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chudleycanonficfest · 3 years

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the hippogriffs and the flobberworms

Day 23, Post #2 by @accio-broom

Title: the hippogriffs and the flobberworms Author/Artist: accio-broom Pairing: Arthur & Ron Weasley (platonic) Prompt: slice of life Rating: T Trigger Warning(s) (if any): Mentions of sex lives and STDs, very cringe-worthy.

Arthur whistles as he roams the ground floor of the Burrow, searching for his youngest son. Ron’s best friend Hermione is due to arrive any day, ready to spend the latter part of the summer holiday with the Weasleys, but there are some things Arthur needs to speak to Ronald about before Miss Granger joins them.

He’s probably left this conversation a little late—Ron turned fourteen a few months ago—but this is the first time the youngest has shown any interest in the opposite sex. With the rather exciting activities coming up for their fourth school year, including a ball, it’s only inevitable that different feelings will start to stir.

Chuckling, Arthur reminisces about the conversations with his other sons. Bill, always cool as a frost salamander, kept his focus on his old Dad without any outward discomfort, even though Arthur made a complete mess as he told Bill about the facts of life. All of Arthur’s words came out in a massive jumble—he couldn’t even use the correct terms for various body parts and used all the wrong euphemisms. Arthur had been trying so hard to be a cool dad that he got himself far too worked up to make any sense.

His second son, Charlie, was dismissive and didn’t seem interested in the mechanics of making love, which was disappointing given the amount of time Arthur had spent rehearsing, determined to get it right that time. Percy approached the conversation with logic and appropriate questions, discussing it as he would an important Ministry policy before thanking his dad then leaving the room without a backwards glance. In stark contrast, the twins cracked inappropriate jokes and turned the tables on Arthur, making him feel awkward as innuendo after innuendo spewed from their mouths.

Ron will be Arthur’s last chance to do “the talk”. Molly is responsible for dealing with Ginny, and they’ve probably already started. He doesn’t baulk at the female aspect of puberty, having lived with a woman for almost twenty-five years, he’s well versed in the potions and muggle contraptions they need to use, but he thought it only fair that Molly gets a go of this, too. It’s one of the essential parts of being a parent, after all.

Although Arthur is well-seasoned in explaining the facts of life without going overboard with the detail or using cringe-worthy phrases now (although the twins did teach him a few new idioms), he has decided to step away from the ‘cool’ dad persona and go full-on over the top this time.

He could make this easy for Ron, but why would Arthur want to spoil his own fun?

A flash of red hair leaving the broom shed catches his attention out of the kitchen window, and Arthur’s grin widens. It’s a beautiful day, the sun is shining, but there is a light breeze, keeping the air fresh and cool. It’s the sort of day that would lead to him fishing in the lake at the bottom of the garden, but he has a task at hand that he needs to deal with first.

Maybe there’ll be time for him to get his rod out later.

Pouring two glasses of lemonade from the jug Molly has left on the side, Arthur uses a cooling charm on them then steps out from the backdoor and onto the patio.

“Ron,” he calls, smiling as his son turns his head around faster than a niffler chasing gold, looking like Arthur has caught Ron doing something that he shouldn’t. Probably skiving from the long list of chores Molly gave him this morning. “Come up and have a chat with your old Dad.”

Arthur eases himself into the bench under the wisteria with a groan. Although he isn’t all that old, having seven children and living through a war takes its toll on a guy’s body. Now, every joint clicks and complains every time he moves. Forget getting somewhere in a hurry; slow and steady is now the way to go.

Ron settles in the seat next to him.

“What’s up, Dad?” he asks, smiling at Arthur. He takes the offered drink, gulping almost half of it in one go before letting out a loud, satisfied sigh.

“Hermione is coming to stay with us before we go to the World Cup, I hear? But not Harry?”

Ears turning pink, Ron turns his head to look out at the garden. “Y-yeah. We’re going to collect Harry in a few days, remember?”

“Oh, yes. I’m very excited to be visiting the Muggles. Will they tell me about eckeltricity? Should I take my battery collection?”

Ron laughs. “I don’t think the Dursleys will be too impressed with batteries, Dad. They use them every day.”

“Shame.” Arthur sighs, then turns his eyes to gaze the same way as Ron’s. “So, Hermione is a girl.”

“Er, yes, I guess so.”

“A girl you’re attracted to?” Arthur glances at Ron, whose face has turned as white as a ghost.

Ron reacts with a knee-jerk response, but the look on his face indicates that he’s not telling the whole truth. “No!”

“Are you sure? You and her have gotten close lately. Mum and I like her.” Arthur waits a moment for Ron to take back his first response, then tuts when he stays quiet. “Well, I’m sure you’ll find someone you do like soon. Anyway, as you already know, she’ll be staying in Ginny’s room with your sister, and I’m sure you’re clear on the rules of the house. Your Mum does not want any sneaking around or late-night visits.”

Arthur doesn’t hold the same views as his wife. Sure, he doesn’t want the kids to be sleeping in each other’s beds, but he remembers the conversations he and his friends had during the early hours of the morning when he was their age. If the children wanted to get up to something, Arthur would rather it happen under their roof where they’re safe than have them take unnecessary risks. He and Molly were young once, too, although it feels like a lifetime ago now.

“I know, Dad.”

“Good. And so you know, if you ever find yourself feeling conflicted or wanting some advice on how to ask a lady out, you can always come to me. Because being a teenage lad is a very confusing time, and the magic will heighten this, as well as the fact that you live in proximity to some charming young women. You might not feel it right now, but you’re on the precipice of being a man. Your voice has started breaking. Sure, it’s a little later than the others, but I’m sure that’s nothing to worry about. Everyone develops at their own pace, after all. Pretty soon, you’ll have hairs sprouting all over the place, even in places you wouldn’t expect it. I can’t remember when all of this started happening for me, but it was around your age. And don’t get me started on the wet dreams…”

“Merlin,” Ron sighs, now squirming in his seat, trying to make himself as small as possible. When Arthur checks again, his youngest is looking into the depths of his glass as if considering whether he could drown himself in there.

“Sex is healthy, son, especially if it’s with someone that you admire and love, whether that be a girl or a boy, Your mum and I don’t mind as long as you’re happy. And if you find the right person, then it can be amazing.”

A low groan emits from Ron’s mouth as he pushes himself further down the bench, attempting to put some distance between him and Arthur.

“Please stop talking,” he pleads with bright red cheeks.

“Having a good sex life is nothing to be ashamed of, let me tell you. The seven of you weren’t delivered by the hippogriffs, after all. Not that we only have sex to procreate. Having you kids out of the house has done wonders for our love life.

“While we’re on the subject, if you can’t get a partner, then there’s nothing wrong with taking matters into your own hand. Masturbation is very beneficial, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. It’s important to explore your own body and learn the kind of things you like so that you can recreate those moments with a partner. I can tell you some useful charms if you need them—ones for when you’re with someone, and others for when you’re alone. Of course, there are some spells that are vital for you to learn. Safety is sexy, and you don’t want any little accidents happening.”

Ron runs his hand over his face as if trying to erase his dismay. “Dad. Please stop. I know all of this already. Not that I wa-I mean, do that sort of stuff.”

He crosses his legs with a gulp, and Arthur feels a rush of joy. He’s succeeded in making his youngest son feel as awkward as possible. You have to take delight in the smallest of moments, especially the older you get.

“Who told you?”

“I have five brothers and live in a dorm with four other boys. Also, Flitwick taught us the contraceptive charm last year.” Ron is still focused on his glass, looking like he wants to be a million miles away.

“Oh, right. ”

An irrational surge of disappointment crashes over Arthur. He should have realised that kids are far more advanced and talk much more than they did in his day. He should have bit the bludger earlier and nabbed him last summer.

“Well,” Arthur continues anyway, determined to see this through, “contraceptive charms aren’t the only things you need to learn. You need to ensure you protect yourself from Sexually Transmitted Diseases, or STDs, as well. Some of these can make you a little itchy, but others can be dangerous. You should go and see Madam Pomfrey if you think you might have one. Of course, you could always get some muggle con-domes. Fantastic little invention they are. Rather than trying to remember a load of different spells while you’re in the heat of passion, you can whack on a rubber and get to it.”

He doesn’t allow Ron’s small squeak to put him off his speech, now he’s in full flow again. “Talking about getting to it. Consent is important. When you decide to take that step, or even before when you snog someone, you need to make sure they want to do it too. Every step of the way. If they say no, you stop right away, even if they said yes only a minute previously. You must understand that. Never force yourself on someone, especially if they are drunk or otherwise intoxicated. If they can’t say yes, it’s a no-go. Got it?”

“I-I d-do,” Ron stutters, his voice strained under the embarrassment of the situation. “C-Can I go now?”

“Yes, yes, of course. But don’t forget that I’m here if you need anything, son. Even if you think it might get you into trouble. And look after Hermione, even if your feelings for her are only platonic. I admire the way you, her and Harry have formed a little group. The three of you are good for each other.”

Arthur reclines on the bench and closes his eyes, letting out a sigh as the sun warms his face. There’s no point getting one’s wand in a knot over spilt potion. He still managed to get Ron squirming like a flobberworm, so it was mostly a successful mission.

The bench shifts as Ron rises to his feet. He finishes his drink with a gulp and sets the glass down on the floor before shuffling away.

“Dad?” a small voice asks.

When Arthur opens his eyes, he spots Ron towering over him. When did he get so lanky? Ron is going to be the tallest of the family, for sure. There’s a smile on his face, though he still can’t meet his Dad’s gaze.

“Yeah, Son?” Arthur asks, shielding his eyes from the sun.

“Thanks for trying.”

Ron shrugs, then wanders back down the garden, his gangly frame hunched over. Arthur marvels at Ron’s response. You think you fully understand your children, and then they do something that knocks you off your broom. But Ron is a decent lad, and Arthur knows he will go far, like the rest of them.

With a happy sigh, he leans back and closes his eyes again. He’s done an okay job at this parenting thing. As long as none of them gets arrested or tries to break into Gringotts, he can die a happy man.

#chudleycanonficfest2021 #HP fest #hp canon pairings #canon fest platonic #submission #arthur weasley #ron weasley

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wristpockets · 3 years

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Can I throw some prompts at you? All fluffy but with potential for Deep Emotional Talks™ if that's what you're after. Anyway: 1. Essek and jester trying to cook/ bake for the first time (two rich kids who have never been in a kitchen while food has been made) lots of potential for comedy but also ways to explore the differences and similarities in their childhoods?? 2. Caleb and Essek teaching each other dances from their homelands, (I feel like Essek probably had to learn formal dances in his youth and absolutely despised them until he realized that dancing with someone you actually like can be fun) Anyhow, happy writing!

Thanks for the suggestions! Going with the first one!

(If anyone else has any fic prompts/ideas/requests feel free to send them my way!)

