can be bothered with out by the lake. “Mat!”

He’s already grinning down at you, water from the lake dripping from his face to yours. “You looked a little hot.”

“I was very comfortable.”

Mat lays his head down on your chest. “Well, now I’m very comfortable.”

“You are the most annoying person I’ve ever met.” You say, and you don’t need Tyson to laugh to know that you don’t sound serious at all.

“Liar.” Mat says, and you can feel him grinning against your skin. “You love me.”

You pause for a moment, unintentionally, as you move your hand up to play with his hair, but it’s long enough that you feel the smile start to slip from his face. “Yeah.” You tease. “I guess I do.”

Mat’s grin returns and he presses the softest kiss to whatever piece of skin he can reach, but before he can say anything else, Maeve starts babbling away. “I know.” Tyson coos at her. “They’re so cute it’s disgusting.”

“Hey!” Mat frowns. “Let go of my baby so I can push you down.”

Tyson laughs. “Well thanks for that get out of jail free card!”

-----

Five Months of Maeve: You Like: hide and seek, bananas, applesauce You Dislike: peas (can’t blame you, kiddo)

“Do we really want to try peas again so soon?” You frown at Mat, holding up one of the other jars of baby food.

He shrugs. “Gonna have to jump back in eventually.”

You pull a face. “Spoken like the man who didn’t get puked on.”

“We get puked on like ten times a day!”

“It was green!”

He laughs. “I’ll do the peas this time.”

You laugh. Sucker. “Deal.”

It’s super gratifying then, to see that Maeve hates the peas this time just as much as she had before. She’s not about Mat’s airplane noises once she realizes what’s on the spoon he’s trying to feed her with and none of his usual tricks are working to try and calm her down once she starts crying.

But when Mat looks at you for help, you don’t do anything but laugh, continuing to film the entire disastrous event. “Really?” He gives you a look.

“Not so cocky now, huh?” You fire the video off into, like, three different chats- the one with his family, to Team Baby, and the Islanders Moms chat, because he could probably use the ego deflation- and then reach for Maeve, who settles almost instantly against you, her crying quieting as you hold her against your side.

“Sure.” Mat grumbles, dropping the spoon against the high-chair’s table. “All calm now.”

“Oh hush.” You tell him, with a smile, knowing exactly what he’s annoyed about. “You’ll go back to being her favorite in an hour; don’t worry.”

Mat tries to hide his grin by ducking his head to clean the high-chair but you see right through him.

-----

Six Months of Maeve: You Like: bouncing, rolling, wiggling, literally any kind of movement You Dislike: teething (but we dislike you teething too), staying still

“I think she’s going to really start crawling soon.” You remark to Mat, the two of you both seated on the floor, opposite sides of the room, to catch her before she could wriggle into any walls.

She hadn’t quite pushed herself up there yet, but she scooted around pretty well.

“Don’t say that.” Mat groans, reaching out for Maeve and ignoring her cry of protest as he placed her back on the ground, safely away from the wall. She gave him a look, but then went right back to rolling around, rolling onto her back and then over to her stomach again, scooting toward you. “Fuck, imagine when she can walk. Chasing after her.”

“Inability to sit still for sure comes from you.” You try to distract Maeve with a toy, watching as she puts it in her mouth and starts to gnaw on it. Her first tooth had come in the other week, an absolute nightmare, and you were pretty sure another one was following.

“Can’t prove that.” Mat says, eyes fond as he watches Maeve.

“Wanna bet?” You tease. That’s an easy phone call to make.

“Have I told you how pretty you look today?” Mat beams at you and you burst into laughter because you haven’t showered and you’re covered in baby formula.

“That’s what I thought.” You grin, and then reach out to pull Maeve away from the coffee table.

-----

Seven Months of Maeve: You Like: blocks, knocking down block towers, clapping blocks together, anything blocks You Dislike: noise-cancelling headphones

“These are so cute.” Grace beams, scrolling through the pictures on her phone and simultaneously bouncing a wriggly toddler on her lap. “I’ll send them out as soon as we get upstairs.”

You smile, thanking her already, fixing the earphone covering Maeve’s tiny head. It’s the Islanders’ home opener, Maeve’s first game actually attending, and there’d been a well-documented photo shoot with all the kids prior to the group of you heading down to the glass, to wait for warm ups to start.

She wasn’t a big fan of the headphones you’d placed on her ears, constantly reaching up to bat them off, but she was looking around, eyes wide as she stared at the crowd around her, even after both teams skated out for warm ups, unable to grasp what exactly was happening.

But she was smiling, beaming the whole time, a grin that only got wider when Mat skated up to the glass in front of you and put his fist up against it. She reaches for it as you bring her closer to the glass, grabbing out for it as he taps it with a grin, and then she babbles a bunch of nonsense when she’s stopped by the glass, retracting her hand immediately.

You and Mat both laugh and he gives one last tap on the glass to you both before skating off to rejoin warm ups.

He absolutely lights it up that night, but the gifs of the the three of you at the glass during warmups cycle through the internet for days.

-----

8 Months of Maeve: You Like: your favorite blankie, Cheerios, cheese You Dislike: i really tried with those peas, kid

You’d do literally anything for some sleep right now, even just a power nap. Mat had been gone on a road trip for a few days now, due back shortly, but Maeve had been so clingy the entire time he was gone, not even wanting to be held by Molly when she’d stopped in to visit, and fussing anytime you’d walked away from her.

She was playing with a couple of her toys on the floor right now, and it took everything in you to keep your eyes open to watch over her. You contemplated moving her into her bouncer, even as she kept side-eyeing you to make sure you were still close, just in case you accidentally dropped into a nap.

Suddenly, an arm drops over your shoulders and Mat’s pressing a kiss to your temple. “You look sleepy.”

“I’m exhausted.” You lean against him immediately. “When did you get in?”

“Just now.” He squeezes gently, smiling and waving as Maeve, who’s abandoned her toy the moment she saw him, clapping her hands together and beaming at him, babbling at him happily. “She keeping you up at night?”

“She’s just…” You trail off, not sure how to describe what Maeve is right now. Because on one hand, she’s not normally this clingy, and it’s certainly a change of pace. But it’s not a bad thing to have her so close to you all the time, for her to want to be so close to you- you don’t dislike it at all. “I’m just tired.”

He presses another kiss to your forehead, but before he can say anything, Maeve reaches her arms out for him. “Da!” She’s frowning, probably because Mat’s been ignoring her in favor of you. “Dada!” She reaches out again, and this time Mat’s face lights up, both of yours do, as he sweeps her into his lap.

“Say it again!” Mat prompts, tickling her, which of course doesn’t get her to do anything but giggle.

“Dada.” You try, leaning closer, and she repeats it then, but won’t say it again, for all that Mat tries, struggling out of his arms right after that, to go back to playing.

Mat runs his fingers through his hair, looking absolutely floored, and you still haven’t stopped smiling either. Your baby’s first word! You have to tell everyone! But there’ll be time for that later; Mat’s comfy to lean against right now and he doesn’t look like he wants to go anywhere either, so you press a kiss to his cheek and then lie your head back against his shoulder, content to watch Maeve play with her blocks.

-----

9 Months of Maeve: You Like: walking, giving your mom and I heart attacks while walking You Dislike: sitting still for any length of time (stop laughing at me mom)

“You,” Mat sweeps Maeve off her feet and up into his arms as she toddles past him. “Went from walking to running in like two days! Give your mom and I a rest, kiddo.”

“She gets that from you.” You tell him, tiredly. He’s not wrong though. She’d started pulling herself into standing not long ago, and then shortly after, taken her first steps, and then it felt like the next day, she was off to the races. You spent most of your day chasing her around the house now; she almost never wanted to be picked up anymore.

Even now, she was squirming to get out of Mat’s arms and be back on the ground, already starting to whine about it. Mat obliges, and she takes off- or as well as she can; she hasn’t quite mastered it yet, her feet make that distinct slap noise on the floor that you associate with all babies walking.

Mat chases and brings her back, but you two quickly have to settle each on one side of the room, eyes watching Maeve and turning her between the two of you. “She needs a friend.” You mutter, steering her back towards Mat, for what seems like the hundredth time in ten minutes.

Mat nods furiously. “Suddenly I understand why people have more than one of these.”

You burst into laughter, loud enough that it stops Maeve for a second. But only a second; she’s right back to toddling over toward you, throwing herself at you, giggling along with you for a moment there. “One of these?” You call Mat out, and he joins you in laughing, as Maeve uses your arm to pull herself back up and starts walking again.

Mat shrugs it off laughingly. “You know what I mean.”

You do. “God, I used to not even imagine being able to have another one of her, but god, if another one meant they could entertain each other; I’d do it in a heartbeat.”

“I’d have five more if it meant we didn’t have to chase her like this.” Mat pulls Maeve back into the room, a small noise of protest coming from her until he puts her back on the floor.

You give him a look. “You can find someone else to have five more with.”

When Mat smiles at you, it’s softer, not his usual bright beam. “Alright.” He says. “We won’t have five more. Two or three more.” You side-eye him, trying to gauge how serious he is, but he must take your silence for agreement, because then he does beam.

-----

10 Months of Maeve: You Like: patty cake, waving, causing chaos You Dislike: bananas, apparently, even though you loved them last month

“Tito!” You gasp excitedly, only just remembering to pick Maeve up and bring her with you, ignoring her fuss in favor of Mat and Tito walking in the door with something much more exciting. “Why didn’t you tell me you were getting a dog?”

Luckily, she’s easily swayed by the dog, eyeing the wriggling puppy in Tito’s arms. She still doesn’t look like she’s 100% certain about it, but it certainly captures her attention; she stops moving in your arms entirely, blinking at the dog, unmoving.

“Uhhh.” Tito says, in response to you, looking at Mat and then back at you. “Not exactly what happened.”

Mat grins. “So you wanted a dog, right?”

Your jaw drops and the next words are out before you can even think about stopping them. “Shut the fuck up.” And then you immediately wince, because you’ve been on Mat recently about watching his language around Maeve, who’s soaking up words now like an absolute sponge.

But Mat only laughs, reaching to pull the puppy into his arms, and stepping closer to you and Maeve slowly. “Her name’s Blue, but we can change it.”

“Boo!” Maeve repeats, which really ices the cake on that one, and brings a smile to both of your faces. She’s reaching out for the puppy as Mat steps closer, and you prepare yourself for the worst, but Maeve bursts into happy giggles the second her hand touches the puppy.

Blue sniffs her tiny little hand tentatively, and then licks it happy, and Maeve giggles even harder as she does. “I might cry.” You announce. “This is the greatest day. I thought you’d never cave.”

Tito snickers. “He was worried he’d come home one day and you’d brought a stray home.”

“I considered it.”

“Thought this was better.” Mat agrees. “At least I got to screen for a good one.”

“All dogs are good dogs.” You state firmly. “Let’s put her down and let her explore a little.”

“Come on, Menace.” Mat takes Maeve from your arms, who goes happily, reaching for his hair as she does, but you’ve both caught onto the move by now, so he intercepts her hand with his thumb. “Let’s go follow your new best friend.”

-----

11 Months of Maeve: You Like: baby dolls, baby doll stroller, your fancy new cup, Blue You Dislike: puzzles- you’re not really about toys you sit for anymore

“How soon,” Mat starts one night, when you’re getting ready for bed, both child and dog already asleep in crib and crate from an exhausting evening of playtime. “Is too soon, do you think, to bring Maeve out for a skate?”

You’ve got a mouth full of toothpaste, but you think you still manage to convey what you want with a look. “You’re asking me this question?”

“Good point.” You rinse your mouth out and join Mat in bed. “Maybe we’ll start with mini-sticks and a soft ball.”

You burst into laughter. “You think she’s ready for that?”

“Oh she’s got this walking thing down now.” He brushes that off. “My girl’s an expert.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, we knew that was coming.”

Mat grins. “Work on that hand eye coordination now.”

You give him a look, trying to decide how serious he is, and then when deciding that he’s absolutely 100% serious, you press a kiss to his shoulder-the nearest spot of him that you can reach. “Please don’t kill our baby.”

Mat’s already scooting in closer to you, already half asleep because this asshole somehow manages to fall asleep like the second his head hits the pillow basically, and he throws an arm over your waist. “Mmm, kay, promise.”