This kind of got away from me 😅 Ended up a lot longer than expected. Not going to spend too much time proofreading or editing bc this was supposed to be fun. Anyway

Essek is leaning over the railing on the Nein Heroez, a glass of wine in his hand. He can hear the party going on behind him - the rest of the Nein get together every month for dinner - but he needed to get away for a moment. He watches the moonlight reflect off the waves as he swirls the wine in his glass.

He doesn't notice Jester until she's right next to him.

"What's wrong, Essek?" she asks, her voice laden with sincerity and sympathy.

He sighs, takes a long sip of his wine, and says, "I feel inadequate."

"Oh no Essek," Jester says. She moves closer, until she can bump her hip against his. "You're so powerful. And!" She lowers her voice conspiratorially, "I saw the way you floated in Cognouza. You were faster than Caleb, which I think means you're even smarter than he is."

Essek actually smiles at that. Lets out a little laugh. "You're not wrong. But I'm not concerned with my power or intelligence."

"Then how do you think you're inadequate? In what way? Is it-" Jester cuts herself off, looking over at him while wiggling her eyebrows.

"No," he says quickly, his ears heating up. "Everyone else is so..." He looks for the word and comes up blank. "Caleb and I see Beauregard and Yasha for dinner quite often. Yasha will have freshly baked bread, or even cake. Beauregard works all day, and Yasha stays home and cooks."

"I think she's happy though," Jester says.

"I think so too," Essek says quickly. "Caleb works all day too, and I stay home and do nothing." He lets out a little laugh. "I cannot believe this is my problem. Feeling bad that I cannot cook dinner while my - while Caleb is working."

Jester's eyes light up. "Okay," she says. "Okay okay. For our next get together, we're making dessert. Me and you."

Beauregard and Yasha are hosting the next meetup. Essek had collected Jester, Fjord and Kingsley early that morning, to give Jester and Essek time to make dessert.

They sent Caleb and Fjord out of the house and set to work in Caleb's kitchen.

But when Essek takes the third batch of cupcakes out of the oven - burned on the outside, somehow raw inside - he's ready to give up.

"I don't understand what I'm doing wrong," Essek says quietly. He floats there, uselessly, staring at another failed attempt at a fairly simple baked good. "Is this how you normally make them?"

"Hmm?" Jester says, looking over at him. She dips her finger into the frosting she'd been working on. "I've never made cupcakes before."

Essek turns toward her. "What? You've never-"

"Nope," Jester says, matter-of-factly. She puts the icing-covered finger in her mouth, tasting the frosting, before scrunching up her nose. "This is awful."

Essek deflates a little. "So we are currently lacking both edible cupcakes and edible icing."

Even Jester's smile falls. "I'm sorry, Essek."

"It's not your fault," Essek says. "We still have some ingredients - what do you know how to make? What could we make quickly that's simpler?"

Jester looks down at the floor. "I don't know."

"Anything," Essek pleads. "Anything you've baked successfully-"

"I've never baked anything," Jester admits quietly.

"Oh," Essek says.

"Yeah."

Jester turns so her back is to the counter, then slides down, sitting on the floor. "I know how you feel. I feel like I should know how to do this."

Essek floats over, then sits down next to her. He can't bear the look on her face. "Two powerful adventurers, brought low by mere cupcakes," he jokes.

"I wanted to do this," Jester says, still quiet. "I wanted to bake something for everyone, something delicious! Something everyone would eat and say, 'oh Jester, your baking is so delicious,' and then maybe I'm not just the girl who draws dicks on things."

"You're a lot more than that," Essek tries.

Jester nods. "I know. I just feel bad."

"I feel that way too," Essek says. "All this power and knowledge and ability - for what? What good is it doing me here, now? And I know it's not an either-or thing. Caleb cooks. Even Beauregard does sometimes. I've never so much as fried an egg."

"Neither have I," Jester admits. "When I lived at home..."

"I understand," Essek says, and he knows he does.

"It's just embarrassing," Jester says.

"Yes," Essek agrees.

They sit like that for a moment, until they hear the front door open.

"Essek? Jester?" Caleb calls from the entryway. "Am I allowed in the kitchen yet?"

"Not yet!" Jester yells. "Almost done! Fifteen minutes!"

Essek looks at her in shock, and she just shrugs her shoulders.

"I do not possess the arcane ability to create cupcakes," Essek says blankly. "And I am unsure of how else we might make a dessert in that time."

"I panicked," Jester says apologetically. "Maybe some of the cupcakes aren't so bad-"

"They are," Essek says as Jester leans over batch number two, tearing off a piece of cupcake and trying it cautiously. After a few bites she scrunches her nose, then spits it out into the garbage.

"It looked good," Jester pouts. "I can't believe cupcakes would lie to me."

Something connects and Essek can feel his eyes widen. "I have an idea."

Several hours later, Jester and Essek are ready to present their cupcakes to the rest of the Nein. At the very least, they look nice - frosting is apparently close enough to painting for Jester to have some skill at it.

"These look delicious," Caleb says, smiling up at Essek. The compliment in front of their friends makes Essek's cheeks heat up, and he's grateful his complexion doesn't let it show.

"I might need to get some pointers from you," Yasha says as she carefully peels off the cupcake wrapper. "I wish I could frost like this."

"Don't eat that!" Beau shouts, quickly leaning over to slap it out of her hand.

Everyone stops to stare at Beauregard, Yasha's mouth still open, the cupcake discarded on the floor.

"What's wrong, Beauregard?" Essek asks nervously.

"They've been tampered with," she says. She picks up Yasha's dinner plate. "These plates are enchanted. They change colour if any of the food on it is fucked with. A few crumbs fell off of it." She points to a few speckles of bright purple on the plate. "I watched the plate react to the crumbs."

"Tampered with?" Fjord asks. "Tampered how?"

"I don't fucking know, man," Beau says. "It doesn't like, tell me."

"Um," Essek says carefully. "Would a magical alteration to the dish set off that reaction?"

"I should fucking hope so," Beau says, "since that's the whole point."

"In that case," Essek says, shooting Jester a worried look, "then yes, they were tampered with. But they will not harm you."

"Essek," Caleb says, looking at him worriedly.

"It's just prestidigitation," Essek says hurriedly. "We used it to flavour the cupcakes and the frosting." He takes a bite of his own cupcake. "See? They're safe."

"But why?" Veth asks. "Surely it can't be any worse than that fish stew Fjord made us all eat last time."

Essek looks at Jester again, who looks resigned. He waves his hand, dismissing the spell. "See for yourself."

Caleb is the first one that takes Essek up on that, tearing off a piece with his fingers and tasting it. Essek can see Caleb trying very hard to keep his expression neutral. He eventually - with some difficulty - swallows the bite of cupcake. "Ja," he says, eventually. "It's not that bad." He offers Essek a warm smile.

"Well that's obviously a lie," Veth says, pushing her plate a few inches away from her.

"Sorry guys," Jester says. She's looking down at the table and looks absolutely lost. "We just wanted to make something nice."

"Have either of you ever baked anything, ever?" Veth asks, picking up a tiny piece of the cupcake and trying it. "This is awful. I love you Jessie, but who taught you to bake?"

Jester looks too crestfallen to answer. "Both of us are, ah, new to this," Essek admits instead.

"Maybe cooking lessons are in order," Fjord says. "I used to cook on the ship, back when I was getting started. I could show you a few things, Jester."

Jester nods, still looking down at the table.

"And I could teach you," Caleb says to Essek.

"That would be appreciated," Essek says.

"Okay," Jester says. She sighs, then looks up at everyone. Forces a smile. "Okay. Me and Essek are going to learn how to cook, and then we'll make something for next time."

"Maybe not cupcakes," Beau says.

"Maybe nothing for anyone who complains about my baking again," Jester retorts.

"There are some desserts from Rosohna I'd like to recreate, if possible," Essek says. "If I can find a recipe."

"That sounds nice," Caduceus says.

"I am not much for sweets, but I do like some of the ones in Rosohna," he continues. "They're, ah, made with cinnamon. I don't think they do that here in the Empire."

"They don't!" Jester almost yells, smiling. "I know! It's crazy!"

#essek thelyss #jester lavorre #shadowgast #i guess?

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hazbbyhaz · 3 years

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sleepless || harry styles

twenty five

pairing: harry styles x OC

synopsis: the new girls first day

disclaimer: making fun of someone’s appearance

They slipped briskly into an intimacy from which they never recovered

-F. Scott Fitzgerald

Avery entered the small café shivering from head to toe. It was raining cats and dogs outside, the light jacket she had thrown on in a rush was completely soaked. As agreed upon the previous day, she arrived half an hour early to work. She could hear Tom's distant chatter as she made her way behind the counter.

"Avery, there you are!" With a smile on his face, Tom rushed from the back office to where Avery is standing. Avery took note of how nervous and jumpy he was, almost on edge, and only a mere second later she understood why. Standing only a few feet away from her was the new girl. She looks very pretty, with her hair tied up in a french braid, her minimalist clothes, and her pearly white teeth adorned in her smile, she was the poster for the cafe's target audience. Young, hopeful, and high off of the feeling of being alive.

"This is Sarah," Tom walks towards the girl and gently nudges her towards Avery. "today is her trial run for the job. If she does well, she will get the position." He continues and Avery can feel her body go into flight mode. The uncontrollable thoughts and racing heart only a second away from taking over. What if she doesn’t take me seriously? What if she is so good that Tom fires me? What if- all of those thoughts cease as she hears Harry’s voice ring through her head. You’re okay, Ave. With his words repeating in her head like a mantra, she smiles at Sarah, takes a deep breath, and lets those other thoughts go with her exhale.

"Hey, I'm Avery. It’s really nice to meet you!" She extends out her hand to the girl in front of her, focusing all her concentration on stopping its incessant shaking,but instead of Sarah returning the gesture, she simply looks at her outstretched hand before turning her attention back to Tom.

"So. how often would I be working?"

With a sigh, Tom runs a nervous hand through his already ruffled hair. "We'd have to figure that out. During the week, Monday and Tuesday are the busiest, so it would probably be best for you both to work together. On the weekend we will definitely need two sets of hands on deck. As for the rest of the week, we will have to work that out once we get everything set in stone.”

She nods, letting her eyes roam through the room before retreating back to his figure. She looked at him as if she were waiting for something, like she was executing him to say something more. "Right... so Avery will be the one showing you around this morning! I have to make a few phone calls before we open up for the day... Avery?"

"Let's begin the tour!" She murmurs quickly. Avery links her hands behind her back to hide their shaking that has yet to stop. Tom sends her a thankful smile and disappears into the back room, leaving Sarah and Avery to the day's task.

"So... uhm... the first thing done every morning is to set up the floor, we need to put the chairs down around the tables.” Avery explains, her voice breaking after every few words. “Our outdoor seating is stacked in the back since… as you probably know, it is winter…”

Sarah does not move to do anything, opting to watch Avery clumsily remove the chairs from the tables. The sounds of the chairs being put onto the ground was, unknowingly, making Avery jump "And then I put the menus on the table and a little candle cause uhm… it adds a nice, comforting touch."

"You're very jumpy" Sarah’s comment comes off cross. With her arms crossed tightly over her chest and the look of near disgust on her face, she continues to stare Avery down, demanding some type of explanation.

"Pardon?"

"You're like..." The brunette proceeds to pull her shoulders up, recreating Avery's uptight posture and her quivering hands. "and you speak too quietly. I really can't understand you when you don't speak up."

"Sorry..." Even with Sarah complaining about her quiet voice, her apology came out in a whisper. She hoped, more than anything, that the girl would stop mimicking her. She couldn't stand looking at it. She couldn't stand it because she knew that it was accurate. She knew that she really looked like that, she knew it, and even she hated looking at it. How could anyone stand to look at her when she can’t even look at herself?

"What did you say?"

"I'm sorry." She repeats, this time a bit louder. With a sudden wave of tears, her vision is becoming blurred, and her words are beginning to shake. She has not been picked apart like this in a long time.

"Are you gonna cry?" Sarah asks, brows raised and a devilish smirk on her face. What is she trying to do? Why is she talking to me like this?

“I'm not. " Avery quickly wipes her eyes before retreating behind the main counter, starting to turn on the various coffee machines and checking over their delivery reports.

"Aren’t you supposed to be explaining what you are doing? That’s what Tom said, anyway. " Sarah questions, sitting down on a bar stool in front of Avery, resting her elbows on the counter.

"I’m sorry, but I am not in the mood anymore," She continues to face away from the girl, focusing her attention on putting their baked goods into their display windows.

"Oh, is someone upset?"

"Please stop talking to me like that!" Avery exclaims, but her voice is still so frail that the message holds no confidence. It was more of a plea than a real request.

"I just think someone your age should be able to handle things better. No need to get upset over a simple comment." Sarah shrugs, but before she can say anything else Tom comes back with a confident smile on his face. Avery assumes that his call went well. She’s glad that something did.

"Alright girls, how is everything coming along?" His gaze switches between the two, Sarah has a beaming smile on her face while Avery’s eyes are so focused on a report that she is sure she could burn a hole straight through it.

"Great!” Sarah grins, gracefully standing up. "Avery and I get along great. I hope you consider for me this job, I really adore this little café."

"Oh well that's great!" Tom smiles. "I will get back to you soon about the position. Have a good day!"

"Thank you so much! You both have a great day yourselves!" Sarah grins, shaking his hand. "It was really nice to meet you, Avery." She adds before grabbing her umbrella and walking out into the rain.

"So, what do you think? Did she get the hang of everything?" Tom asks, taking over Sarah's place and sitting down on one of the bar stools.

"She's really great, Tom." Avery could hear the hesitancy in her lie, but she was glad that Tom did not pick up on it.

"Great."

"One bite" Harry argues, taking the pizza piece out of the cardboard box and holding it out to Avery just to see her shake her head.

"I'm not hungry, Harry" She murmurs , sipping instead a bit of her peppermint tea and leaning back into the cushions of the sofa. The small lie fell from her lips without a second thought, but Harry noticed it right as the words hit his ears.

Seconds after her shift ended at the cafe, Avery was rushing out the door. More than eager to retreat back to the safety of her flat. She hadn't been settled for more than a minute before Harry was knocking on her door. The unannounced visitor had her on edge, but opening the door to his calming figure holding a pizza box was a nice surprise.

"You need to eat something, Ave" He sighs, placing the piece back in the carton before sitting down next to her. The first thing Harry noticed after arriving at her flat was her demeanor. Her spirits seemed dimmed, her hands shakier than he liked, all the light had vanished from her eyes. Their dullness and pale tone of her skin made her look like that of a ghost.

At the party she had seemed fine, tired yes, but overall okay, and now she looked far from it. Harry immediately regrets the cup of coffee he brewed her the previous night, he had helped her with avoiding sleep. feeding into the problem that is so desperate for a solution.

"When was the last time you got a few decent hours of sleep?" He asks quietly.

"I'm not going to sleep," Harry reaches his arm towards her, trying to ground her, but she rose up from her spot on the couch too soon. His arm falling back to his side. He watched as she collected empty teacups, their saucers, and put them into the sink. As the faucet was turned on, sponge lathered in soap, Harry made his way to Avery's side.

"You need to sleep," He sighs, carefully placing a hand on her arm in an attempt to lead her away from the dishes.

"You look sick, love."

"I can't," She shakes his hand off, stepping back towards the sink. In a drowsy haze, she stumbled over her sock clad feet, almost hitting her head on the counter. Before she can comprehend what has happened, two arms lace themselves around her waist, gently pulling her into the safety of a warm chest. "please just leave. I’ll be okay."

Her pleas are softly shushed, Harry gently swaying them from side to side. With her back to his chest, Avery clings to his arms, her head falling to his shoulder.

"Look at me please...." His whispered request brings tears to Avery's tired eyes. She's too scared to look at him. To let him see her like this. She knows that once he looks at her he will insist on sleep. Part of her wants him to leave, solely because she won’t have to rest. So she can clean the few dishes in the sink, listen to the quiet murmurs of the TV set, and let her tears run freely. But she can’t, she knows that.

Harry can sense her quiet contemplation, so he gently turns her around, puts both his hands at the side of her face, making her look at him. His thumbs caressing the soft skin of her cheeks.

"I'll be right here next to you, okay? As soon as I notice there's something wrong I'll wake you up. I promise."

"You don't get it."

"No, I don't, but I'm trying. I just want to help you, Ave. This is not how you should deal with this... this is not how you should deal with your sadness." Harry whispers, pushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She looks shocked at his words, their honesty too loud to ignore.

"I'm not sad, not always."

"I know." He places a kiss on her forehead before pulling her small frame to his chest, still swaying.

"I don't want you to leave, Harry" Her arms tighten around him. "I didn't mean to say that."

"It's okay, we're fine."

Avery is the first to step back, glancing over the kitchen before grabbing Harry’s hand. She leads him over to the untuned piano, silently signalling for him to sit on the bench before laying across it herself, resting her head in his lap.

"Before we go to bed can you play me something on the piano? please?"

He smiles down at her, her tone holding a sense of innocence he had never heard from her before. One he assumes was taken away far too early.

"What song do you fancy hearing this late at night?"

"Anything you like, but with lyrics, please. I like your singing voice."

"I think that can be arranged."

As his fingers card over the keys so effortlessly, Avery blocks out all thoughts. Her mind free from any fear, any worry. Her only focus being his voice.

Today I met a woman, I don’t think you know...

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2manyfandoms2count · 3 years

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Poisson d'avril

Here, have a half-baked April Fool’s Day fic my brain decided to wake me up for. For context, one of the most popular jokes for April 1st in France is taping paper fish to each other’s backs, the more original the fish the better (my childhood is filled with trying to sneak behind teachers' backs to tape one on them; they were very chill about it, tbh). Poisson d’Avril is also what you say at the end of a joke on that day (think "sike", but festive). More about this great tradition that apparently dates back to at least 1466 here.

Hope you enjoy!

Read on AO3

---

Marinette loved April Fool’s Day at Françoise Dupont. The school was always buzzing with little pranks at that time of the year, the blooming spring giving a wonderfully cheerful backdrop to the shenanigans the collégiens were up to.

These were all very light-hearted, if sometimes a little elaborate.

As usual, some students had been found early in the morning in the classrooms, thwarting their attempt to recreate the legendary horizontal fiasco of 20XX, where everything had been set up to look like the rooms had been flipped by 90°. Mr Damoclès had let them go mercifully, thankful that the students hadn’t been tempted to glue everything to the ceiling in an effort to one-up their predecessors. Somehow, he wouldn’t have put it past Kim and Alix to try and coordinate the project, as a last hurrah before heading on to lycée.

There were also seemingly well-meaning classmates offering chouquettes or donuts in the courtyard, which Marinette knew to stay well away from, knowing the former were likely sprinkled with coarse salt, and the latter filled with the likes of mayonnaise instead of jam. She’d been in their shoes a couple of years prior, building her classmates’ trust by bringing them the sweet delicacies every day for a week, and switching on April 1st as a joke.

Heading to class, she heard a lot of laughter, people telling jokes, or trying to see how far they could take a story without it being called out on it (this year, Nino had Kim panicking over a brevet exam part they supposedly had, which was a step down from the previous year, where he’d convinced him that everybody needed to come in dressed up in medieval costumes, and that he’d landed the court jester role; his friend had turned up the next day in a full outfit, complete with bells on his hat and shoes, and upon discovering the deception, had decided to make good use of them and make the joke everybody’s problem).

However much she enjoyed those kinds of pranks, though, Marinette’s favourite remained the classic poisson d’avril: taping paper fish to people’s backs. It was something anyone could take part in, as a predator or a prey, with or without premeditation. You didn’t necessarily need scissors and tape, if you managed to steal some from somebody else’s back.

Marinette liked to take it seriously. Done right, the exercise demanded stealth she’d had even as a little kid, and had honed ever since being chosen to become Ladybug, as well as creativity she had piles of. She’d stayed up the previous night, making plenty of fish varying in size and colour, some tailored to her friends, like the Rena Rouge and Carapace ones that were intended for Alya and Nino respectively. She’d of course also made the rest of the Miraculous team, as well as some other designs based on Kitty section, her classmates, or celebrities.

As always at the end of the day, Rose walked around with a whole school on her back. It wasn’t clear if she was completely oblivious to it, or if she knew what was going on but enjoyed the giddy giggles of the people who managed to add an extra fish in, or take one off.

The only person who’d managed to escape the prank so far was Adrien, and it wasn’t for lack of trying. Kim, Alix and Nino had gone to great lengths to get at least one fish on his back, even recruiting Markov to sneak behind him, but the boy seemed to have a sixth sense.

No sooner did he hear the faintest of ruffles, that his head would jerk up, eyes darting around to figure out where the sound had come from, thwarting any efforts, no matter how elaborate they’d been.

Marinette had been reluctant to target Adrien, despite having a special fish for him, complete with his stripes and an orange-tipped tail, but as the day went by and more people joined the challenge to trick him, she felt the urge to compete rise in her chest and started unwillingly tracking his every movement, trying to find a breach in his focus.

It was a fastidious process, even for someone who enjoyed watching Adrien happily live his life, but it paid off around the end of the day, just after the last bell.

Marinette noticed that Adrien’s shirt looked a little rumpled around the back as they were retrieving books from their lockers, and approached him calmly.

“Adrien?” She announced her presence when she was right behind him, surprised that he hadn’t turned around yet. He almost jumped out of his skin at the sound of her voice.

“Marinette!” He yelped, a hand flying to his heart. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you approach.” He chuckled nervously.