-----

It was a mistake to sit down, you knew that before you even did it, but you’re exhausted from the day. Between spending your morning getting ready for Maeve’s birthday party, playing hostess throughout the afternoon, and then starting the clean-up process, you honestly think you could fall asleep right here against this wall that you’re leaning against.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket and you slip it out-it’s another message from Molly, probably just more pictures that she took throughout the afternoon-but it’s the instagram tag from Mat that really catches your attention.

The app opens to a picture of the two of you standing on either side of Maeve and her smash cake, both wearing happy parent smiles, as her hand brings another fist of icing to an already-covered face. There’s a picture with the three of you standing with his parents and sister; another with Maeve, Tito, Molly, and Brian; and the last one, just you and Maeve, sitting on the floor and her trying to play with the party hat Molly had put on your head, right after you’d fixed the bow on her headband.

1 Year of Maeve: Happy Birthday to our favorite girl! It’s been an entire year with you already and your mom and I can’t wait to see what comes in the next one

You can’t help but smile at both the caption and the pictures, unable to settle on one and still scrolling through the post when you feel Mat sit down next to you. “Somebody’s getting sleepy.”

The same dopey, fond smile is definitely still on your face as you turn to look at Mat and Maeve, who’s curled in his arms in a way she only does now when she’s absolutely exhausted. But she’s fighting it for sure, eyes fluttering shut and then popping back open again. “Big day.” You agree with him. “And it was a nice day. But I’m happy it’s just us now.”

“Yeah.” Mat says, and it almost sounds like his thoughts are completely in another place for a second as he shifts around on the floor for a second. “It was a great day.” It was; it truly was, and even though there’s still a mess to be cleaned, you’re perfectly content to just sit here for a while longer with Mat and Maeve. When he settles, you lean your head against his shoulder, reaching your hand out to rest it on Maeve’s tiny little wrist. “Hey.” Mat says gently.

“Hmm?”

“Marry me?”

“What?” You laugh, until he brings a hand out to you and opens his fist to show off a diamond ring, and then suddenly you’re not laughing at all. “Oh my god.”

“I just-I want a million more days like this with you,” Mat smiles. “I want forever like that. Marry me.”

“Yes.” You breathe. “Yes, god yes, of course.”

And immediately, Mat’s kissing you, or well, trying to, because you’re smiling and kind of crying, and he’s still holding Maeve in his arms, so you both pull away pretty quickly. “I love you. God, I know I don’t tell you that enough, but I do. So much. It-”

“I love you too.” You cut him off. “I really can’t imagine doing this with anyone else.”

Mat beams at you and you reach your left hand out, biting your lip to avoid giggling as he fumbles a little, one-handedly sliding the ring onto it. But he succeeds, and you admire the ring on your finger, as you lean back against Mat’s shoulder.

The silence that follows is comfortable; the only sound the slight wheeze of Maeve’s breathing. “I think she’s finally out.” Mat says quietly, after a moment. “I’ll take her up?”

“Nah.” You clutch at his arm. “Just-let’s just stay here for a while.”

Mat smiles against the side of your head before he kisses it gently. “Okay.” He kisses it again. “But you know you’re stuck with me forever now, right? Not going anywhere.”

You squeeze his arm. “Not stuck.” Mat beams. “Well, I guess I might feel differently in a month or two.”

“Brat.” Mat says fondly.

“Yup.” You grin and then throw his own words right back at him. “But you’re stuck with me forever now.”

“Never stuck.” Mat says, and it sounds like such a promise that you can’t help but lean over and try to kiss him again.

#mat barzal imagine #mat barzal fanfiction #mat barzal fan fic #hockey imagines #hockey fanfic #nhl fanfiction #nhl imagines #my hockey fics #surprises series

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androgynousblackbox · 2 years

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That post about being owed androgyny bothers me honestly because yes we are expected to be androgynous and yes we are punished if we aren't. The fact that we're still punished either way is just the regular old catch 22 part of oppression, see also women and femininity, esp. trans women. That being a feminine trans woman is also hated and punishable doesn't mean there isn't the expectation that she has to be, especially in the trans community. "Where in society are we expected to be androgynous" looks super dumb from the perspective of anyone who's been in trans spaces, on socmed, ever had anyone irl say "then why do you dress like a boy/girl?", etc, and the shit androgynous ppl go through doesn't disprove that, it just proves that there isn't a right way to be queer.

Idk it just rubs me the wrong way, I feel like there was a different way to word "androgynous nb people are not free from harassment" than to pretend there isn't this quite prevalent expectation nb people like me can't escape.

The reblog I shared I personally thought it was very poignant when they said stuff like this: "When you say things like "I'm misgendered and told I'm not really nonbinary because my body isn't androgynous enough", I do hear the pain, not just of being misgendered and invalidated, but of having to accept that this will never go away.

It's not true, though. It's not because your body isn't androgynous enough. It's because forcible binarization is how society treats nonbinary people. [...] At other times, forcible binarization of nonbinary people takes the form of disingenuous promises that if you were just a bit more androgynous, a little more masculine, a little more feminine, a little less this or a bit more that, then surely they'd respect your gender then.

But that's a binarist lie.

And yes, it's a lie that gets told by queer people, liberals, leftists, people who'll swear up and down they have nothing against nonbinary people, because it's a lie that people are telling themselves. But it's something we have to let go of to fight forcible binarization." I do think this is something we tend to forget when our queer spaces are reduced to socmeds. No shame if that is the only queer space many people have access to, I know that is not something people necesarily chose to happen, but we concentrate on certain things on such a way we start missing the forest for the trees. Like, as non binary people, as trans people, we are all fucked already, even in our communities, because our communities are part of this society and this society fucking hate us already. Our communities are not this separate entity with rules completely devoid of any connection with what happens on the rest of the world, but statements where we look the expectation of androgyny RATHER than the forced binarization of non binary people as a whole doesn't... really do much? Because then we start arguing between each other ("people who want to be androgynous ARE valid!", "people who don't want to be androgynous are valid!", "being androgynous doesn't make you stereotype!", etc) instead to pointing to the actual source of this shit. Following your example, femenine trans women/femme enbies are fucked, not because of them being femenine or not being femenine, but because society is build in transmisogyny/misogyny/colonialistic ideas of gender as it is and we, as a community, are absolutely capable of absorbing and repeating those ideas without examining our own biases. Just look at the way trans femme black and other MOC are treated. It's fucking horrid and we are not desconstructing anything by saying "non binary people don't owe you androgyny" because yeah, we don't, but the focus can and should be first in how our genders deserves to be aknowledged and respected regardless of any fucking presentation, because that is part of what respecting our human dignity fucking means. I don't know, maybe I am doing a shit job explaining it and I don't want to invalidate anyone's struggles or feelings regarding their own experiences, but to me personally feels like a message I needed to be reminded too because I don't like to think that if I were more this or less that or whatever then my gender would be respected. Because that is bullshit and I know is bullshit because I literally tried almost everything anyone could try, and it didn't worked and it wasn't my fault, and everything wouldn't have worked either even if I magically could turn myself into this ideal that exist only on my head. I would just be facing a different set of troubles, not less. It's all part of the exact same shit coin, both consequences of a single shitter. "it just proves that there isn't a right way to be queer." Fucking exactly. So why we act as if there is by implying that things would be better if we were androgynous, if we were more femme, if we were more masc, and any issue we face is because we failed to be any of those things, when the truth is we are all hurting because of the same rules we are all breaking and it fucking sucks?

#again don't know if i made anything clear or just rambled like a mad man #but basically yeah

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does-it-really-matter · 3 years

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Demonising Femininity

🤍 Disclaimer- In this article, we are mostly talking about femininity in the aspect of make-up, fashion, etc. Stereotypically feminine and masculine things are a social construct, and it is okay for anyone of any gender to engage in their preferred form of expression.

“You run like a girl.”

“Man up.”

These two sentences both talk about behaving like a certain gender, yet one is uplifting, while the other is an insult. It’s not hard to guess which is which.

We know that misogyny exists, and being a woman in itself comes with a lot of challenges. But it’s even worse when one is traditionally feminine.

So, what is femininity?

The concept of femininity varies across cultures, but it is generally the various characteristics and traits that are attributed to women. However, as these are personality traits, they can be exhibited by anybody regardless of gender. According to popular belief, it includes sensitivity, tenderness, kindness, passiveness, etc. In the modern world, it is also equated with the combination of wearing make-up, being concerned about their physical appearance, and ambition. But there isn’t a real definition of femininity as it is pretty much a spectrum encompassing certain traits. These certain personality traits and characteristics got gendered because society had a specific role for each gender, and they evolved these traits to better adapt to those particular roles. While both masculine and feminine traits can be found in everyone in various combinations, society expects men to show more masculinity, and women to show more femininity.

When and how did it get demonised?

Misogyny can be traced all the way back to ancient Greece, with the myth of Pandora’s box, where Pandora opened the box and unleashed misery upon mankind. Therefore the blame for all of man’s problems was placed upon the shoulders of a woman, and it all went downhill from there. As the original colonizers, the Greek spread this tale into the places they conquered, and misogyny took root in all the cultures around. This idea of women being inferior was also propagated by the tale of Adam and Eve in the Old Testament, where Eve made Adam eat the forbidden apple, which led to the downfall of man.

In the 1950s in the USA, women who had taken up civilian jobs during world war 2, were now expected to go back to being housewives, or taking up more ‘feminine’ jobs which would ultimately pay less. Due to this, in the second wave of feminism that started in the early 1960s, women rioted and started dressing and acting more ‘masculine’ in the hopes of being taken seriously by their male counterparts, and getting the jobs they needed. This meant that they denounced make-up and high heels and other such ‘feminine’ things.

So presenting as more masculine in that era was unfortunately required for women to empower themselves. But why do we still look down on those who present themselves in a feminine fashion today? We see it everyday; women who wear more make-up are considered shallow, women who like to dress in pink and have blonde hair are considered to be stupid and childish, and those who conform to this kind of femininity and are ambitious are chalked up to be mean and selfish, especially in the media.

In common teenage coming-of-age movies, and young adult fiction, the antagonist is generally a stereotypically feminine and preppy girl, while the protagonist is more of a tomboy and an outcast. The antagonist is made to be a villain with only their own motives in mind, with no other personality traits whatsoever. Though this does not embody what femininity means, it still depicts the appearance of hyper femininity as something that should be shunned. This is common even in movies targeted towards other audiences, such as Dreamworks' 'Shark Tale', where one female fish is strongly ambitious, while being concerned about her physical appearance. However, she is given the role of the villain, while the female love interest is, to be frank, bland and more passive, with her whole personality being just the love interest.

This kind of stereotyping women into two very strict boxes damages us more than we think. People knowingly or unknowingly absorb a lot of concepts from the media, and when we are presented with the idea that being ambitious and rocking a pink outfit = bad, while being passive and dressing down makes them more interesting, we apply this in our day to day life as well. But this narrative is absolutely wrong, because women cannot be pushed into such strong stereotypes. People are complex beings, and with each person's personality being so drastically different, it goes without saying that the same applies to women.

Studies have found that women who wear more make-up in their workplace are less likely to be given a promotion, solely because of their make-up. It is commonly viewed that women who wear heavy make-up are considered to be less competent than the other female workers. But this is a misconception, as the productivity of a person is in no way related to the amount of make-up they wear, or the way they choose to dress.

Another way this is expressed is that parents allow their daughters to play with ‘boy’s’ toys and games, but the same is not applicable the other way around. Sons are rarely given dolls and Barbies to play with, for the reason that it will somehow make them less masculine. What scares people so much about femininity?

Demonising femininity affects the mentality of almost everyone. It pits women against women, and pushes back the feminism movement as well. In the end, only the patriarchy benefits from this. Femininity being labelled as something that is evil has given rise to the ‘not like other girls’ and ‘pick-me girls’ trope.

The ‘not like other girls’ trope is basically when a girl, typically a pre-teen or teenager, believes that she is different from other girls because she is not into mainstream pop music, or doesn’t wear make-up and dresses.

Okay, she believes that she’s different. What’s wrong with that?

The problem is that when this phrase is used, it’s usually in the context that the girl being referred to is better than other girls just because she doesn’t wear make-up. The phrase puts down the entire gender, while trying to compliment one girl in a back-handed way. Dressing in a different way isn’t a reason to put a person on a pedestal, and it builds up a superiority complex for something that is pretty much inane. The phrase doesn’t even bring into consideration the personality of the girl in question as well as the personalities of the other girls.