“No, I’m sorry I scared you!” Marinette looked down, apparently sheepish. In truth, she was cursing inwardly at the missed easy opportunity. Adrien had been at ease with her coming closer, which she assumed was because it was the end of the day and he’d started letting his guard down; she could have gone about her business and he would’ve been none the wiser. She shook her head; it didn’t matter, she’d just go on with her original plan. “It’s just that… well, it’s stupid, but the back of your shirt is a little creased, and I know how important your appearance is to your family so… Do you mind if I fix it?”

“Thanks Marinette, that’d be awesome.” He smiled at her in a way that would have made her lose her cool, had it been any other day. But she was on a mission, and there was no way she was letting the opportunity of pranking Adrien when nobody else had managed the feat go by.

“Okay, let me just…” Marinette reached into her purse and took the first piece of paper she felt, before gently taping it to Adrien’s shirt, making sure to smooth the fabric at the same time so he wouldn’t realise what she was doing.

“There, all done!” She smiled when she was satisfied the tape had adhered well enough.

He smiled back at her, but was interrupted in his thanks by Nino and Alya calling for them to hurry up.

“Today was really fun, I’m so glad I got to experience it first hand,” Adrien beamed as the group walked out of the building, Nino and Adrien a little ahead of the girls. “And I’m really proud that I survived it without getting pranked!”

Marinette bit back a laugh, eyes darting to his back.

“I wouldn’t be so confident, Sunshine,” Alya replied, untaping the fish from his back and handing it to him.

“What…” Adrien stopped in his tracks, looking at it, and particularly Marinette’s signature on the back of the piece of paper, in disbelief. He turned around with a look of mock betrayal. “I can’t believe you’d do this to me!” He pouted.

“I couldn’t just let you off the hook,” she shrugged with a small smile, making a mental note to reuse the phrase with Chat Noir when she saw him later. He’d enjoy the pun.

Adrien let out a small chuckle as he turned the fish around, but the sound died as he saw the pattern. The colour drained from his face and he froze as he took in the black and green colour scheme and the fish’s whiskers.

“Adrien? Is everything okay?” Marinette frowned, noticing his change in body language.

“Yeah, um… Can I talk to you for a second?” He looked up at her.

“What a great idea!” Alya pushed Marinette towards Adrien before hooking her arm through Nino’s and starting to go down the stairs. “We’ll see you guys tomorrow!”

Marinette thought she heard her add “Can you believe they might get together over an April Fool’s joke?”, as she waved them off absentmindedly, but her gaze met Adrien’s troubled one and she decided she’d deal with her best friend later.

“What’s up?” She asked, feeling a blush creep up her cheeks; the adrenaline from succeeding her challenge was evidently starting to wear off.

“What’s this?” Adrien asked cautiously, handing her the fish.

Marinette took it cautiously, saw the pattern, and smiled. “It’s a poisson-chat noir,” she said proudly. It was a bit of a shame she’d picked that one for Adrien, but she guessed she couldn’t have kept it for her partner anyway, given that she’d signed it. Still, she thought he would have liked the joke. Especially if it came from Ladybug.

“How did you know?” he murmured, looking at her incredulously. She tilted her head, raising her eyebrows at his cryptidness. He explicited his thoughts. “I saw the fish you gave Alya and Nino, and the one you managed to pin on Chloé; they were all references to their superhero selves. And now you get this one right as well… How did you know?”

It was Marinette’s turn to freeze and feel the colour draining from her cheeks. “I… I didn’t. I picked one randomly when I saw an opening.”

“Oh.” She saw the cogs turning in Adrien’s brain while she felt her own shut down, still processing one important piece of information.

“Adrien… Are you Chat Noir?”

“Um… Poisson d’avril?” He ventured.

“Adrien.” She repeated sternly.

“Okay, fine, you got me.” Adrien huffed, raking a hand through his hair. “Please, don’t tell Ladybug.” He pleaded.

“Too late, I’m afraid.” She dug out her poisson-Ladybug and taped it to herself. She saw Adrien’s eyes grow as wide as his smile before being engulfed in a hug and feeling his lips on her forehead. “Kwami, we really might get together over an April Fool’s joke,” she muttered against his chest. If the heat she felt at the tip of her ears said anything, she probably was as red as Ladybug’s costume, and it probably wouldn’t go unnoticed.

“What was that?” Adrien pulled out a little from their hug to look at her.

“Nothing.” She smiled, and took his hand. “Now come on Chaton, we have some things to discuss, and we should probably go somewhere more private.”

“You know I’d follow you anywhere, my Lady.” He picked their entwined hands and kissed hers.

Really, she thought as they made their way towards her parents’ boulangerie, she loved poissons d’avril.

#i miss the simpler times where we'd get up to this kind of stuff #it's just not the same during a lockdown :')#miraculous ladybug #the miraculous tales of ladybug and cat noir #miraculous fanfiction #miraculous fanfic #adrienette #adrinette #adrien agreste #marinette dupain-cheng #miracuclass #april fool's day #april 1st #elle writes #i'm sorry if you clicked the link #you're allowed to yell at me

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boop-le-snoot · 4 years

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PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 9

As promised, two chapters in one day! HBD to this trash rabbit. I just get thirstier with age.

Rating: Explicit.

‼️TW: Reader is EIGHTEEN! Recreational drug use, smoking and alcohol consumption, deeply internalised self-loathing, very questionable moral standards. Daddy kink taken half-seriously. BDSM themes in later chapters - explicit content will come with it's own TWs. FIRST PERSON POV. DRUG USE IN THIS CHAPTER. Just generally an uncomfortable vibe, thread carefully.

Summary: You're Peter's classmate, a child of rich and famous but uncaring parents. Getting paired up for a lengthy project with the boy was an interesting turn of events and you don't know whether to feel blessed or cursed when you develop, seemingly, a perfectly normal, harmless crush on Tony Stark. Fueled by feelings of inadequacy and boredom, your life spirals out of control - and you're lucky your newfound friends are there to pick up the pieces even if you cannot find it in yourself to believe these amazing human (and not so human) beings voluntarily give you more than a fleeting glance and an offhanded thought. And they brought cake!

A/N: Ooh, boy. This is a whole mess. Angst. [insert drugs owl meme]. Steve doesn't pass the vibe check yet again, stupid old man. Bruce + Tony be like: I CAN'T GET NO SLEEP CUZ OF Y'ALL.

My beta, whomst I love more than cake - @miscmarvelwritings . She's so beautiful though. And so smart. Wow.

The strobe lights pulsated to the rhythm of the music, bodies swaying, gyrating to the tune. The club was banging this time of night, people were living it up like there was no tomorrow. For me, in the VIP zone it was quieter, calmer, but no less exciting. The atmosphere here was distinctly different from the one on the main floor.

It was hard to wallow in misery even if it only took me an hour to stop resisting the gratuitous amounts of white powder on the silver platters. "It's better when you're there to watch them, they'll do it anyway but at least you can know that they're getting the good stuff!" My idiot father proudly announced, looking at me snorting a line through a rolled up hundred dollar bill.

Whiskey and vodka wasn't doing it for me. It made me feel low and Dad, being Dad, of course noticed it and immediately called a guy who knew a guy and suddenly all of his friends and their baby-faced companions had white under their noses. Cash flew like autumn leaves.

As I went out to the main dance floor to get a closer look at Billie Eilish in all of her edgy, beautiful self, the drug hit me like an avalanche. No trace of the grogginess or the mortification that had hitched a ride on me from Stark tower. I danced and sang and saw dad smiling at me in approval, his equally high and important friends all wearing identically predatory smirks. They were good at spotting the obvious - beauty, talent, money. I had no qualms about the fact that dad was off bragging about my close relationship with Tony. If my father was feeling particularly bold, he'd be telling them he knew and encouraged it all along, his buddies pretending to believe the white lie in turn.

I had exchanged my pants and sneakers in favour of a skirt and fishnets with high heels combo, a decidedly inappropriate attire for a daughter having a family night with her father but he insisted I dress trendy. I loved my dad, I really did, and I knew he meant well - I'd definitely be out of place amongst these TVscreen worthy people in my jeans and sneakers but...Tony was one of those people, and he had never ever said anything bad about the way I dress. Even when I obviously and purposely put on obscene clothing just to get a rise out of someone.Tony just smiled and played along.

Tony Stark was the heartless asshole here? Really, press? Really, haters?

"Standing there, killing time, can't commit to anything but a crime..." I sang along quietly as I hurried back to the VIP area. My dad was standing up and so were a couple of his buddies. "Where's ya goin'?" I asked, taking a seat.

"Be right back baby girl, if you find better company then go on without us," Dad winked, throwing a totally nasty glance at one of the girls. She was not much older than me but her body was stick thin and bolt-ons and Botox were her two best friends. She gave me a dirty look and I returned it, extending a waiting hand towards my dad. He chuckled, depositing a neatly rolled stack of hundreds into my palm.

"Dad, I want a new purse," I whined, just a tad. Just to see the girl's eyes go wide with acrid envy. Dutifully, another couple of stacks landed in my palm without any objections and the company retreated towards the back door.

I sighed.

Fiddled with the straw of my drink a bit, contemplating my options. I could always ditch this party and go somewhere more active, somewhere with better music and kinder people.

"Ay, baby girl, you wanna party with us?" A tall, handsome man from dad's previous company approached me. "We'll have some fun." He maintained a respectful distance but the intentions were clear.

"Nope," I popped the sound, not even sparing him a glance. A few lines of cocaine stared at me from the table beckoning with a better high, a stronger sense of euphoria, confidence and energy to dance, to sing, to be happy. I picked up one of the discarded banknotes, quickly rolling it by a sheer force of habit and cleaning up the tray. One line.

"Holy shit, is that..."

Two lines.

"The fuck?!" I recognised that voice. I have been hearing it every day in the labs, I've been hearing it in my dreams.

Tony was gaping at me, in front of me.

"Hey, Tony. Fancy seeing you here." Any other time, I'd be cringing at my lame greeting but I was feeling way too good to care about trivial things like being clever or being appropriate.

"I was looking...for you," He slowly said, putting a single finger on the tray with the last line of coke and pulling it out of my reach.

"That's funny," I snorted, hastily wiping at my nose to cover the tracks of my very bad, very immoral, very illegal activities.

"It's not, Princess, it's not funny at all," He frowned. "C'mon, we're leaving." And extended his hand. I decided to follow along - there was nothing for me to do at this club anyway, the music was lame and the people were stuck-up.

"I look like a prostitute, Tony, I'll take the back door," I attempted to pull him towards the aforementioned but he didn't budge, just stared straight ahead and towed me along like he was wearing one of his iron suits under the stylish jeans and tee get-up.

He stopped in front of the exit, giving me a critical once over. Wiped my face, again, brushed my hair back. Gave me his shades - I dutifully put them on, figuring the manic look in my eyes was anything but attractive right now. "Jesus Christ, Princess," He sounded desperate. "You're beautiful, don't you fucking worry."

And we made our exit, arm in arm, me trying not to stumble in my high heels, Tony being my rock, my solid foundation. In other words, I was hanging onto him for dear life trying not to fall over and give a reason for a sneaking paparazzi to make a scandalous headline.

"You're doing great, Princess," Tony helped me into his Tesla, slamming the door behind me and hurrying towards the driver's door. I managed to unclasp and kick off my shoes, curling up comfortably into the passenger's seat.

I watched the man as he started the engine and watched him wrestle with whatever personal demons that tormented him as he peeled off and raced into the Friday night city.

"What in the everlasting fuck..." He started, stopping abruptly mid-sentence. "How did you even get in there?"

"I came with dad. He literally ditched me to fuck some whore, like, twenty minutes before you showed up." I shrugged, eyeing the modified panel of the car. It was very obviously Tony's own design. I wondered if he could introduce me to Elon Musk someday.

"What the fuck? And correct me if I didn't hear you clearly," Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. "Your father took it upon himself to drag you to a club, get you drunk, gave you cocaine and fucked off with some groupies?"

"Yah, that's about it. My dad is all about cocaine and whores, the more the better," I replied, leaning in to take a closer look at the car's panel. "Hey, could, like, introduce me to Elon Musk someday? That would be fuckin' awesome."

Tony went eerily quiet, I saw his knuckles on the steering wheel go white. Vague expletives were muttered under his breath. "I'm guessing you're good on sleep?" He finally asked through gritted teeth.

"Sleep? Don't know her," I laughed. "I wanna dance, Tony."

"Of course you do, Princess." His smile was tired and forced and full of pity. "You know, I don't think I'll be able to sleep now, either," He admitted, taking a sharp left. "How about we get some McDonald's and camp out in my lab?"

"Sure, whatever," Not like I had much choice in the matter. What I really craved was a good, long, hard fuck (by Tony himself preferably) but if science calls... I have no choice but to comply. "Get me two Big Macs," I demanded least he try to joke and get me a Happy Meal or some shit.

He did get me the food without any usual grumbling. I didn't like this Tony. Tired Tony, sad Tony, angry Tony. Wrong Tony.

"Huh?" He said and I realized I'd said the last part out loud.

"I don't like a sad Tony,” I said. "It's the wrong kind. Sassy, snarky and perpetually caffeinated Tony is the best Tony. The only proper kind, in fact." I stated with seriousness, shoes dangling from one hand and my McDonald's in the other. Man, I have been seeing more and more of this god-damned elevator recently.

"You're high as a kite, darling," He chuckled then, a real laugh.

"Who's high?" Bruce's voice came from the kitchen.

In a state of blind panic, I jumped behind Tony. "Not me."

Tony palmed his face.

Steve came over from the fridge, leaving the rummaging to Bucky. He took one look at me and suddenly I felt small, insignificant like an ant. I didn't like it much. "Holy hell, the fuck happened? Tony, explain." The Captain demanded, giving me the world's biggest stink eye.

"It's her piece of shit of a father, dragged her off to some night club and left her hanging with his buddies, fucking off god knows where. It's not her fault so lay the fuck off, Rogers, with your self-righteousness," Tony exploded all over Steve, the pent up frustration rearing it's ugly head.

I mustered enough courage to tiptoe around the dick measuring contest to sit at the counter. My appetite was gone and my burgers were turning colder and soggier with every passing second. Just like my life.

"Hey, Princess," Bruce's gentle voice halted my train of thought. He approached me carefully, ignoring the men behind me in favour of simply wrapping me up in a quiet, comfortable hug. "You feel alright? Want some water?"

"Nu-uh," I mumbled, unwilling to part ways with the warmth of this embrace.

"... Steve, I found her snorting miles of coke all by herself while an some jackass was waiting for her to be even more out of it. It's rare that I say this but I had literally zero words." Tony punctuated his words by tapping his fist against the wall multiple times.

Bruce tightened his hold on me, a sudden influx of strength accompanied by a quiet, low growl in his throat.

I felt the sudden need to clarify the situation. "Tony, chill. It takes me a lot more to be out of it, I'm fucking coherent and I'm talking sensibly. It's not my first rodeo."

Apparently I'd gone and said the wrong thing because all the men in the room were suddenly growling. I even totally forgot about Bucky who had the uncanny ability to exist in a room without making absolutely any sort of noise.

"The fuck do you even mean by that, Princess?" Tony screeched, probably already knowing that answer.

"From one rich kid to another, you should damn well fuckin' know," I spat, unwilling to admit my misery.

He sighed, audibly deflating behind me. I refused to listen to him, refused to be humiliated and exposed like that for my perfectly human desire to be happy. To not be a disappointment, to not be disappointed in everything and everyone. Bruce was nice and kind and warm and selfless but even he couldn't love me the way I wanted to be loved. Cherished, taken care of. All that mushy stuff. I was selfish, so I snuggled in closer to him, muting the world around me, replacing it with the smell and feel of him.

Cocaine made it a whole lot easier to imagine. Maybe that's why it was so addictive.

"Guys, calm down, you're stressing everyone out," Bruce rumbled quietly. I loved the way his deep voice seemed to reverb throughout his chest.

"Get me a cup of coffee, would you, Buckaroo?" Tony sighed again. I heard the sound of him slurping at his coffee. I heard Bucky's metal arm clunk against something equally metallic before the supersoldiers bid everyone good night and walked off.

Only then I removed my face from Bruce enough to take a good look at Tony. He was eyeing me, too.

"We have a caffeinated Tony," I said, softly. "Now we just need some science to have a happy Tony."

He smiled but it came out watery. He wanted to say something but choked on his words. "C'mere," He finally said, turning in his chair and opening his arms.

I unashamedly made grabby hands, the universal gesture for ‘I want, gimme’, and Bruce delightfully deposited me into Tony's waiting arms. It was like my birthday and Christmas came out all at once. Tony's embrace was warm, like Bruce's, but tinted with an unexpected familiarity. He smelled like motor oil and fancy cologne. It was heavenly.

"You keeping tabs on me, huh? Coffee, science and sass? That's your recipe for happiness?" The engineer asked me, a seriousness that didn't match the joking tone of the conversation at all.

"I think I got you figured out. Peter, too, is important for happiness. But in controlled amounts," I said, giving it a careful thought.

Tony chuckled, sounding a little bit shocked. "What about you?" He said after a brief moment of silence passed, interrupted only by Bruce's tea kettle coming to a slow boil.

"I don't think you need me for happiness," I said, meaning it. "But let's be honest, I'm a nice addition."

He stilled under me, briefly. Bruce cleared his throat.

"Brucie needs me, I think. He's lonely," I told Tony with a sudden influx of desire to be completely honest and 100% transparent. "And it makes me happy, because I need Bruce too. He's the best," I finished.

"Is that so?" Tony sounded vaguely tearful so I attempted to pull back to take a good look at his face. He didn't let me though, gently but firmly pressing my face back into his chest. "And me?"

"I do need you, Tones," I admitted without spilling any unnecessary details.

There was a child within me, small and scared and lonely, like Bruce. I hated her, hated being so soft and needy when everybody else obviously (and understandably) was busy with figuring out their own lives. I wished, desperately so, to just boom-boom-whoosh her away like Doctor Strange magicked away unwanted visitors.

Tony said nothing but his hands betrayed him. They shook and they held onto the skimpy see-through fabric of my top like he was a drowning man and I was his only floatie. For the moment, I closed my eyes and let myself believe he needed me, too.

"I'll catch a wink or two, wake me up if you need something," Bruce broke the silence, having finished off his tea. I didn't notice the time pass so quickly, too lost somewhere between here and there and Tony. In short, I was being lovesick all over the billionaire.

"Bwucie," I leaned backwards, pushing until Tony caved and let me rest my back against the counter, elbows on top of it, legs dangling freely on the sides of his legs. It put a lot of me on display. Tony had called me beautiful earlier so none of my usual habits of being appropriate around the man concerned me. He thought I was pretty!

"Princess," Banner came over to wrap me in a hug that was quite awkward, considering the fact I was sitting on Tony. It took some maneuvering to get it right.

"Night night," I said the usual and got a brief kiss on the cheek before Bruce shuffled off, yawning.

Tony was watching us with an unreadable expression. As soon as I turned my head to look at his face instead, something in him changed. His eyes grew big and round, the crease between his eyebrows disappeared. The corners of his mouth tilted up.

On a sudden impulse, I reached over to run my palm gently over the neatly trimmed line of his beard, following from his chin to his jawline, to his soft tousled hair. His eyelashes shook, fluttered, as the engineer leaned into my touch with the grace of a cat. "Kiss him, kiss him" my brain chanted. I knew I was a coward, I wouldn't do that. "Pretty," I said instead, the word coming out in a whisper.

He gulped, audibly. "Princess, you have no idea..." Shaking his head, as if he was surrounded by a swarm of mosquitoes, Tony briefly looked away. "You have no idea what you're doing."

"Nope," I agreed solemnly. "But at least it feels good. It feels right."

"God," He frowned, one of his hands coming to nervously card through his hair. "Nothing about this is right."

My face fell. Just like I thought, Tony wanted exactly nothing to do with a clueless little teenager. It stung and tears pooled in the corners of my eyes where I stubbornly refused to let them escape and make me into a crybaby. "Whatever you say, Tony." I was ready to agree with anything he said, really, if he would just keet holding me like that.

"Don't," He raised a palm. "Don't close yourself off like that."

Now I was genuinely confused. What exactly did he expect from me? I shrugged.

"You're clever, brilliant and beautiful, you can and should do so much better than all of this," He vaguely gestured towards me, towards himself, towards us and the whole damn city.

I contemplated my answer, briefly. "A lot of people tell me what I should and shouldn't be doing. Don't I get a say?" The bitterness had fought its way out and won. "I just want to be happy for a bit. All the usual bullshit."

He looked taken aback, really. Like he hadn't even considered the option. Typical.

Meanwhile, I continued my word vomit. "I want someone to give a damn about what I want and what makes me happier. Until then, I have no other choice but to take care of myself the best way I know how. Like everybody else does," The weight of his arm landed on my waist, pulling me close to his chest yet again. I didn't resist. No fight left in me. The tiredness seeped deep in my bones, chilly.

The sudden change of altitude startled me. The engineer had picked me up and started walking off towards the elevator, directing it to the lab. His personal lab. The tiles felt cold under my feet where he put me down to make his own beeline for the bar. I would've joined if not the drug in my system - the last thing I wanted was to land in a hospital yet again.

I took the moment to browse my social media, untag myself from all the unflattering pictures, post my usual shitpost. A tiny skirt, equally tiny top and fishnets - I felt out of place in his lab although I've worn more outrageous things previously. I was raw, torn open, bleeding my misery all over the room. That was not in my plan, but then again, when did ever life go as you planned it?

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sugarsugarmoon · 5 years

Text

Dearly Beloved

Summary: Your friend from high school, Taehyung, helps you out when you need a wedding date.