This also results in internalised misogyny, since the girl believes she is better than other girls because she is being as masculine as possible, hence leading to the conclusion that being a girl in itself is bad. Internalised sexism, according to Wikipedia, is when an individual enacts sexist actions and attitudes towards themselves and people of their own sex. They further propagate the ideals and behaviour imposed upon them by their oppressors. This causes a bigger divide within women, as they subconsciously put down other women who do not conform to the patriarchy, and they tend to believe gender biases in favour of men.

This kind of mentality is hard to shake out, and it is damaging in both the short and the long run. Embracing your ‘feminine’ side is something that’s not only fun to do, but it also makes us human. Being feminine is not something to be ashamed of, or something to be demonized. The whole idea plays into the patriarchy. The ideology of ‘live and let live’ is very important in this aspect. We shouldn’t put down women just because of the way they dress. Many aspects of femininity help make us better people, and that is something we should celebrate.

We should no longer have to be apologetic or embarrassed for our femininity. We deserve to be respected for all our femaleness.

#we r back!!#blog #blogging #personal blog #bloggers #feminine #feminism #misogyny #women deserve to get good rep whilst being feminine #the media rep for women and poc and lgbtqia+ sucks man #feminist #the media needs to stop demonising femininity esp ultra femininity

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quinncupine · 3 years

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It’s Never Easy

Word Count: 2,272

Link: A03

Summary: "I lied to her." His voice was just a broken whisper. "She...she asked me if she was going to die, so I lied."

Young Pro Hero Deku deals with his first civilian death and a certain retired hero helps him cope.

Warnings: Mentions of death, blood.

Notes: I wanted to write some Dadmight because I love their dynamic and I wanted to explore that. I've never really written Dadmight before so let me know what you think. Anyways, thanks for reading and enjoy friends!

Quinn's Masterlist!

...

Izuku trudged into the empty apartment and sluggishly pulled off his boots, tossing them haphazardly on the floor then stumbled to the sofa where he plopped down. He hadn't bothered with the lights, preferring the darkness, it was easier to hide in it than face reality at the moment. The street lamp glaring through the window provided the sole source of light, though it was far from comforting.

In the darkness he finally sunk down into the sofa leaning his head back into the plushy cushions. A grimy hand ran through his messy green locks as he let out a shaky breath. All that raw emotion he'd somehow managed to suppress for the last few hours was dangerously close to crawling up his throat. It had taken everything in him to keep it together, but now that he was in his apartment- alone and in the dark- that wall he built was crashing down faster than he could say disaster.

The silence was quickly becoming overwhelming. Hands covered his eyes as a stifled choke slipped out. That scene just kept replaying over and over and over in his head and each time he kept going over all the things that went wrong, all the things that he did wrong. For each mistake, a thousand other possibilities of what he could of done differently, but as much as he wished, he couldn't change what happened. This train of thought was only driving him deeper and deeper and there wasn't a reverse gear to back him out of this miserable pit he'd driven himself into.

A buzz in his pocket startled him out of his morbid derailment and he reached for his phone, barely glancing at the name before turning it off and throwing it on the couch next to him. He knew people would call, he knew they would want to talk, but he didn't. All he wanted was to just sit in the dark, to suffer a little longer in his own guilt. It's what he deserved, at least that's what he kept telling himself.

Wait a minute...

He froze, eyes darting over to the phone. The name of the caller suddenly clicked in his mind. All Might. He'd just hung up on All Might, or as the older man kept telling him 'Toshinori.'

With a small groan, he brushed the hair out of his eyes and sat up, debating on whether or not to call the man back. All his emotions were so scattered at the moment. He wanted to talk and not talk at the same time. He wanted Toshinori to be here and yet he also wanted to just be left alone. He wanted the world to just stop closing in on him. He wanted everything to be okay, but that was never going to happen.

Leaning forward, he buried his face in his hands and took a deep breath, then another, then another. After a while, his breathing evened out and he closed his eyes, resting his head back on the couch and straining his ears to hear the distant echoes of the trains that ran near his apartment. Eventually, exhaustion overtook him and he fell asleep.

A loud knock on the door nearly sent him toppling off the couch. Fingers fumbled around for his phone, turning it back on, and flinching at the too bright light that glowed over his face. It was nearly two in the morning, he'd only been asleep for less than an hour. Once his phone had fully powered back on, the small device flooded his notifications with several missed calls and numerous text messages, most of them being Toshinori. Another pang of guilt dripped into his chest at the thought of ignoring his mentor. He didn't want to be rude, something he feared might happen if the retired hero found him in this sorry state.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he stood up and all his muscles immediately complained. They were overworked, not that it was really any surprise, the still rookie hero always went overboard on missions. This time, he welcomed the pain. It gave him a nice distraction as he stumbled to the door. On the other side was exactly who he was expecting, although the timing was a bit late, or, he supposed, rather early in the day.

"What are you doing here?" He didn't realize how rude that sounded until it actually came out. "I mean," he sighed. "It's two in the morning All- Toshinori."

"You weren't answering." The older man simply said. "I was getting worried."

Izuku finally took the time to look the man over. He was dressed in a plain pair of sweats and a heavy coat, holding some sort of small box. His hair was a mess and his face, although always sickly and pale, seemed even more so tonight.

"I wanted to check on you." He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing around the empty hallway. "Maybe...talk a little?"

Talking was the last thing on Izuku's mind, but he couldn't just shut out Toshinori, no matter how upset he was. The man even drove all the way here in the dead of night. It would be downright villainous to turn him away. With a sigh, he stepped aside and let the man in.

Toshinori knew the layout of the apartment well; he'd been here enough times by now to have it memorized, but the complete darkness was making it hard to navigate. His hand smoothed along the wall until he found the switch and suddenly the apartment bloomed to life. It was a basic place with just the necessities and of course all the All Might merch Izuku had acquired over the years. Once a fanboy, always a fanboy.

"Um, Izuku," He said quietly, slipping the coat from his lanky form. "Why don't you go change and I'll make us some tea." Toshinori hesitated before continuing. "Maybe take a shower, that might do you some good."

The young pro blinked and looked down at himself. His costume was filthy and littered with dirt smeared cuts. The most glaring issue was the giant blood stain that ran from his torso down to his right leg. Even more disturbing that the blood wasn't even his. He'd been too lost in his thoughts when he got home that it didn't even cross his mind what he looked like.

"Yeah, okay." He murmured, carding his hand through his tangled hair.

A shower actually did sound pretty good at the moment, so he trudged to his room and stripped the soiled garment off, well tried to. The blood had fused the fabric and his skin together so he slowly peeled it off, trying not to look at the mistakes that were literally written in blood and woven to his skin. When he finally did get it off, he stared at the fabric lying limply in his hands. It might've been beyond repair this time, or maybe it was that he just didn't want to see the tainted suit ever again.

The warm water felt nice on his sore muscles, but the moment he looked down and saw the water pooling around his feet turn red he had to steady himself against the wall and take a deep breath. Those haunting images popped back in his head again so he turned the shower on the coldest setting and stayed there until his skin felt raw.

It was about ten minutes before Izuku came back out, flat hair dripping down onto his hoodie, and hands shoved into the pocket of his sweats. He would've looked comfortable if not for the permanent grimace on his face.

Two cups of tea had been set out on the dining table with Toshinori behind one, gingerly sipping the dark liquid. Izuku slipped into the empty seat and stared at the steaming cup.

"Feel better?" Toshinori wrapped his hands around his own cup, savoring the warmth it brought.

"I guess."

A tight silence settled over the two. Usually Izuku was all smiles with Toshinori, the man was his idol, how could he not be, but tonight was different. Tonight held a heavy, more somber mood, one Toshinori was well acquainted with, just not on his protégé.

"What's that smell?" Izuku perked his head up, his curious nature taking over as the scent of cinnamon wafted through the room.

"Oh, right." Toshinori hurried into the kitchen and came back out with a plate full of sweet smelling desserts. "I picked these up when I was in Kyoto the other day. I thought you'd appreciate them."

He set the plate between them. "Yatsuhashi?" Izuku picked up one of the crisp sweets and examined it, glad to have something else to focus on. "Thanks."

"Izuku, my boy," Toshinori gingerly sat back down. "I saw what happened on the news, but I...I wanted to...are you alright?"

Alright wasn't even in the same universe as him. He squeezed the yatsuhashi between his fingers, the hard shell cracking under the pressure. A grim frown pulled at his lips. "How did you handle that...the first time it happened?"

Toshinori folded his hands on his lap and pursed his lips. "Not well, I can tell you that."

That surprised Izuku. To him, All Might could handle anything, no matter how big or small, and always with a smile. The man seemed invincible, even after his retirement, it still seemed like he could accomplish anything. That was probably all the biased sentiment he held in his heart for the man who had filled a role much bigger than 'mentor' could even encompass. Growing up without a father had left a blank spot, something he was able to ignore for a long time, but it was one that Toshinori seemed to fit into perfectly.

"Listen Izuku," he took a deep breath and forced the boy who wasn't so much a boy anymore as he was a young man, a prospering hero, to look him in the eyes. "There are inevitably going to be times where you can't save everyone. That doesn't mean you failed as a hero."

Giant green eyes searched Toshinori's bright blue ones. "Not to her. To her, I did fail." He dropped the crushed treat back onto the plate and sunk his head into his hands. "I lied to her." His voice was nothing more than a broken whisper.

"Lied?"

"She...she asked me if she was going to die. She was crying. She was bleeding out in my arms and crying. I've never seen someone so terrified, so I lied." All that emotion he'd somehow been suppressing came rushing to the surface and he choked back a sob. "I had her, I had her in my grasp and I still couldn't save her. What kind of hero can't even save one life?"

"Did you forget about all the other lives you saved today?" Toshinori set a bony hand on his shoulder and leaned in close. "If anyone gets to call themselves hero, it's you Izuku. Out of all the people I've ever met you are the most selfless and determined person to ever walk this earth. I know I made the right choice in you Izuku, you are the truest version of a hero."

When Izuku didn't respond, he knelt next to his chair, grabbed the boys shoulders and pulled them up gently so he was facing him. "I know exactly what you're going through my boy. I've been there more times than you can count, but carrying around that blame, that, that guilt will only weigh you down." Izuku could only stare at him through tear stained eyes. "I'm so proud of the hero you've become. I'm certain that one day you'll be the very best and all the world will know-" he tapped Izuku's chest- "that you are here."

There was a moment of silence before Izuku lunged forward and collapsed into Toshinori's chest with a crushing hug. They both nearly toppled to the ground before Toshinori managed to regain his footing. It didn't matter that it was an awkward position to kneel in there was no way he was letting his boy go. His gangly arms wrapped around his boy.

His boy.

His son.

The one person whom he considered family, someone to call son, although he couldn't recall a time he'd ever actually told Izuku that, or anyone for that matter. It was more of an unspoken understanding, at least, he hoped Izuku understood. Toshinori never had any family ties and before he met Izuku there was a void he'd buried in the recesses of his mind, but now he couldn't even think of a life without Izuku in it.

"I'm sorry." Izuku sniffed into his chest and Toshinori ran a hand through his still wet curls. "Thank you Toshi...for being here."

To say that that simple nickname hadn't affected the old man would be an outright lie. Izuku had always tried so hard to be respectful, which was why he always had trouble calling Toshinori by his name instead of his title. This might've been the first time he's ever used that nickname and Toshinori, no, Toshi only squeezed tighter.

His heart couldn't help but swell and he smiled, but it wasn't his generic 'All Might' smile, no, this one was reserved for only one person. This was a smile that he could pour his entire being into. A smile that could say so much more than he ever could. This was a smile for his son.

"My boy, you don't have to thank me. It's what family does."

#midoriya izuku #pro hero midoriya #yagi toshinori #All Might #bnha #mha #slight angst #comfort #pro hero Deku #dadmight #izuku midoriya needs a hug #dadmight to the rescue #deku #crying #this boy just needs so much love #can we please get some love for poor Izuku?#he's the best

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romantic-p0etry · 4 years

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This anti-cottagecore discourse is so frustrating to me. There definitely can be a way that people can steal the cottagecore aesthetic and turn it into some fashy tradwife bullshit, but on the whole all of the people I follow on twitter and instagram are black women reaffirming their femininity through white dresses and bows and shit. Not only that, but, for me, its a form of escapism that I have adopted specifically because of how absolutely depressing and soul crushing it is to be a poor black queer woman in a white supremacist, patriarchal, late capitalist society.

I understand wanting to deconstruct certain things and view them from a different lens, I also don’t use tiktoc or follow many white ppl who subscribe to the aesthetic so I personally haven’t seen any weird colonialist bullshit. But like... cottagecore is an aesthetic. Its cottages and nature and animals and shit. It can be anti-capitalist, it can be colonialist, it can be liberating to woc, it can be anti-feminist in nature. To me it really is what you make it and I think this black or white reductionism is really silly.

I have to admit that this is kinda biased and a very emotional response, but like, I lost my job because I spoke out against corporate not following CDC guidelines, I can’t leave my damn house because we’re in a global pandemic, and I am literally watching fascism become a reality in my country. Can I please just have my dumb fantasy where I have a community garden and like, make jams and shit? Damn.

#cottagelife #cottagecore #anti cottagecore

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dramioneasks · 4 years

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HP FESTS: Dramione Height Difference

Dramione Height Difference 2020:

Arithmancy and Quidditch by grace_lou_freebush - E, one-shot - Hermione and Draco are partners on an Arithmancy project during their eighth year, but Draco fails to meet up at their agreed upon time. When Hermione finds him down at the Quidditch pitch, she just might change her mind about how upset she is." She hadn't seen him up close in his Quidditch kit since second year, and the sight made her snap her jaw shut and swallow. Her eyes trailed from his massive hands and his covered forearms up to his square shoulders. His emerald green robes fit over his light pads snuggly and hung like a second skin down his slim torso. Quidditch robes were designed to be trim, without excess fabric, for speed and agility, and Hermione was reaping the benefits of that now. At the waist, the robes parted to showcase the tight trousers he wore to cover his lower half. The white fabric almost glowed in the twilight, and shadows at his groin left little to the imagination as the fabric bunched at his hips, creating an impressive display of his package. He'd slowed down as he approached the locker rooms, and Hermione drank her fill of his body before snapping her eyes up to see his face lit by the lamp at the Slytherin entrance."

The Borrower by magical_traveler - T, one-shot - Malfoy looked up at her and scowled. “What have you done to me, Granger?” he squeaked. His face grew red as he heard his voice and he glared at Hermione. He began to pace in the seat of the chair. Hermione began giggling.

Chains by Aneiria - E, one-shot - 'Draco,’ Hermione crooned, making her voice sound as soothing as possible. She reached up to wrap her hands in his soft blond hair, tugging firmly to try and force him to look down at her. His hands were holding her tight around her waist, almost meeting around her middle, but he looked over her head to where the official was now lying sprawled on his back. ‘Look at me, Draco,’ she tried again, tugging his hair harder. Finally he tore his eyes away and looked down at her, still breathing heavily. Hermione gasped when she saw the usual silver of his irises had brightened to an ethereal blue, his pupils narrowed into elongated slits.‘Oh, Draco…’ she breathed, concern building in her as she reached up to stroke his cheek. Draco purred and rubbed his face against her palm. ‘We need to get you home.’

Fun Sized by EarlGreyPanic - E, one-shot - Hermione gets hit by one of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes famous "Fun Sized Spray" and lost a couple of inches of her height. She decided to make the best of it and use her height for some "fun-sized" activities. Posted for Musyc's Dramione Height Difference Mini-Fest

Height by SenLinYu - E, one-shot - “Tall? That’s what you think I should notice about Malfoy? His height?” Ginny quirked an eyebrow and licked the tip of her quill suggestively. ”Well, isn’t that your thing? Lockhart. Krum. McLaggen. Ron. The only thing they have in common is being tall enough to give me a neck ache.” Hermione felt her ears grow hot, and she gripped her book tighter. “I don’t have a thing for tall men. Their height is—completely coincidental.” Dramione Height Differences Minifest 2020.

"I will always catch you" by Takingflight48 - E, one-shot - "A huff drives out of my open mouth as he slides me up into the ceiling, but I have little time to consider logistics as his mouth is gliding up my right thigh, hot and needy." Malfoy's do not wait for anyone. That has not changed, a fact Hermione was banking on as her hunk of a man takes her to heights unknown.

The Longer The Wait The Sweeter The Kiss by hslades - E, one-shot - “I’ve missed you so much,” Hermione whispered in the crook of his neck, a few tears running down her cheeks, wetting the skin of his neck. “I was so worried.” “Shhh, it’s okay,” Draco assured her, running his large hands down her hair. “I’m safe, I’m home now.” Draco has been away on a mission for the resistance longer than expected. Hermione longs for him to get back to her safely.

Ministry Business or Minister's Pleasure by mxstyassasxin - E, one-shot - When Minister For Magic Hermione Granger drops her children off at Kings Cross for another year at Hogwarts, she has two problems on her hands. One, her imminent divorce from another third of the Golden Trio and two, the fallout from her removal of funding for a certain blonde's research project. The first is a given: Her marriage just hasn't been the same since Hugo started Hogwarts, since the emptiness became much more obvious. The second though? Maybe she can use the free time she suddenly finds herself with to help in some way...

Mismatch Miracle by diamonddaydream - T, one-shot - For Dramione Height Difference Mini-fest 2020. Hermione Granger always seems to make the first move, but only because Draco Malfoy is always already there.

One Moment in Time by PixieKisses - E, one-shot - Uncertain as to what her life held now that Voldemort was gone, Hermione heads up to her favourite place at Hogwarts. However, she's not the only one to seek sanctuary within the walls of the library. Can a moment of curiosity bring them clarity, or are they destined to be ill-fated for the rest of time?

Perfect Fit by granger_danger - E, one-shot - “What’s the height difference like, when it comes to sex?” Ginny waggled her eyebrows suggestively. Feeling eyes on her neck, Hermione looked up to find Draco staring at her from across the room. He appeared to be multitasking; while chatting amiably with Harry, he was also sending her a secret message with his gaze, another psychic missive detailing how her dress, lovely as it was, would look much better on his bedroom floor. “You know I don’t kiss and tell.” Hermione lifted her chin and fluffed her hair, grinning like the cat that got the cream. “But it does have … certain advantages.” *A fluffy, funny, filthy smut-biscuit written for Musyc's Dramione Height Difference Mini-Fest 2020 and featuring a tol!Hermione and a smol!Draco*

Persephone's Adjustment by riane_b13 - M, one-shot - Hey Mom! I’m so excited to see you and dad again. I just got the approval to get two weeks off so I’ll be home for Christmas through New Year's Eve. I can’t believe it’s really been a year since I’ve seen you. There’s so much that has happened since then. Ginny and Harry have finally set a date for their wedding. You would think that after seven years of dating Ginny would’ve forced him down the aisle. Molly almost did. The Harpies set their schedule to start spring season March 1st so they decided on February 1st. That way they have time for a honeymoon before Ginny starts back up training. Unfortunately for me, I need to find a new place to live. You can only imagine who practically demanded I move in.

The Peruvian Strike by ExpositorRevan (Naydras) - E, one-shot - The Wimbourne Wasps experiment with Quidditch innovation under Oliver Wood’s tutelage. Wood, desperate to defeat his former team the Schemers of Skye, enlists casual ballerina Hermione Granger to whip his inflexible chaser into fighting form. Porn with a side dish of plot. Dramione

Restricted Rendezvous by Musyc - E, one-shot - Draco looked up from his book in the library and caught her staring at him. Deliberately, he met her eyes. She looked down, her cheeks turning a soft pink. He folded his hands under his chin, waited until she looked at him again, then dragged the point of his tongue across his bottom lip. Draco follows Hermione into the Restricted Section.

Shifting Perspectives by Misdemeanor1331 - E, one-shot - Being a woman in a male-dominated profession is hard; being a woman and below average height is even harder. Fortunately, Hermione Granger has developed a strategy to counteract these unconscious biases. Unbeknownst to her, Draco Malfoy has noticed and formed his own opinions on the matter.

Untidy Souls by JelenaD - M, one-shot - Draco Malfoy is back for Eighth year. He wants a girl too large for her small size to get out of his head, but she’s persistent at the best of times.

This fest is closed.

#Fests/Exchanges/Challenges #Dramione Height Difference #height difference

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izzyfandoms · 4 years

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Sleepality - Inky Freckles

SHIPS: Sleepality, background Virmile and Thomgan, and mentioned Dukeceit (though neither of them show up)

WARNINGS: Remus sends one text message with an implied threat (not towards the recipient), very very background sympathetic deceit and remus (they aren't acc in any scenes), mild swearing

GENERAL TAGLIST: @quillfics42 @ajdraws0430 @phantomofthesanderssides @creativity-killed-thekitten @phlying-squirrel @sly-is-my-name-loving-is-my-game @because-were-fam-ily @imtryingthisout @a-creepycookie @emo-disaster @littlestr @spooky-scary-virgil @fuyel @mimsidoodles @soupgremlin @aroaceagenderfluid @birdsbookshiddeninrealbirdsskin @quirkalurk @gingers-trashy-stuff @iinyxtello @justaqueercactus @melodiread

Masterpost

Patton chewed distractedly on the end of his pen, tapping his foot on his bedroom floor as his eyes remained on his clock, watching as the seconds and the minutes ticked by.

Five minutes. Ten seconds.

Five minutes and ten seconds until the moment he turned sixteen.

January 15th, 1:46 am on the dot: the exact date and time of Patton’s birth. Precisely sixteen years after that moment, his soul would open up, and the bond between him and his soulmate would be formed, like an invisible string from one soul to the other. Any ink spilled on Patton’s skin would show up on his soulmate’s, too, and vice versa. Of course, nothing would happen if Patton’s soulmate wasn’t also sixteen yet, but it was still a big moment in his young life.

(If he even had a soulmate, that was. Most people didn’t, but Patton wouldn’t lie and say he wasn’t hopeful.)

Four minutes. Thirty-six seconds.

Patton got up from his desk, pacing around the room a few times before sitting down on his bed, leaning back against the pillows and pulling his knees to his chest. Despite the coolness of his room, and the goose-bumps on his arms, he was dressed in a worn blue t-shirt and pyjama shorts, revealing as much skin as possible, just in case. His father, Roman, had gifted him a new pack of pens – the ones made specially to be safe for skin – and he’d picked out the glittery light blue one, his favourite colour, ready to write.

Three minutes. Twelve seconds.

“Come on, come on, come on,” Patton mumbled.

Three minutes. Seven seconds.

He yawned loudly, stretching and almost dropping his pen. It was late – much later than he usually stayed up. Patton was a well-behaved kid; he went to bed when his father told him to, never stayed out past curfew. He was usually fast asleep by 11pm at latest, so this was rather unusual for him.

Tonight was one of a kind, after all.

Two minutes. Fifty-one seconds.

The tick of the clock was maddeningly slow, every second seeming to take hours. Patton couldn’t wait for when he didn’t have to keep watching.

He reached over to his bedside table, taking his phone and switching it on.

There was one new message, from his uncle Remus, sent a few minutes ago.

UNCLE REMUS

tell your soulmate if he ever hurts you ill rip off his dick and shove it down his throat

Patton sighed, switching off his phone and placing it back down beside him. He wasn’t sure why his uncle was so certain that he had a soulmate – he claimed it was because he was psychic, though his husband, Janus, had chided him and told him not to get Patton’s hopes up.

It was hard not to be hopeful. Impossible.

One minute. Forty-nine seconds.

Patton chewed nervously on his lip, looking over his freckled arms and wondering what exactly he’d write to his soulmate.

Would a simple ‘hello’ suffice?

There was no point in writing a whole paragraph, especially when it was statistically unlikely that Patton even had a soulmate – and even if he did, perhaps they were younger, and their connection wouldn’t start until his soulmate turned sixteen, too.

One minute. Zero seconds.

A minute. A minute. A minute. Just a minute until Patton (maybe) talked to his soulmate for the first time. That was so little time – though it felt like so much.

Patton couldn’t help but burst into delighted laughter, and he was sure that if anybody was watching him, they’d think he was insane. The hope bubbled up inside him, like a cup overflowing with water, unable to be suppressed.