Genre: SMUT and a little bit of fluff

Warnings: Masturbation, swearing, recreational alcohol use, oral sex (f. receiving), unprotected sex (plz use protection irl), spanking, some biting, dom!Taehyung, brat!reader

a/n: sorry Triv. sorry mom. If digital headstones are a thing by the time I die, please put this gif on mine. I listened to “Earned It” by The Weeknd the whole time I wrote all the nasty stuff.

Word Count: 6473

Your best friend is sweet and kind. She is the most generous person that you’ve ever met, and she can make you laugh harder than anyone on this planet. She has cradled you in her arms as you cried over boys, and, when your dad nearly died of cancer, she was there with you in the hospital every day, coffee in hand, ready to listen or just sit with you.

You take a deep breath through your nose and remind yourself of all of this. You love her more than pretty much anyone on this planet, but in this moment you have never wanted to slap her so much in the whole time you’ve known her.

She has been planning and preparing for her wedding for over a year, and the date is only two weeks away. The extravagance of it isn’t really your style, but she’s one of those people that has been dreaming of her wedding since she was a little girl. She has a vision.

At this present moment, you are surrounded by small cuts of lumber, empty vases, fake greenery, and tea lights. Your job today is to assemble the centerpieces. You sit in the middle of the room on the floor, surrounded on all sides by your craft supplies. She is standing just outside your ring of accoutrements, crying and yelling. You aren’t totally sure what she’s yelling about. Seating arrangements? Maybe someone canceled? Honestly, at this point it’s unintelligible, so you decide it’s best to just let her carry on.

“And you!” you hear, clear as day.

You look up from your project and see her finger pointing toward wear you sit on the carpet. You look behind you, half expecting someone else to be there; you’ve done nothing but help. You turn back to her and barely raise a finger to point to yourself and raise your eyebrows in bewilderment. You mouth, “me?”

“Yes, you! Who else would it be? God.” You know she’s just stressed, so you take a deep breath and clench your fists around the fake greenery in your hands. “When we first started planning, you said you were gonna have a date, and I’m sorry things didn’t work with Yoongi, I really am, but now the seating arrangement is fucked and the whole entrance of the wedding party is fucked. It’s fucked, y/n. Could you just ask Yoongi to go with you?”

“Just ask Yoongi?” you spit back, “You want me to ask the man who broke my heart? Tore it into a million little pieces, who is, mind you, already going to be at the wedding because he’s friends with your future husband, to be my date? So...what? So I can get my hopes up again when he’s nice to me, because of course he will be, and get my heart smashed again? Oh but your seating arrangement will be good, so I should just suck it up. Right. Sure.”

You’re standing now, having spilled tea lights all over the floor with the sudden movement. You are breathing heavily, fists clenched at your side, tears threatening to burst from your eyes. Things didn’t work out when you had told your workaholic boyfriend, Yoongi, that you wanted to get more serious, maybe move in together and consider marriage. You don’t think he meant to laugh at you, but he did laugh when you brought it up. He said that it was clear the two of you wanted different things, and he ended it with you. You clearly aren’t over him yet, and she knew that.

Your friends face softens for a moment. You can see the reality of what she said smoothing her features.

“Y/n, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean that. I’m just so stressed…” she trails off.

“Look, you want me to get a date? I’ll get a fuckin’ date. But I will not be caught dead on Min Yoongi’s arm.” You turn on your heel and let yourself out of her house, slamming the door behind you.

When all the rage fades, you realize what you’ve said that you’re going to do. You also realize that you left all centerpieces unassembled in the middle of the floor. You call your best friends mom and ask her to go over and finish them.

“I am already on my way over there, sweetie. But did I hear right that you are going to get a date for the wedding? Where?” she asks, genuinely concerned.

You know she isn’t trying to be hurtful but c’mon, I know guys! You think to yourself. I know so many guys. I know...Yoongi for one, and Hobi. Granted Hobi is marrying my best friend in two weeks. I know….oh! Jungkook! Jungkook will totally go with me!

“I know guys!” you respond to her with excitement in your voice. “I actually have to call the guy that I’m asking right now though, so I’ll talk to you later. Thanks again for doing the centerpieces.”

As you hang up, you quickly scroll through the names on your phone until you land on Jeon Jungkook. You tap out the message on your screen quickly and send it away.

You: Hey JK! I was hoping you might be able to accompany me to a wedding in two weeks. It’s out of town, so hotel. All expenses paid. Huh?

You put your phone down feeling optimistic. Jungkook loves to dance, and he’s a fun guy. Not only does he seem like a living human male who will go with you, you actually don’t hate the idea of going together with him. The excitement doesn’t last long.

Jeon Jungkook: y/n! Hey! I wish I could, but I’ll be back home in Busan. I’m so sorry!

You: No prob, buddy. I’ll go with Yoongi 😬

Jeon Jungkook: No! I won’t let you do that! He broke your heart. Let me give you hyung’s number. You remember Tae? From high school? He’s cool, and he’s free (he just asked me to make plans that weekend). Hit him up.

He sends you the contact. Kim Taehyung. You stare at the number for a long time before you type up a text, and you stare at the text for even longer before you send it.

You: Hi Taehyung, this is y/n. JK gave me your number, and he said you might be free in two weeks to be my date to a wedding. Nothing weird or anything! I just can’t go alone, and if I don’t bring a date, my friend is going to make me go with my ex. It’s a long story. Anyway, it is out of town, but your hotel and all your food and stuff would be paid for. Just let me know.

You exhale a deep breath after you hit send. You hope it doesn’t sound too weird or desperate or anything even though you are definitely both weird and desperate.

Kim Taehyung: sure! I’m always down for an adventure.

You breathe a sigh of relief. Which is short-lived when you realize you don’t know anything about Taehyung anymore. You ran in the same circle in high school, connected by your mutual closeness to Jungkook. You text him back asking him to meet you for coffee, so you can go over the plan. The two of you decide to meet that afternoon, and the anxiety in your chest begins to loosen just a tiny bit.

….

When you get to the coffee shop, you find a spot by the window in the big squashy chairs. You order yourself a latte and play on your phone, waiting for Taehyung. You hear someone softly clear their throat, and your eyes scan the figure in front you. You don’t mean to give him the up-and-down, you really don’t. But the man standing in front of you is not the same Taehyung you remember. You remember a scrawny boy with too much eyeliner (yikes) trying to act like a man while still dealing with all his teenage emotions.

Before you stands, perhaps, the hottest man you’ve ever seen. He is tall, taller than he was when you last saw him, and he is fuller too. He is no longer gangly and awkward. He has broad shoulders, firm pecs, and toned arms that you can see straining against the fabric of his tight black shirt. His black hair is long and messy, and tendrils hang down into his eyes. He has a smile on his face when your eyes finally meet his.

“Hi, y/n! It’s been so long!” he exclaims as he reaches out and pulls you into a hug.

You are shocked by the sudden touch and hesitate to put your arms around him. Even while he holds you for a moment with your arms at your sides, you feel comforted and safe. He smells like lavender and chamomile mixed with something else - maybe just his own skin.

When he lets you go, he looks a little embarrassed and backs up into his chair across from yours.

The two of you catch up about what you’ve been up to since high school: college, careers, failed relationships. You tell him all about what happened with Yoongi, but you don’t mention that you’re not over it yet. He tells you that his ex-girlfriend cheated in a one night stand with a girl at a club, and he had been pretty broken up about it.

You set your plans for leaving to get to the wedding early together. You have to be there on Thursday night because the bachelorette party was Friday and the wedding was on Sunday. He agrees, and you say goodbye to one another, this time without the hug.

****

Thursday afternoon you are packing your bags making sure that you have everything when your phone rings. It’s your best friend, so you take a deep breath before you answer it, trying to stay as calm as possible since she is a total mess. “Good morning, my beautiful best friend and soon-to-be bride,” you say in a syrupy tone that she knows is facetious.

“I have bad news,” she huffs and without pausing she continues, “we booked the hotel when you and Yoongi were still together. So we only booked one room for you and Yoongi. So now Yoongi doesn’t have a room, and your date...Tae or whatever...doesn’t have a room either. And I know that I’m being insensitive right now, but you and Yoongi breaking up is the worst thing that has ever happened to me.”

She’s definitely crying and spiraling. “I mean...it wasn’t great for me either,” you attempt to joke, but she just sobs harder.

“Okay, okay. It’s fine. Yoongi will just stay with Hobi until Sunday, then on Sunday, you and Hobi are going to stay together anyway, yeah? So that problem is solved. As for Tae...I’ll talk to him, okay? No big deal,” you console her, unsure what you’re going to say to Tae.

She lets out a long sigh, but her crying seems to be evening out. “You’re right. Okay.” You finish the phone call and send a text to Tae.

You: So...funny story...youandihavetoshareahotelroomnowsorryokaybye

You toss your phone aside and finish packing your bags. As you are loading up the car, Tae pulls up. He looks just as good as he did the other day, wearing a loose t-shirt and gray sweatpants. He’s carrying a single leather duffle bag, and he has a huge smile on his face. He almost looks like he’s laughing.

The drive is only three hours, but it is long enough to be boring. You’re glad that you have company, and you and Tae crank up the radio singing along and laughing. You play car games together, and it is an overall good time.

When you get to the hotel, you are a little unsure of what to do or how to handle sharing a room with Tae. You slide the key in the door to the hotel room and exhale in relief when you see there are two beds in the room. You each take up your side and start to settle in.

When it’s time for you to get changed for bed, you awkwardly shuffle to the bathroom to change. Even though you normally just sleep in your underwear and a t-shirt, you put on a whole pajama get up because you aren’t sure how modest you should be with Tae.

When you come out, he’s scrolling through his phone. He looks up at you and gives you that warm, gentle smile again. How does he look so good just sitting on his bed playing on his phone?

“Hey, uh, so I usually just sleep in my underwear...but I can keep a shirt on if you want,” he says casually to you.

“Oh, uh, I mean, whatever you’re comfortable with. I wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable on my behalf, seeing how you’re doing me a favor,” you ramble out.

You wish you said no. As soon as it happens, you really wish you’d told him to keep on a shirt and a parka and snow pants and maybe also a ski mask. To say he is hot is the understatement of the century. His toned honey toned skin is smooth across his chest, taut over his muscles. His boxer briefs sit low on his hips, and your eyes follow the curve of his muscles from his stomach down past his waistline.

You watch the muscles on his back flex as he climbs into bed. You lay your head back on the pillow, staring at the ceiling. What the fuck is happening? you think to yourself. You try to blink the images of his nearly naked body out of your head, but they are there even as you eventually fall asleep.

*********

All day Friday you help set up for the wedding. Tae comes by and helps for a while, and, when it’s time for the bachelorette party, he says he’s going to go find something to do in town. The girls all go out, drink, and celebrate your best friend.

After the bachelorette party, you are feeling light and drunk and, for the first time in a while, you feel your shoulders relax. You say goodbye to the other girls in the lobby of the hotel and head to your room.