Fifty seconds.

He moved forward, and then lay down on his back, spreading his arms out like a starfish.

Patton tried to keep the hope down, tried to keep it from spilling over even more. Or maybe that was nausea, swirling in his stomach, but it almost felt too good to be that. Too happy. Too excited. Both, maybe.

Forty seconds.

Patton twirled the pen in his hand.

It slipped from his fingers, hitting the carpet with a quiet thump.

He bent down – wobbling slightly and nearly tumbling right off his bed – picking it back up and then sitting up again. He moved so his back was pressed against the wall, and tilted his head up to look at the pattern at the ceiling, counting each swirl.

He glanced back at the clock.

Twenty seconds.

His heart thumped loudly in his chest, and his eyes remained on the clock, watching it tick.

Ten seconds.

Nine.

Eight.

Seven.

Six.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

Zero.

Zero. Zero. Zero.

Patton sat up straight, squeezing the pen tightly, so tightly that his nails dug into his palm.

He pulled off the cap, dropping it on the bed beside him and holding the tip just above his wrist. His hand shook (nervousness or excitement? Both) as he pondered what to write for another moment.

He pressed the pen to his skin.

Hello?

Hopefully that was good enough.

Patton waited a few seconds, almost a whole minute, and then sighed, leaning back so his head hit the wall and closing his eyes. He was disappointed, but he knew that it was his own fault. He shouldn’t have let himself get so hopeful. Maybe he didn’t have a soulmate – that was alright, his uncles weren’t soulmates and yet they were wonderfully happy together.

(But his brother, Emile, did have a soulmate, and there was something amazing about the way he and Virgil could practically read each other’s minds, communicating effortlessly without saying a word. Patton wanted that. He really, desperately wanted that, more than anything else in the world.)

He wouldn’t cry.

He wanted to cry, but he wouldn’t.

His lower lip trembled.

All of a sudden, Patton felt a funny sensation on his wrist, like someone else was writing on it – the non-existent pen so light on his skin he almost couldn’t feel it. Almost.

Patton’s eyes shot open, and he immediately lifted his wrist to stare at it, wide-eyed.

His breath stuttered at the words now written in black ink just below his greeting.

holy shit

Before Patton could truly process what was going on, before he could regain his breath, the sensation resumed, and more words began to appear below those first ones.

guess im ur soulmate lol

Patton couldn’t help but giggle, practically vibrating with excitement.

He picked his pen back up, ignoring the slight stain he’d left on his bedsheets. He’d spilt enough juice and milk on his bed to care about one little stain, especially right now, when he had a much more important thing to focus on.

Oh my gosh!!!!!!

Soulmate!!!

Im Patton!

Patton Picani!!!

thats a lot of exclamation marks babe

Nervousness tinged the edges of Patton’s bubble of excitement, enough that he almost didn’t notice the use of the word ‘babe’, which made his heart skip a beat.

sorry

not a bad thing

its cute

Patton bit his lip, wiggling excitedly as his heartrate increased. He watched as the words continued coming. They were messy, but Patton was sure the handwriting was the prettiest he’d ever seen, though he could admit that he might’ve been a little biased. He would read a million books written in this handwriting.

im Remy

Sanders

my bdays acc the 16th lol

tomorrow

i turn 17

Its my birthday today!!!!

Only after Patton wrote that did he realise how obvious it was – of course it was his birthday – but he didn’t particularly care. The ticking of the clock had faded into background noise, and it was hard to believe it had ever annoyed him so much, though it was impossible for him to think of anything negative right now. He was floating on cloud nine.

happy birthday

were running out of arm space

id have to strip to get leg room

wanna gimme ur number?

Okay!!!

They quickly exchanged phone numbers, and Patton immediately grabbed his phone, creating a new contact labelled ‘Remy’ followed by seven colourful hearts – a rainbow of love. But before he could text Remy, Remy texted him first.

REMY:

what time is it for u

Patton glanced at the clock.

PATTON:

Almost 2am

REMY:

same

Realisation struck Patton, and his eyes widened with guilt and concern. He bit his lip, and quickly resumed typing.

PATTON:

Oh my gosh im so sorry!!!! Did I wake you up?

REMY:

nah babe dw bout it

i was already up

i always sleep late

PATTON:

That sounds unhealthy :(

Get some rest!!!

REMY:

u sound like my dads lol

PATTON:

What are they like?

REMY:

my dads?

its just the three of us

their names are logan and thomas and theyre the sappiest motherfuckers on earth

gotta love em tho

theyre gonna be real thrilled when they find out bout u

bet theyll love you right away

wbu

whats ur fam like

PATTON:

Oh! Well ive got my dad

His name’s Roman

He works in theatre!!! Hes so cool

And I’ve got my older brother Emile hes 22 and hes a therapist

He uses cartoons to help people!!

Hes also got a soulmate his name is Virgil and hes a florist

They got married last year and the wedding was so much fun!!! So many pretty flowers!!!

And I’ve got my uncle Remus hes my dads twin hes a writer and his husband Janus is a lawyer theyre also both so cool!!!

And that’s everyone!!

REMY:

if theyre all as sweet as u sugar then im sure ur all v popular

PATTON:

Well we do have dinner with our neighbours a lot!!!

Mrs Smith gives me lots of candy

Its often stale but I eat it anyway cos shes just so sweet!

Sweeter than her candy lol

Patton’s door suddenly swung open, and he jumped, his phone slipping from his fingers and landing right in his lap. His father, Roman, stepped inside, yawning and rubbing his eyes, wincing at the bright light that hung from the ceiling.

“You still up, Pat?” He asked sleepily.

He squinted, his eyes landing on the still-on phone in Patton’s lap.

“Who are you te- by the glittering horn of a unicorn! Is that writing on your arm?” He sat down, taking Patton’s arm and looking over the words. He then glanced back up at his son, his eyes shining excitedly. “You have a soulmate,” He breathed.

“I do!” Patton exclaimed, bouncing excitedly in place. “His name is Remy and he turns seventeen tomorrow and he’s just so cool!”

Roman beamed. “Wow, I’m so incredibly happy for you, Pat!” He said. Then, he chuckled, his smile turning a little teasing. “But... it’s late, and you really should be sleeping. And I’m betting that Remy should be, too.”

Patton pouted a little. “But it’s a Friday! I don’t have any school tomorrow.”

“But the family’s coming over tomorrow at 10 for your birthday, and I know you. You’re gonna be all grumbly in the morning, instead of our happy-pappy Patton, and that’ll be even worse the less sleep you get.”

Patton drooped, like a little wilting flower, but couldn’t deny that his father was right.

“Okay...” He frowned, picking up his phone, switching off the screen without looking at it, and holding it against his chest. “Can I at least say night to Remy, first?”

Roman smiled. “Sure.”

He leant forward, squeezing Patton’s arm supportively, before pressing a quick kiss to his son’s forehead. Roman gave him one last smile, affectionately ruffling his hair, before pulling back and standing up. He brushed the non-existent dirt from his pyjamas.

“Goodnight, Pat,” He said. “And happy birthday.”

In the excitement that was talking to Remy, Patton had almost forgotten that it was his birthday, and he blinked in surprise as Roman left the room, quietly shutting the door behind him.

Patton then took a deep breath, before switching his phone back on to see whatever messages he’d missed.

REMY:

u rlly r an angel huh

PATTON:

Awwwww!!

Your making me blush

REMY:

thats the goal babe

PATTON:

Such a flirt!!

REMY:

im gonna be ten times more flirty when i get to see ur pretty face in person

PATTON:

How do you know Im pretty?

You havent even seen me yet

REMY:

i can just tell

im awesome like that

i bet ur the cutest person in the whole damn world

the whole damn universe

but while were on the subject of seeing each other

were waiting to meet naturally right?

PATTON:

Yeah!

Its good luck

REMY:

yea

PATTON:

Welp!!!

Dad says I gotta go to sleep now!!

Night <3<3<3

REMY:

night xoxox

Patton switched off his phone, placing it on his bedside table and getting off the bed. He wobbled slightly as he stood up, suddenly realising how tired he really was, and quickly walked up to his fairy lights, switching them on before switching off the main light. He then climbed back into bed, settling in the soft nest of pastel pillows and blankets, and his last thought before he fell asleep was of his soulmate.

He barely knew Remy, but he already couldn’t wait to spend the rest of his life with him.

***

The sound of the alarm from Remy’s phone rang through the room, waking him up suddenly. His immediate reaction was to groan, shutting it off quickly and then returning to the warm comfort of his mattress and pillows and blanket. It was the weekend, he had no plans, so if his dads wanted him up, they could come in and get him up themselves. Remy wanted to sleep.

Then, the memories of the night before flooded back to him, and he shot up in bed, pulling out his arm and staring at it wide-eyed.

The words Patton had written last night had now been washed away – likely to leave room for new words and new conversations – whilst Remy’s words still remained, though now a little smudged and faded. The only sign that Patton’s words had ever been there in the first place was the new word on his wrist, just below his palm, in baby blue, like the ones before.

Morning <3

Remy grinned, jumping out of bed much more enthusiastically than he usually did, grabbing the black pen on his bedside table and rushing to the bathroom, thankfully not bumping into either of his dads on the way there.

He washed his arms as quickly as he could, leaving them a little sore and red, though he didn’t care, and uncapped his pen with his teeth, leaving the lid in his mouth.

mornin

!!!!!

Do you always get up this late?

Remy laughed. The handwriting was a little larger and a little neater than his, and each i was dotted with a heart, which made him even more convinced that his soulmate was probably the cutest person on earth.

what time is it

10:30

later usually

what time did u get up

8:30

oof

i could never

What do you do for school then?

suffer

Remy took the pen lid out of his mouth, pocketing it and twirling the uncapped pen between his fingers, watching as more light blue words appeared on his arm. The sensation was feather-light, barely there, but impossible to ignore.

Aww no!!

I don’t want you to suffer :(

dw babe ive got coffee

life saver

id die without it

100%

Well make sure you don’t drink too much!!!!

Its bad for you!!

dw my dad always tells me that

he keeps an eye on it

Which one?

logan

Okay

There was a brief pause, and Remy almost continued writing, but he got the feeling that Patton wasn’t done, so he just waited patiently, tapping his foot against the tiled bathroom floor.

Do you mind if I doodle on my arms?

I usually do when Im bored but I thought Id ask

I wont if you don’t want me to tho

go ahead

what do u doodle?

I usually just connect my freckles

Like little constellations!!!!

It was impossible to keep the grin on Remy’s face from widening – Patton's enthusiasm was adorable and infectious – and he sat down on the edge of the bathtub, crossing one leg over the other as he pressed his pen to his skin and continued writing.

u got a lot of freckles?

Yup!

Theyre everywhere

everywhere?

Yeah!

one day

im gonna kiss every single one of your freckles

(Perhaps that was a little bold for only their second conversation, but Remy was a natural flirt, and Patton was his soulmate, after all. He’d back down at any sign of discomfort, but so far Patton had seemed receptive.)

every single one

Thats a lot of kisses

not enough

but itll be a good start

A little, swirly scribble appeared just beside the words Remy had written – the universal key-smash equivalent for soulmates writing on their skin. Just the thought that he was already able to fluster Patton so easily made Remy very, very happy. He grinned.

Gtg! Presents time!

Ill talk to you later <3<3<3

later xoxo

Remy fished the pen lid back out of his pocket, capping the pen and pocketing it. He then strolled back out of the bathroom, down the stairs, and towards the kitchen.

His fathers were both sat at the kitchen table, eating breakfast and talking. Their legs were pressed together under the table, and it was clear they’d just been flirting. Both Logan and Thomas looked up when Remy entered the room, surprised.

“What kind of natural disaster got you up before midday?” Thomas joked.

Remy waved his arm, showing off the writing, and Logan choked on his coffee. Thomas patted his back a few times worriedly, and Remy waited impatiently for the conversation to resume, tapping his foot against the floor.

“Is that what I think it is?” Logan asked incredulously, once he was breathing again.

Remy nodded. “Yup. Can I make coffee?”

Thomas nodded slowly, but it was clear he was much more focused on the previous topic at hand.

“You have a soulmate?” He asked. “Oh my gosh! What’s their name? Aren’t you gonna tell us about them?”

“Well, his name’s Patton,” Remy began, heading towards the coffee machine and immediately getting to work to make himself a large mug. “It’s his birthday today – it was actually, like, 2am, or something – and he’s real cute. I think you’ll both like him.”

Thomas exchanged a look with his husband – the former much more openly thrilled, whilst the latter looked more confused, though undeniably pleased. He then stood up, opening his arms immediately.

“I think this calls for a family hug,” Thomas grinned.

Logan sighed, but put his own coffee mug back down, getting up obediently.

Remy groaned. “Really? Before my coffee? Do I have to?”

“Yup! Right now,” Thomas said, wrapping one arm around Logan’s waist and resting his chin on his head, keeping his other arm outstretched, awaiting their son. “This is a big moment! It calls for a family hug. C’mere.”

“There is no point refusing, Remy,” Logan said dryly. “I learnt that a long time ago.”

“Aww, you love me.”

“Of course. That is why we got married, after all.”

Remy groaned again. “Are you two really flirting, right now? Gross.”

“Well, if you want us to stop flirting, you’re gonna have to join the hug.”

Remy sighed exaggeratedly, dragging his feet as he walked up to his dads, reluctantly joining the family hug. Then, he pulled back as quickly as he could get away with, making a face and turning back to the coffee machine. He quickly made himself a large mug – with excessive amounts of milk and sugar, something his father would usually criticise, though he seemed to turn a blind eye for today.

Remy then sat down at the table, beside Thomas, sipping eagerly at his coffee and leaning back in his chair.

His fathers didn’t take their eyes off of his arm, clearly reading the words, and after about a minute, Remy rolled his eyes, placing the coffee on his table and crossing his arms.

“What are you looking at?”

“Attitude, Remy,” Thomas sighed. “Be nice. And we’re looking at your arm because we’re excited! You have a soulmate, that’s a really big deal! We should celebrate.”

Remy perked up. “Celebrate?”

Logan nodded in agreement. “Perhaps tonight we could have dinner at the Italian place that you like.”

“Ooh, the one with that fancy pasta?”

“Weren’t we planning on going there tomorrow?” Thomas asked his husband.

Remy blinked, surprised. “We were?”

Thomas blinked, and then gave his husband a slightly sheepish smile. “I don’t think I was supposed to tell you that.”

Logan sighed. “Well, I think we can put that off for tomorrow, then. Today... you may invite a few friends over.” Remy opened his mouth, but Logan quickly continued, interrupting him before he could speak. “Three friends, maximum. No parties.”

Remy pouted. “Only three? Lame.”

“If you complain, we’ll bring it down to two.”

“Three sounds great!”

***

Patton picked up his phone, holding it to his ear as he paced casually around his room.

“Emile!” He greeted. “How are you?”

“Happy birthday, Pat!” Emile greeted cheerfully, and Patton could practically hear the usual smile on his face. “And I’m doing great. Virgil invited his brother to dinner yesterday, so that was fun, and I had a real breakthrough with one of my clients, too. You?”

“I’m good! Hey, do you think this counts as Remy and my anniversary? I mean, I know we haven’t actually really met, yet, but it’s been a year since we first spoke, and we are soulmates. Does that count? Would it be weird to count it?”

Emile hummed. “I think that if you want it to count, it counts.”

“That’s a bit vague,” Patton sighed.

Emile laughed. “That’s just how it works, I’m afraid. How is Remy anyway? It’s his birthday tomorrow, right?”

Patton perked up at the opportunity to talk about his soulmate. “Remy’s great! He got a new job at the Starbucks near his house; he’s pretty excited about it. And yup, it’s his birthday tomorrow! He turns eighteen. It’s a funny coincidence, isn’t it? That our birthdays are so close?”

“It’s actually a lot more common for soulmates to have these similarities than you’d think,” Emile said. “Close birthdays, close locations, things like that. I mean, Virgil and I were both born in the same hospital.”

“Really? Oh, that’s cool!” Patton smiled.

He sat down on his bed, pulling his legs up to sit cross-legged, and moving so his back was against the wall, half-sitting on one of his pillows.

“Yup! I’ve researched a lot about these things,” Emile said. “And- oh, Virgil, there you are!”

Patton heard rustling on the other end of the line, like Emile was temporarily putting his phone down, probably to greet and kiss his husband. He waited patiently, humming a song from the Steven Universe movie and drumming his fingers against his leg. His eyes scanned the various words written across his arms. Shiny black and glittery light blue. There were doodles, too – lines connecting the dots of his freckles, done by himself, and little stars and moons and hearts by Remy.

Then the rustling resumed, more movement, and Patton stopped humming.

“Morning, Pat,” Virgil greeted.

Patton smiled. “Virgil! How’s work going?”

“Not bad. I helped a guy arrange a hate-bouquet for his ex-boyfriend yesterday, so that was fun.”

“Sounds interesting!”

Virgil hummed in agreement, and it sounded like he was nodding. “I’m gonna hand the phone back to Emile, now. Happy birthday, kid.”

“Thanks!”

There was another moment of rustling, and then Emile returned.

“Okay, Virgil and I have to get to work,” Emile said. “We’re stopping by later for dinner, dad already knows. And, before you ask, no I will not tell you what your gift is, you’re gonna have to wait and see.”

Patton pouted. “Aww, okay. Bye!”

“Bye!”

Patton hung up the phone, before switching over to the texting app, and opening up his conversation with Remy.

PATTON

Hey im running out of space

So im gonna clean my arm

Can you too?

Remy responded almost immediately, as he usually did.

REMY

sure

one sec

Patton smiled, getting up and pocketing his phone. He headed over to the bathroom, quickly scrubbing away the words on his arms (he could leave the ones still remaining on his legs and torso, for now), and watching as Remy’s words disappeared at about the same time.

He then returned to his bedroom, sitting back down on his bed and fetching and uncapping his favourite pen.

The moment the tip of his pen touched his skin, a small black dot appeared just below it, like Remy was doing the exact same on his side – unintentionally trying to write in unison. All of a sudden, a wave of peace and happiness washed over Patton, but the emotions didn’t come from within himself. No, they came from an outside source, from somewhere else. Not from him.

From Remy.

At first, Patton was confused, disoriented, and then his heart skipped a beat, and he lifted his pen from his wrist.

The feeling stopped.

He then returned the pen to his wrist, creating another dot of light blue ink. For a moment, nothing happened, the feeling didn’t return, but then a small black speck appeared just beside his.

This time, the happiness was joined by an almost cautious excitement, tinged with something else.

What was it?

Love?

Love.

It felt like Patton was loving himself, except the love came from elsewhere, it came from Remy. Like a warm, comfortable blanket of love, wrapping around him and keeping him safe.

Patton beamed, wide and toothy and delighted, leaning back against the pillows and practically wiggling with excitement, careful to keep his pen tip on his wrist. A similar, thrilled feeling came back at him, and Patton quickly realised that whatever feelings he was getting from Remy, Remy was probably getting some very similar feelings in return from him.

damn babe

either something v weird is happening to me or thats ur feelings im feeling

I can feel it too!!!

Oh my gosh!

good i was worried i might be drunk

Have you been drinking?

nah thats why i was worried lmao

would be v weird to be drunk with no booze

Well that sure would be unusual!

The feelings from Remy weren’t constant, they only surfaced when both Patton and Remy were writing at once – flashes of emotions that were practically addicting. He wanted to keep feeling those feelings forever.

this is v weird

on and off

think itll get more constant the more we talk?

like we wont need to be both writing at the same time to feel it or smth?

Yeah!

I think so

Thats what happened with Em and Virge at least

cool

cant wait

There was a brief pause, and then Remy’s writing resumed.

can we doodle?

might make the empathy connection thingy better

Sure!

Patton giggled, unable to help himself, before pressing the tip of his pen to one of his freckles and drawing a thin line from it to another. Then another and another and another. Over and around the written words. He wasn’t making any specific shape or pattern in particular, just connecting the numerous dots. As he did this, Patton felt new shapes and doodles appearing on his legs, though he couldn’t see them through his trousers. Hearts and stars and moons and pawprints, most likely. The last one was new – Patton’s favourite.

He could feel Remy’s peace and contentment and love (love, love), like it was flowing through the air and seeping through his skin, filling him with happiness. Sometimes, it even increased for a brief moment, usually just after Patton’s happiness bubbled over into delighted giggles. It was a cycle – happiness creating happiness creating happiness.

Patton loved Remy. Remy loved Patton.

Love. Love. Love.

***

“Hey, Remy!”

Remy glanced up from his phone, straightening up as noticed and watched his best friend, Toby, approaching him. His foot tapped impatiently against the pavement, and his sunglasses were on to shield his eyes from bright midday sun.

“Gurl, what was taking you so long?” Remy complained, stuffing his phone into his pocket and crossing his arms, practically pouting. “I’ve been waiting here for, like, hours.”

Toby gave him a dry look. “I’m ten minutes late.”

“And that’s, like, ten hours in gay-and-in-a-hurry time.”

“In a hurry? What the hell are we even doing? Your text was very vague.”

“Well, it’s my dad’s birthday in a-”

“Which one?”

“Thomas. Bitch, stop interrupting me.”

Toby laughed, and Remy glared at him. He held his hands up defensively in mock surrender, and then gestured for Remy to continue.

“Anyway, it’s my dad’s birthday on Sunday and I’m supposed to get him a gift. I dunno what, though, so you’re gonna help me.”

“I’m pretty sure you know him better than I do.”

Remy shushed him. “Gurl, I am not letting you get out of helping me. So, we’re going to-”

He suddenly froze, going silent. Remy’s brow then creased, too, and after a moment of stillness he began to rapidly pat his arms and legs, like he was looking for something, though he didn’t seem to find it. Toby gave him a bewildered look.

“Dude, what are you doing?”

“I can feel Patton’s emotions,” Remy said.

He could, but only barely – just little hints of Patton, pricking the edges of his soul – much less than he was used to, but still impossible to ignore. He was used to these feelings by now, always recognising them immediately, though this time it was... different.

“Okay... so, he’s writing to you? Isn’t that normal?”

Remy looked back at him, looking just as confused as Toby. “No, he isn’t. He isn’t writing to me. No ink.”

“He... isn’t?”

“I can always feel it,” Remy explained. “Always. But not right now. Why... why-” He froze, his eyes widening behind his dark sunglasses.

“What?”

“He must be close. He must- oh my god, he must be close!” Remy looked around quickly, at all of the surrounding pedestrians. None of them looked right – none of them were Patton – but he could practically sense him. He was so close.

Toby blinked. “Really?” He asked incredulously.

“Yes. Yes, really. I know what I’m talking about!” Remy exclaimed, perhaps a little harsher than intended. “The empath shit only happens when you write or when you’re close. Gurl, that’s, like, common knowledge.”

Toby held his hands up. “Right, uh... sorry.” He cleared his throat. “So, how are we gonna find him?”

Remy’s brow scrunched up in thought. “I don’t know.”

His best friend shrugged, even more lost than he was.

“Maybe... maybe...” Remy continued, trailing off, before he suddenly straightened up. “It’ll get stronger the closer I get to him, so I just have to follow where it’s stronger, right? Like... like getting warmer and colder.”

Toby nodded slowly. “That makes sense. So, uh, walk around, and we’ll go in the direction that makes it stronger.”

Remy immediately began to pace in circles around Toby, pulling a slightly panicked face when at one point the feeling completely disappeared. Then, it got stronger, a wave of anticipation and curiosity, nervousness and excitement.

It suddenly hit Remy that if he could feel Patton, then Patton could feel him, too.

Patton was probably looking for him.

The corners of Remy’s lips twitched up into a smile. He was practically oozing excitement, and it was contagious, as Patton’s also seemed to increase – even Toby began smiling, too.

Toby patted him on the shoulder.

“Go on, follow your gut. I’ll be right behind you.”

Remy immediately turned on his heel, sprinting in the direction the emotions seemed to be coming from, and Toby almost tripped over his own feet following him. The empathy got stronger and stronger and stronger with every step, until it was even stronger than it usually was, and as his excitement further increased, so did Patton’s.

He rounded a corner, and immediately ran right into someone running at a similar speed, and they both tumbled to the ground with two loud thumps.

“Ah, fuck,” Remy groaned, closing his eyes and massaging the bridge of his nose as a jolt of pain shot down his leg.

“Oof,” The other boy winced.