When you get there, there’s only one lamp on, and the room is empty besides your bags. You are painfully aware of the silky material of your dress against your skin, especially without a bra on. You feel so hyper-sensitive with the alcohol coursing through your veins. You skate your fingertips up your arms and across your collarbone. You feel yourself soaking your panties, and your nipples are hard against the silky material.

Your head isn’t totally clear, and you slide the straps of your dress off and let it pool on the floor around your feet. You stand in the middle of the floor in nothing but your panties and your heels for a moment, barely touching your skin on your neck and down your chest and belly.

You lie back on the bed, fuzzy head telling you to take care of it. You lick your fingers and take one of your nipples between your index finger and thumb. You feel your hips buck a little bit, feet, still in your heels, planting on the bed. With the way your feet are planted, your legs are open wide, and, if you weren’t wearing underwear, your pussy would be on full display. You bring your hand down to your panties. You run your fingers along the waistband before passing your hand over your covered folds, barely applying any pressure. You have decided to take it slow. You haven’t been with anyone since Yoongi, and you have been too busy to even consider masturbating. Now, you have the time, and you are soaking through your panties.

You close your eyes, and you see the way that Tae’s shirt fits across his chest, the way the rolled up sleeves accentuated his biceps, the way that his sweatpants yesterday left nothing to the imagination. You see the way his bare chest is broad and smooth, the way his underwear sit on his hips, bulge prevalent. You imagine the way he smelled when he’d pressed you into his chest. You want to drown in his smell.

You slide your hand into your underwear, drawing languid circles on your clit, sliding your finger through your arousal and back up to your clit. You feel like you are not in control of what your body is doing and small moans start to slip out of your mouth. You feel “Tae” come off your lips over and over.

“What?” you hear from near the door, but you think it might be coming from outside of the room and can’t process its proximity because the things you are doing are overwhelming you.

A whimper that turns into a yelp followed by “oh my god” comes from within the room, and your eyes snap open. Tae is standing at the end of the bed, eyes wide, mouth open, frozen in place.

You scream and try to get up from the bed quickly, but you are drunk and wearing heels, and you lose your balance. Instead of getting away from him, you stumble toward him. He throws his arms out to catch you, steadying you as your mostly naked body presses against him. And you are mortified, but the scent of him makes your pussy clench. In that instance, you’re a little angry that you didn’t get to finish.

“Are you okay? How drunk are you? I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to...I just...we’re both in here. I didn’t know. That’s my bed, by the way. But that’s neither here nor there. Are you okay?” he rambles, trying not to look at you.

You pull away from him quickly covering your chest as you run over to the other side of the room to grab a t-shirt and sweatpants. You throw the shirt over your head, and, as you try to put on the sweatpants, you realize you’re still wearing the goddamn heels. You throw them off as quickly as you can and pull the sweatpants on. When you look up from your panicked clothing debacle, Taehyung is looking anywhere but at you.

“Tae...I’m sorry. I’m just...I’m-I’m drunk, and I’m horny. I’ll go stay somewhere else.”

“Wait no…” Tae starts, but you are gone before he can even finish. You go to your best friend’s room, and she welcomes you in. When you tell her what happened, she laughs hard, pretty drunk herself. You agree to not talk about it any further.

*********

Besides avoiding Taehyung, the next day and half go by smoothly. You are busy setting up for the wedding. The hairstylist and makeup artist take care of you before the wedding, and your friend’s mom brings your dress and shoes to you. You haven’t had to go back to your room for anything, but you are dreading sitting next to Tae at the reception. The dread is briefly overshadowed by the love and pride that you have for your best friend and Hobi during the ceremony.

The ceremony goes off seamlessly, and you are so happy for your friends that you forget for a little while to be embarrassed. When it’s time for the reception, you realize that you have to enter with Tae for the processional. He meets you by the doors, looking pretty annoyed. He doesn’t say anything to you, and he just offers you his elbow when it’s time for you to enter the banquet hall. You walk in holding his arm, faking a smile, and take your seats at the table, followed by the remaining bridesmaids with their dates.

Throughout dinner, Tae continues to ignore you. You think to yourself if anyone should be avoiding anyone, it’s me avoiding him, but you don’t say anything to him. At one point he gets up to go to the bathroom, and you sit alone, pushing your food around your plate.

“Is this seat taken?” you hear from an all too familiar voice. You force yourself to look up into his eyes, and Yoongi is staring back down at your with a smirk on his face. You don’t have the words to respond, so you just stare at him for a moment.

A deep voice from behind you says, “yeah, actually it is,” and then you feel a hand on your shoulder. Oh, so now he wants to pay attention to me. His hand feels like it’s burning your skin, and you want to lean into it.

“Oh sorry, man. It didn’t seem like you guys were together,” Yoongi says, confused but still confident.

“Yeah, well, we are. Why don’t we go dance, y/n?” Tae hisses through his teeth.

“I’m kind of talking to Yoongi right now,” you say to him.

“Yeah, that’s all good, but I really like this song. So come dance with me,” he insists, pulling your wrist a little.

“Yeah...okay fine,” you mumble as you take your napkin out of your lap. Yoongi is looking at you dumbfounded, and you shrug and follow Tae to the dance floor. He pulls you in and presses his body fully against yours. Is this some kind of weird possessive shit?

“So you’re going to ignore me all night and then get pressed when Yoongi tries to talk to me?” you snap, annoyed.

“First of all, you left me alone in that hotel room for two days, so who’s really ignoring whom? Why can’t you, for once, just be a good girl and do what I say?”

You can’t deny that the expression “good girl” coming from his mouth does something to you, but you are already heated. “Oh, yes sir. I’ll be the goodest girl because you just dragged me over here and are being an ass, so I better be good for you. Fuck off,” you spit at him, rolling your eyes.

“Well, you told me how Yoongi broke your heart. And you weren’t gonna tell him to get lost, so I did you a favor. You should be thanking me,” he spits out.

“What’s your deal, Tae? It’s not like we’re actually dating or anything.”

You swear he growls in his chest a little bit, then he spins you before pulling you back into his body. “Well, maybe I want to be,” he mutters.

Before you have a chance to talk, the MC comes on and asks everyone to clear the floor for all the first dances, father dances, mother dances, second-cousin dances. It goes on for so long that you decide to return to the table, and Taehyung follows you. You sit down, fully prepared to demand an explanation from him when the photographer comes up to your table.

“Can I get a picture of you two?” she asks with a bright smile.

You can’t bring yourself to say no to her cheeriness, so you agree, doing your best to smile for the camera.

“You know what would be really cute?” the photographer starts, and you feel the dread building in your chest, “if you sat in his lap.”

Oh my gods, ugh. You are incredibly annoyed, but you know that this innocent woman doesn’t understand the very weird situation going on. So you, once again, reluctantly agree. You climb into Taehyung’s lap, and the energy immediately feels different. He clears his throat behind you and slides his arms around your waist. While the photographer tries to get a better angle (why is she taking so long!?), Taehyung starts to slide his hand down your thigh.

“I heard you,” he whispers to you, smile still stretched across his face. “I heard you say my name. You can’t act like you don’t want me. I heard you.”

“What are you talking about?” you ask defiantly, knowing exactly what he’s talking about.

“You know what I’m talking about. You said my name. I’ve wanted you since the day I met you. I had such a big crush on you in high school, but you were oblivious. Now, you see me. Now, you want me. I heard you.”

As the photographer walks away, you don’t try to get up. You just shift a little in his lap. With the movement you can feel, very clearly, as if there was hardly any fabric between you at all, the outline of his cock, half-hard against your ass.

“Are...are you not wearing underwear, Tae?” you ask, feeling flustered, face hot.

“I tell you I heard you say my name while you were touching yourself on my bed. And you ask if I’m wearing underwear. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to take advantage of me,” he professes with a smirk.

You look around frantically to make sure no one heard him, but your head snaps back to look at him when you feel his fingers teasing the hem of your dress against your thigh. You can feel the movement causing a rush between your thighs, and you can’t focus on anything except the way his hand feels on your skin.

“Tae…” you whisper, trailing off.

“Say it, y/n. Say you want me.”

“We can’t do this here, Tae. There are so many people here,” you say looking around at all of your friends, who you would be mortified if they found Tae with his hand in your dress.

“If you say that you want me right now, I’ll take you upstairs, and I’ll fuck you like you deserve to be fucked,” he whispers, letting his hot breath run over your ear.

Shit. Shit. Am I doing this? Fuck it.

“Tae, I want you...right now,” you practically moan.

With that, he’s up out of his seat, adjusting his pants. He ushers you out of the hall with his hand on the small of your back. You clamber into the elevator, and, when the door shuts, he is all over you. His mouth is on your ear and your neck, your collarbone and the curve of your shoulder, you chest and the upper swell of your breast. He’s kissing every exposed inch like he’s been poisoned and the only antidote is in your skin.

The elevator door opens on your floor, and the two of your practically run to your room. He slides the key card in and flings the door open. He kicks it closed behind you, and he takes off his tie and begins unbuttoning his shirt. He turns around to look at you, lacing his fingers in the hair on the back of your head down to the nape of your neck. He’s big eyes are peering into yours, searching your face.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks in a deep rasp.

“Tae, you’ve already kissed my whole chest. Yes,” you say back with a bite to your tone. You can’t help but want to contradict him and push his buttons.

He smashes his lips into yours, a deep, hungry kiss. All of his annoyance and frustration seems to come out with his kiss too. He nips your bottom lip and pulls it a bit before letting it going. He goes right back to you, forcing his tongue into your mouth.

“Are you going to be a good girl for me now?” he asks when he pulls away.

“I don’t know,” you tease. “I guess we’ll have to see.”

“How is ‘babygirl?’ Is that okay with you?” he asks looking into your eyes again.

“Babygirl is fine,” you reply, “but I’m not your good girl.”

He growls at you from his chest, scrunching his nose. You feel the tension in your stomach building and you know that your panties are useless at this point they are so soaked. He leans into you, reaching around your back, unzipping your dress. You shimmy it off your body, letting it pool on the floor around your feet, just like you had down two days before.

You runs his fingertips across your skin from your collarbones over your breasts, gently catching your nipples, down your stomach, across the waistband of your underwear. He bends his knees, setting one on the floor, and he keeps tracing his fingers down your thighs, over your knees, and around your ankles. He presses his mouth to your hip and your thigh while he caresses the inside of your legs up to your thigh and back down to your ankle. Then he pulls the strap off both of your ankles from your shoes and pulls them off your feet. Your skin feels like it’s on fire with every touch from Tae’s fingers, and you feel your pussy clench around nothing with every move he makes.

While still on his knee, Tae looks up at you through his lashes. He asks in a commanding tone, “Babygirl, if you need me to stop you just say red, okay?” And you nod.

“Now, are you going to be good for me while I lick your pussy?”

Your breath catches, and your heart pounds in your chest. “I don’t want to be good,” you sass, voice hoarse already.

His teeth bite down on the skin of the inside of your thigh. “Are you talking back to me, babygirl?”

You are too stunned to come up with anything clever, so you just nod.