His voice was like a bell, ringing through the air: suddenly the only sound that Remy could hear.

That was when Remy realised that Patton’s emotions were now equal to his own – mixing together in Remy’s soul until they were one and the same. It was almost like they were thinking and feeling as one, which was rather disorienting, to say the least.

Patton... Patton was right in front of him.

Remy opened his eyes, immediately coming face-to-face with the most gorgeous person he had even seen – a wide-eyed and freckled boy, about a year younger than Remy, staring back at him with parted lips and an equally startled expression. He was wearing a blue and grey t-shirt, showing off his arms and the words Remy had written to him today, and all the constellations he’d doodled on his own skin. Now, Remy could see the stars that he’d been missing, and, in his opinion, they were even better than the ones in the night sky.

Patton.

Patton, Patton, Patton.

“Patton,” Remy breathed.

“Remy.”

Remy laughed, uncontrolled and loud and delighted, sitting up straight and taking Patton’s hand in his own, squeezing it. It was warm and soft, Remy never wanted to let go, and when Patton squeezed back, he felt... complete. Perfect. Heaven.

Patton smiled – like a shining sun, one that thankfully didn’t hurt to look at, as Remy couldn’t take his eyes off of it.

“Wow,” Remy laughed. “You’re... wow.”

“Wow,” Patton echoed.

People were probably staring at them – Toby included – but Remy couldn’t take his eyes off of Patton to check. Patton seemed to be doing similarly, his eyes slowly taking in every part of Remy’s body, before returning to his face, staring into his eyes.

Patton’s eyes were brown, like honey in the sunlight. Beautiful.

“It’s... it’s nice to finally meet you,” Patton said softly.

“Likewise.”

There was a beat.

“You are gorgeous,” Remy continued, the words coming out before he could stop himself. He almost regretted blurting it out, but then Patton’s face turned a particularly pretty shade of pink, and Remy immediately grinned.

Patton squeezed his hand. “You, too.”

“Oh, I know I’m hot, babe,” Remy said, making Patton giggle. “But you, you’re... you’re an angel. Like, damn, how the hell did I get so lucky? I must’ve done something really freaking amazing in a past life to have deserved you.”

“You’re even more of a flirt in person,” Patton smiled, a little teasingly.

Remy laughed. “I mean, I’m pretty sure I warned you.”

“You did,” Patton said, smiling fondly.

“Is it too soon to ask if I can kiss you?” Remy asked suddenly. His tone of voice was casual, like he was joking, but they both knew – Patton could probably sense – that he was serious.

Patton didn’t hesitate, answering quickly. “No. I mean, yes. I mean... no, it’s not too soon. Please?”

Remy didn’t waste any time, reaching forward, carefully cradling Patton’s face in his hand and kissing him gently. His lips were soft and warm and Remy never wanted to stop kissing him. Patton covered Remy’s hand with his own free one, kissing back a little clumsily, though it was without a doubt enthusiastic.

Then, he got a little too enthusiastic, and Remy tumbled backwards, pulling Patton along with him.

They broke apart, and after a moment of startled – slightly awkward – silence, they both started laughing loudly, and Patton climbed off of him. He finally stood up, holding out his hand and helping Remy up, too.

The pedestrians that had been watching them had mostly all moved on by now, leaving only Toby hovering awkwardly nearby. He had his phone out, trying to distract himself, give them some privacy, though he was undeniably still keeping an eye out. It wasn’t every day you saw a soulmate pair’s first meeting.

Remy took Patton’s hands in his own, looking him over again and again and again.

An idea came to him – not a new one, one he’d thought about and talked about and dreamed and daydreamed about a million times – and he grinned in a way that he could feel made Patton’s heart skip a beat.

“Remember how I said I wanted to kiss every freckle?"

#me #writing #sleepality #sanders sides #remy sanders #sleep sanders #patton sanders #mosleep #soulmate au #human au #sanders sides au #thomas sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #emile picani #cartoon therapy #virmile #thomgan

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heartbeatan · 4 years

Text

Devil's Garden (Chapter 2)

Return to Chapter 1.

Return to Table of Contents.

Return to Desperado Series.

Return to Taehyung Fanfictions.

Return to Masterlist.

Chapter Two

Taehyung arrived mid-morning to The Devil’s Garden the next day. The establishment wasn’t open to the public yet – it usually wasn’t until near noon – but a lot of the staff were there already, hustling around the property tending to crops, the distillery and preparing the guest services. He was guided down a long corridor by the hostess until she eventually released him in front of your office. You weren’t there yet. You were somewhere else on the property and would be there “momentarily” or so he was told. At first, Taehyung sat patiently in the winged chair across from your desk – smoothing out his tie and straitening the lapels and pleats of his freshly pressed suit.

But patience was never Taehyung’s strong suit and soon his eyes began to wander towards the nooks and crannies of the room. The space smelled clean – clean in the way a woman would keep it. Like fresh laundry, or a citrus cleaner, perhaps a vanilla incense was placed somewhere in the room. He gazed over the bookshelves to his right, looking for the source and spotting the jar of oil and reeds. He stood up before he realized that he had, then strolled across the room.

“Yup,” he said out loud as the scent intensified, confirming the diffuser was the source. His gaze then wandered beyond it, to the books and the knickknacks strewn over the shelves. Organized chaos is what he would call your system. Clean and tidy, but without direction. Files related to business were stored between novels, which were propped against trinkets and photo frames. This office, this shelf, each piece was telling a story - although he didn’t quite know yet how to read it.

The first thing that really caught his attention was a short, silver, decorative dagger, propped up on a simple plexiglass stand. It was the kind you’d find in a games shop. The kind people, of a certain taste, would splay throughout their homes and hang from walls. It seemed massively out of place compared to the contemporary, bright décor of the room. Perhaps it was a gift, or an artifact from a phase you went through in your younger years. He then noticed a box, wood carved and antique looking. He couldn’t stop his internal private eye from flicking the latch to peer inside.

Cigarettes. Taehyung smiled. So, you weren’t as squeaky clean and polished as you first appeared. You too had a dirty little habit the way he did. Except, unlike him, you hid yours. Probably only had one every once in a while, when the world became just a little too stressful.

He closed the lid, then moved a little further down the shelves, ghosting his fingers over the books until he reached one that intrigued him. It was a romance novel – he could tell from the spine. He recognized it as the drugstore type that his mother liked to read. He reached for it, taking it from its place on the shelf and flipping it over in his hand to read the summary.

This one was about a woman at the turn of the century. Young, pretty, wealthy and from “good breeding.” But all she had ever wanted was to rough it with the lads at the tavern: drink beer; gamble over poker; wear pants. A woman who would soon meet a strapping but primitive type man, who would offer her what she wanted at a cost of one wild night together.

Taehyung’s sniffed in amusement as he read the ridiculous description, but it had his curiosity regardless. He wondered… was this simple fantasy, or did this type of scenario titillate you? Was this something you dreamt about late at night - something you secretly wanted? One night of passion with a man who would debase you… use you… ruin you… before you returned to your pretty little life and the boring fucker you meant to live it out with?

He knew these thoughts were biased and self serving, but, oh god, did he enjoy the idea that they could be true; the idea that he could be your Sir What’s-His-Face, owed one night of making you come over and over again.

Maybe it would happen here, at the winery, under the cover of darkness so that sucker of a husband of yours would never find out. After hours, so that no one would be around to hear the sounds he’d make you make…

Taehyung replaced the book on the shelf as he heard voices and footsteps in the hall outside your office. Before returning to his seat, however, something else caught his attention. A photo within a frame. It appeared to have been taken there, in front of the visitor’s entrance. You were there, centre, surrounded by just a few people – far less people than worked here now – but he deduced it was a staff photo. Probably from when you first opened The Devil’s Garden. Next to you stood a man, tall, handsome, grinning widely with his arm wrapped around your waist. Taehyung hated him immediately.

“Mr. Kim,” he turned his head towards the door as you called his name. You stepped across the threshold, smiling brightly at him, more preoccupied by the stack of papers in your arms than of the stranger canvasing your office.

“Taehyung, please” he reminded you, hating how the formality of his name sounded off your tongue.

“Sorry!” you apologized as you threw the stack of papers onto your desk, before turning to him and sticking out your hand and smiling. “Taehyung.”

For some reason, your gesture for a handshake felt even more formal than calling him Mr. Kim, and he didn’t like it either. But nonetheless, he reached out and shook it, but not before his eyes – just as they did the first time you met – flickered down your body to drink in the sight of you. Today, you were in yet another dress. But this time, it was a little more formal, a little bit tighter, and he could swear by the way he marveled at your legs that it was a little bit shorter too. This time, you wore open-toed high heels, and he salivated at the way they showcased your feet and curved your spine. In fear his unconscious objectification of you was obvious, he snapped his gaze back to your face, but your eyes were not on him. Instead, they too had flitted to his shoes, then back up his form, over his broad chest, until they locked with his. For an awkward second, you stared back at him in what appeared to be a state of shock. As if you had been caught. Your cheeks blushed slightly – he was sure of it. Were you… checking him out?

No way, Taehyung thought to himself. You were just sizing him up. Reminding himself what a shit show he looked like yesterday, you were probably surprised that he had cleaned himself up so well today. For some reason, that made him even more embarrassed. He wasn’t sure why – either for the fact that you saw him a mess just less than 24 hours ago, or for the possibility that you realized he was cleaning up for you.

“Is this your first husband?” he blurted out suddenly in a bid to overcome the awkwardness he felt. He pointed backwards to the picture frame he had just be looking at when you entered the room.

“Yes,” you confirmed as you peered over his shoulder to its place on the shelf. “We weren’t married yet, but yes.”

“So, he worked here?”

“Sort of,” you shuffled your head, implying that it wasn’t that simple. “He was going through school at the time. I was supporting him, but he worked here sometimes to help me out.”

“What did he go to school for?”

“To be an electrician.”

“You like your tradesmen, then?” Taehyung quipped, but immediately regretted it. What kind of an asshole jokes with a woman he hardly knows about the type of men she fucks? What kind of an asshole jokes about someone’s dead husband?

This kind of asshole, he thought as he braced himself for a look of disappointment and offence to flush across your face. But, to his astonishment, it never came. Instead you laughed.

“I do have a type, I supposed,” You chuckled as you walked behind your desk. You gestured with your hands to the pile of papers you had brought in with you. “I brought everything I could find dating back to when Ezra and I first got together. Fortunately…” you curved your lips into a mock grimace, “we haven’t been together that long so there shouldn’t be much to sift through.” Taehyung smiled at your apparent humour over your present situation. It put him at ease knowing you were the type capable of laughing at your own circumstance. So many of his clients weren’t – no matter how ridiculous the request or even more ridiculous the return – he received a many a lectures on his lack of sensitivity and jaded emotives.

“Well, let’s get started then,” he suggested as he pulled his suit jacket off his shoulders and began to roll up the cuffs of his shirt.

Even though the work itself began slow, the morning passed by rather quickly while you taught Taehyung your bookkeeping style and he showed you what to look for. The hostess delivered lunch to you both in the office sometime mid afternoon, prompting a necessary break for you both. Taehyung asked you more about the inception of the winery – a question more so in personal curiosity rather than in detective interrogation – and you animatedly told him nearly every benign detail of how you opened and closed your lucrative paralegal service in the city in pursuit of your new passion for wine making and hospitality. The story eventually led to a personal tour of the property – just him and you, wandering the vineyard and buildings. You teaching him all the things he already knew or didn’t know about wine making, as well, sharing with him your dream to expand… to open a bed & breakfast on the property… to even the wild idea of owning a small chicken coop for feeing your guest the freshest of feasts. Your passion for your work lifted his mood, but at the same time made him incredibly jealous – or at least, nostalgic. Nostalgic for a time when he was impassioned by his work. When he was bright eyed and ambitious, attaining a career he was passionate and driven for.

“Did you always want to be a private investigator?” you asked him, as you two made your way back towards the main building.

“Sort of,” he replied, trying to hide the grimness that came with his answer. “I wanted to be a detective. A P.I. was just sort of plan B.”

“You could still do it, I’m sure!” your tenor bubbly and encouraging. “It took me a little courage and a few years scraping by, but I made it my dream come true. I’m sure you could too!��

He smiled meekly, appreciative of your words and the naivety behind them. “I did, actually.”

“You did?” you asked in confusion.

Taehyung nodded. “I was a detective. For many years.”

“Oh?”

He could tell from your tone that you were both curious about the story but that you had also picked up on the fact that it was a bit of a sensitive subject. Normally, he would have ended the conversation right there. In fact, normally, he wouldn’t have revealed his past career at all. But today, next to you, he felt different. Today, he felt he could talk about it, even if it was only a small piece.

“I did it for years. But then I left for a while. Thought I’d go back eventually, but… started doing this instead.”

“I take it something happened?”

“It can be a taxing job. It’s also more political than most would like to believe.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry,” you apologized, noticing how Taehyung’s language had become more elusive.

“It’s fine,” he shook his head. “It’s just a long story.”

You made the rest of your way back to the office mostly in silence. Taehyung regretted it. He had wished the conversation had stayed on you – that he could amusedly listen to you babble about nothing and everything. But, fortunately, the awkwardness soon faded as the two of you returned to the office and buckled in to working hard for the remainder of the day. At least the apparent awkwardness faded.

For Taehyung, even though he could for the most part will himself to become lost in his work, there were too many times when his eyes and mind would wander onto you. Damn, did you know what an effect you had on him? You were so god damned fuckable. The way your lips curved, and your brows furrowed when you concentrated drove him wild. He just knew that was how your face would contort when you were focusing on coming, and fuck, did he ever want to see that. When you leaned forward over your desk, he could catch an incendiary glimpse down that fucking dress of yours, leaving him near salivating at the thought of biting down and marking the soft mounds. At some point, you left your chair for a file stored a top one of the bookshelves. With your back to him, he could shamelessly watch you with out getting caught. Admire the way your body stretched and flexed, the way the fabric of your dress would pull, taunting him with a potential glimpse of your bare ass.

If only you were his in this moment. Or at minimum, if he knew you wanted him too, he would have stood up and crossed the floor. He would have stepped up behind you. You would have felt his chest ghost over your back, just before you would have felt his hand travel slowly, smoothly, tauntingly up the back of your thigh then underneath that skirt. He would hear you gasp faintly when his fingers brush over the silk protecting you from him.

He knew your panties would be silk.

He’d slip his finger along your slit again, this time a little harder, let you know he meant business.

“We’re working, Taehyung,” you would breathe unconvincingly. “Someone might catch us.”

He’d raise his other hand, covering yours as it gripped around the ledge of the shelf in front of you, anchoring you to something so that you knew he didn’t care enough to stop. He’d then drag another long finger across your dampening core, but this time, he’d end his movement by gripping a hold of the fabric, pulling it tight in his fist. As he pulled, your back would arch a little, your ass would perk for him, and you would feel the tension of the fabric tight against your clit. Your gasp would let him know that you too didn’t care enough about getting caught.

He’d release his grip, but he wouldn’t strip you of your panties. No – he would want you to come in them, stain them so that you’d have to go without them for the rest of the day. Be reminded of him everywhere you went that afternoon. So, he’d slip his hand beneath the fabric instead. Touch you raw. Make you drip. Until, inevitably, through gritted teeth you’d beg for him to sink his fingers into you and fuck you harder.

“This is that last one,” your voice broke his thoughts as you returned to your desk with the box you had pulled from the top shelf. “Everything from the last month.”

“Good,” he replied, looking down at his watch to check the time. “What time do you need to be home?”

“Well…” you began slowly. “Ezra is supposed to be done at six… Which means he should be texting me at any moment telling me he’ll be home late.” Taehyung could tell you were trying to be humourous, but it was clear you were annoyed and feeling a little hurt.

“If he does, let me know. Let’s finish up this if we can.”

It felt like working under a ticking time bomb. Curiosity hanging in the air as you both waited for the cellphone to buzz - waiting for the alert that Ezra wasn’t coming home on time, and the prompt for Taehyung to climb in his car and try to figure out why that was. But the message never came. Through it all, you managed to complete the audit of the books.

“Did we find anything?” you asked Taehyung as you stretched back in your chair, both mentally and physically exhausted from the task.

“No. Not that I can see,” he replied. “Everything seems to be in order here. You run a tight ship.”

You sighed.

“I know it seems like a waste, but this was a good first step,” he said, noticing your slight disappointment. “This is a good thing. We don’t know what he’s up to yet, but at least we know he’s not stealing from you.”

“You’re right,” you nodded. “I just want to know what the hell is going on. I’m tired of feeling paranoid.”

“I know this is the most annoying thing to hear in a situation like this but… you just have to be patient. We’ll get there.” You looked up to him, a thinly pressed smile on your face. He could tell his words comforted you a bit, but not enough. “And in the end, there could be nothing. He might be telling the truth.”

The words tasted bitter rolling off his tongue. He thought perhaps they would ease your mind, but it felt like he was telling a lie. If your husband weren’t up to something, this would be a first for Taehyung. Rarely were his client’s intuitions ever wrong – especially when they had gone about taking the step to call him in the first place. He doubted your suspicions were unwarranted, but as you sat across from him now - your eyes locked on his, your lip tucked once again between your teeth, and the surface of the desk between you just begging to be cleared so he could lay you over it - he also selfishly wanted your suspicions to be right. Wanted to know that your husband wasn’t worthy of you.

And then it came… the buzz of a notification on your phone. Both your eyes gazed to each other, then to the phone vibrating on the desk. You picked it up, swiping the screen to unlock it and reveal the message. Taehyung watched you as read it, saw how your lips pursed and your shoulders sunk.

“What does it say?” he asked, but you didn’t answer him right away. Instead your thumbs tapped rapidly over the screen as you replied to him. Moments later, a second buzz came. You sighed audibly as you read his reply.

“It’s Ezra,” you dropped the phone back onto your desk and crossed your arms in front of your chest. “He says he’s going to be late tonight.”

Taehyung looked you over as he felt your aura of brightness dim into one of disappointment.

“Is there something else?” he asked. “You seem more surprised than I expected?”

“It’s just…” you looked back to him, but he could tell you weren’t sure if you wanted to share your thoughts. “Tonight was a bit of an anniversary of ours. We had… special plans. He promised.” His stomach knotted at your words. He didn’t know what your “special plans” were, but he knew what they would be if they were with him.

“Did he say what he was doing?”

“Just that he had to work. Said he’d wouldn’t be home too late.”

Taehyung nodded, unsure of what else to do.

“Since my dinner plans are now cancelled… are you hungry?” you asked. He was. He wanted to stay. But this was the perfect opportunity for surveillance. So, he replied with a polite “no.”

“You should go home,” he suggested instead. “Wait for your husband. Let me know if something changes.”

Some time later, Taehyung found himself parked along a darkened street located somewhere in an industrial district on the outskirts of the city. Although dimly lit, he had a clear view of the yard located behind Stintsons – the construction business Ezra worked at.

The building was dark. The yard empty. But Taehyung noticed the station wagon still parked in the lot. It had to be Ezra’s. Hell, no one even drove a station wagon anymore – what were the chances another employee had one as well? He swiped the screen on his cellphone, noting by the clock that it was almost eight. He then opened his messages, clicking on your name to read the last thing he sent you.

TH 6:09 PM: Let me know when he gets home.

He could tell you had read the message, but still there was no reply.

A creak in the still evening perked Taehyung’s ears. He squinted through the darkness to see a figure exiting the building and making their way towards the station wagon.

“There you are,” Taehyung breathed. He watched as the figure climbed into the car, as the lights and engine roared, and as the vehicle pulled itself from the lot and headed down the street. Taehyung reached for the ignition, turning the keys to bring his own car to life, then carefully pulled out into the street to follow.

The wagon drove through the town, down the main roads until it made its way to the highway, taking the pass that Taehyung knew was in the direction of your home. He noted how incredibly unsuspicious it was. Most who were hiding something tended to travel down back roads, take indirect routes, avoid CCTVs. Although this was his first night of surveillance, the thought crossed Taehyung’s mind that perhaps Ezra really wasn’t up to something. He was at the office just as he said he was. Now he was heading home, just as he said he would.

Regardless of those thoughts, Taehyung kept the tail – following the wagon off the exit, down a long residential street, until he turned into a crescent. Taehyung parked his car, turning it off and letting the lights go dim. He watched as the wagon pulled into a driveway. Noting the number on the house, he quickly pulled out his notepad, flipping through the pages until he found the address you had given him.

Yup… this was your house. He looked back up as the wagon door open. The driver climbed out of the car, brandishing a bouquet of flowers in his arms.

“What a fucker,” Taehyung seethed as Ezra made his way up the stairs, opening the front door to the home before he disappeared inside. That’s when his phone buzzed with the receipt of a new message.

Y/N 8:56 PM: He’s home.

Taehyung sat there in his car on the street for a while, watching the sky turn a pitch black, watching the lights of the neighbourhood disappear as each household fell to sleep. He was biding his time, but he was driving himself mad in the process.

He replayed over the image of a flower bearing Ezra arriving home to his gorgeous fucking wife who had been waiting all to patiently for him. Better yet, he obsessed over the possible scenarios of what came next. It was an “anniversary” type of night, you had told Taehyung. A “special” night. Were you angry at your husband for coming home late on your “special” night? Did you throw those pathetic flowers back in his face? Or, were you pleased? Did his flowers make you swoon for him? Forgive him? Did you thank him with a long, sensual kiss as he made his way through the door?

Was your “special” night supposed to be romantic? Perhaps, this undeserving, lucky son of a bitch walked into an erotic scene you had planned for weeks. Perhaps a silk robe adorned your shoulders, and you held in each hand a glass of wine – one for you and one for the man who would get to fuck you. Or maybe it was more of a romantic night, and you were upstairs already, your body splayed across the bed and covered only by a tiny chemise, waiting for someone to come find you and make love to you. Or maybe you were a little bit naughty. Maybe you wore lingerie, flame red, tit lifting, and ass hugging. Maybe you were waiting on the kitchen counter, or the dining room table – your legs spread wide, your hands caressing your own body – signalling for your man to eat you until you cried, then pound you until you went blind. Could your husband even fuck you that good?

Even through his jealousy, Taehyung’s dick twitched at the thought. He knew he could fuck you that good. He knew just what he’d do if he was the one walking through that door, and he couldn’t wait to get back home so he could rub one out as he imagined it – just the way he did last night in his chair and again this morning in the shower. He probably could jerk off right there, in his car, outside your house, like some perverted stalker who knew they wouldn’t be caught – but he didn’t - even he had limits.

Another hour rolled by, and the neighbourhood was now completely quiet and shrouded in darkness, save for the single lamp post. Convinced it was safe, Taehyung quietly exited his car, taking with him a long thin rod. He crossed the crescent then walked up your driveway, stopping when he was next to the passenger door of the station wagon. Taking a quick look around, he slid the thin metal between the driver’s side door and window, maneuvering the piece until he heard the gleeful click of the door unlocking. Sliding himself inside, he first popped the centre console and shuffled through the items for anything of interest. When nothing came about, he checked the glove box, quickly scanning over each piece of paper.

He paused at an envelope, noting the familiar insignia on it. It was from the train station. Flipping it open, he found inside two tickets – dated for a week from today, both headed for the coast. Two tickets. That meant Ezra had intended for two to travel. You hadn’t told Taehyung anything about travelling. Did you know? Was it a surprise? Was that why he worked late, to make extra money for a trip? Or, was it a trip for him and his secret lover? A thousand scenarios ran through Taehyung’s mind, but he had no time to mull them over now. Instead, he snapped two pictures of the tickets before replacing everything as it was.

The next morning, Taehyung woke to the irritating sound of his phone buzzing and ringing beside him. Through groggy eyes, he looked towards the clock on his bedside table. Empty bottles of beer and wine blocked his view, and he remembered what he had done after he got home last night.

“Fuck,” he croaked as he finally felt his hangover when he moved to find his phone. The call went to voicemail before he could reach it. He considered ignoring it and rolling back over and back to sleep, but curiosity of who was calling him at six in the morning got the better of him.

It was you. You were the one to call him… but that wasn’t until after you had texted him 11 times already.

Taehyung sat straight up in bed, clicking your number as he did, waiting for you to pick up.

“Taehyung,” your voice came through in a clear distress. “He’s missing!”

#bts smut #taehyung x reader #taehyung fanfic #taehyung smut #v x y/n

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