He bites down again on your other thigh. “Use your words,” he commands.

You are so wet and so overwhelmed. He is too much for you already. “Yes, I was talking back to you,” you pant out.

He stands up from between your thighs, and you feel remiss that you let your brattiness get in the way of having him licking you. He whispers, “you’re being a bad girl.”

You stick your tongue out at him in response, unable to stop yourself. His hand comes up to your chin and holds your head so you have to look him in the eye. “Look at me,” he demands. “You better start behaving, you little monster.”

For some reason, him calling you a little monster does something to you. You don’t know if you’ve ever been this turned on. “I’ll be good. I’m sorry.”

You lean to kiss him, and he catches your lips in another bruising kiss.

“Lie down on the bed and take your underwear off,” he says as he stands back from you, palming himself through his pants, seeking some relief.

Once you’re in position, he pushes your legs up, so your knees are bent. You are in the same position that you were just two days ago when he walked in on you. He whispers so pretty, then kisses gently on your clit and down your folds. He barely slides his tongue into your pussy, then drags it all the way up you, collecting your arousal on his tongue.

“So wet for me, babygirl.”

He takes his tongue and draws slow, steady circles on your clit while he brings his hand to your entrance and slides too fingers in. He immediately pushes them all the way in without letting you adjust, then he curls them upward. His lips wrap around your clit, and he sucks.

You groan beneath him. He feels like he knows exactly what your body wants and needs. He is intuitive to your body, and your head is swimming. Your skin is burning, and your hips start to buck, even as he uses one hand to try to still you.

“Tae, I’m going to cum,” you gasp.

“No, you aren’t,” he says against your clit, “you’ll cum when I tell you to cum. And do you know why?”

You shake your head, back arching up off the mattress.

“This pussy is mine. Your orgasms belong to me, understood?”

“Yes,” you whine, “please, Tae…”

“Say it,” he commands for the second time tonight.

You moan as he continues his unforgiving ministrations with his fingers and his tongue. “Fine. This pussy is yours. My orgasms belong to you.”

“Good girl,” he whispers and pulls his fingers out of you and pulls his mouth away.

“No, no,” you whine at the lost of contact

“You better start being good, babygirl. You better start showing me that you deserve to cum.”

You really don’t mean to say it, but your bratty side comes out again. You look him in the eye and defiantly say, “Make me,” crossing your arms over your chest.

He leans over your body and picks you up, flipping you over easily. He commands you to get on your hands and knees.

“I’m going to punish you, babygirl. Do you remember the word to say if it’s too much?”

“I remember, yes.” You crawl onto your hands and knees and push your ass toward him, taunting him. You have your legs spread, and with the way you have put your head down on the mattress, your pussy is on full display for him. He can see how slick you are for him and because of him. You can feel how swollen your clit is, and all you want is for him to touch you again. Instead, he brings his hand down with a smack on your ass. You hiss from the sting, but you feel yourself growing wetter somehow. You moan and push your ass further back toward him. He lands four more spanks on the same cheek, and it stings as he rubs his hand over the spot. He presses his lips to the tender spot, and then he presses his lips against your wet pussy before pulling away.

You try to bite back the whine that is trying to escape your chest. You turn to look at Tae over your shoulder, and you should have just kept looking forward. His pupils are huge, and his hair looks like he’s been running his hand through it. His lips are swollen, and his cheeks are pink. You let out a moan at the sight of him. Desperate to cum.

“Please, Tae. Please let me cum,” you beg, feeling like you might cry.

“Turn around, baby girl,” he says a little more gently than his last commands.

You turn around, and he steps up right in front of you as you sit on the end of the bed. He puts his fingers on your chin again and angles your head up to him. He presses a gentle kiss to your mouth, and then he grabs your hands and brings them to his belt. You can see the outline of his cock through his tight black pants. You have never wanted a cock more in your life than you want his right now.

You unbutton his pants, and the flesh of his dick is right inside the zipper. So he wasn’t wearing underwear. You push his pants down, and he steps the rest of the way out of them. He takes his cock in his hand and strokes it. You look up into his eyes to wait for him to tell you what to do.

“Lie down, babygirl,” he says, and you immediately obey.

His eyes flash with realization for a moment. “I don’t have a condom,” he says in panic, his breathing quickening.

“It’s fine. Are you clean? I’m fine. Birth control. Just fuck me raw,” you can’t think and words are tumbling past your lips.

“I am clean. You’re on birth control? You’re clean?” he asks, slightly more coherent than you are.

“Yes to both. Fuck me raw, Tae, please,” you beg. You feel desperate and crazy.

He pulls your hips to the end of the bed, still standing in front of you. He drags his cock through your arousal, getting his dick slick before he presses against your entrance. He pushes slowly into you, and you feel every millimeter of him exploring every millimeter of you. You let out a loud guttural moan as he continues to push all the way in. He brings his thumb to your clit and pushes messy circles there, and you clench around his dick.

“Fuck, babygirl, you can’t do that. I’m not gonna last long anyway,” he says as he draws himself slowly back out of you and pushes back in slowly.

“Tae…” you pant.

“I know, babygirl. You have to hold on though. Remember your orgasm is mine.”

He starts to thrust in and out of you more urgently. He’s panting, hair falling into his eyes. His breath is ragged as he continues to rub unforgiving circles on your clit. He pushes his hair back with his one free hand, and his tongue darts out to lick the corner of your mouth. You feel yourself careening toward the edge, and you don’t want to disappoint Tae but also can’t stop it. You pant out his name again.

“Cum for me baby girl,” he whispers as he bites your ear lobe, thrusts becoming erratic. You tumble over the edge, warmth filling your stomach as your pussy clenches around him, and your mind goes black as your eyes pinch shut and all of your muscles contract. You let out a low, loud moan, and Tae is crashing like a wave too. He cums hard and moans a long moan, filling you with cum and continuing to fuck it up into you. His hips only stop when you have regained your senses enough to open your eyes.

After he pulls out of you, he disappears for a second. He returns with a warm washcloth. He sets to work cleaning you and then himself. He takes the towel back to the bathroom, and then climbs into bed next to you. “What can I do to take care of you, babygirl?” he asks, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“I want to cuddle you, and maybe watch The Grinch,” you respond in a sleepy voice.

He gets you both under the covers, then pulls your body close to his. “I’ll try to find it, but we might have to watch something else,” he explains as he grabs the remote and flicks on the TV.

“Hey Tae?” you say after you settle on watching HGTV.

He hums in response and pulls his eyes from the screen to look at you. “Can we like...go on a date soon?” you ask, suddenly nervous even though you’re both naked, cuddled in a post sex cocoon.

“I want nothing more than that...and we probably should since your pussy is already mine anyway,” he smiles a huge smile and presses kisses to your temple, cheek, and jawline. You snuggle back in and eventually fall asleep wrapped in one another.

#taehyung x reader #taehyung smut #taehyung imagine #taehyung fanfic #taehyung x y/n #bts smut #bts fanfic #kim taehyung: actual demon

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the-hopeless-haze · 4 years

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Someone to Know You Too Well (Being Alive Chapter 5)

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

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CONTENT WARNING: Mentions of domestic violence & homophobia

It’s easy again between the two of you when you come back from Massachusetts, but it isn’t the same. You’re in a much better mood, and Rafael’s glad you went, especially because you come back with good news about your brother - he should be finishing his GED in the fall.

But just because things are good - it doesn't mean Rafael is calm. On the contrary, that makes him even more nervous. Good things don't have the habit of sticking around.

But for whatever reason, you are.

Spring turns into summer - where did the time go? - and you’re always dragging him to the beach when your schedules permit. You seem to be more in your element there than anywhere else he’s ever seen you, what with the sun causing your skin to glisten with sweat and saltwater, the hot wind blowing your hair, the permanent smile on your face. He learns that your father used to have a summer house in the Cape where you spent your summers until he sold it after the divorce, but your love for the water never faded. And apparently your father’s never did, either, as his new house with his new wife resides on a lake. But the ocean is much more turmoiled than a lake is, and if Rafael were more of a poet, maybe he’d draw some resemblances between you and the ocean, but that’s overwrought. The world didn’t need another hackneyed poem about why his troubled object of affection reminded him of the waves. Clichéd comparisons aside, he can see why you love it so much.

Rafael isn’t as opposed to these dates as one might assume. Maybe it’s his Cuban heritage; in his blood after his ancestors spent so long working and living by the sea on that godforsaken island that betrayed them, but he feels a sort of kinship with the ocean, too. You tease him the first time you see him in shorts and sandals, saying you half-expected him to show up in his three-piece. He didn’t tell you, but he comes to the beach alone quite often, or there’s always yacht parties where he can nurse a glass of scotch, just keeping score between all the married couples there; who cheated on who, what wife wanted nothing more than to divorce her husband, what husband was calling their wife a bitch... Most days, he prefers the precinct for company over the stuffy culture law school brought him into...he swears marriage makes people crazy. It made his mother miserable, his father wrathful.

And maybe one could argue that his mother had an inclination for melancholy or that his father was just a mean-spirited man regardless. But the marriage vows certainly brought out the worst in both of them. An ill-fit, sure, but they’d thought it would work out when they met each other, didn’t they?

Another reason he’s anxious is that the squad is getting closer to figuring it out by the day. Rafael is good at concealing his emotions, he thinks, but it’s difficult to hide anything in a room full of some of the best detectives in New York City. Sometimes he even catches Olivia looking at him differently when he glances discreetly at you - and he’s dreading the day he gets the chewing out he deserves.

And third - you start remembering things he says. It’s almost frightening. Of course.... you had to have a good memory for the spoken word - you couldn’t take notes on everything a witness said. But still.

You remember dishes he orders in restaurants and attempt to recreate them in his kitchen. You bring him coffee, just the way he likes it, on your days off that he’s on, or sometimes you manage to sneak away to bring it to him during your breaks. You know he likes you in red and green and blue, bright, vivid colors that bring out the colors of your eyes and hair, and you make sure to wear them. Sometimes he thinks you’re psychic, or you have some kind of womanly sixth sense; because oftentimes you’ll wear the same color of his tie. One time Carisi even made a comment that the two of you were going to prom together, and you’d swatted him on the arm but smirked at Rafael the way you did; when you knew you had him down cold.

And maybe you did.

But you didn’t know everything about him, yet, how could you? It’d only been four months.

Rafael's hands tremble at the thought of telling you what was on his mind. He needs some liquid courage if he's going to tell you anything. He's had awful conversations with women concerning this topic, and he's prepared for tonight to go wrong, too, you screaming at him with tears running down your cheeks, and then work, oh, work would be a living hell. Maybe he'd transfer to another district. Jesus Christ, he couldn't handle that again, so soon. Maybe it was best to keep quiet. Maybe this is why he shouldn't have been so stupid to date a detective in his district, in a unit he worked closely with. What if this did go wrong? It was hard, being able to see each other outside of work sometimes, and it was hell trying to hide it from the SVU, but god, he'd miss you if you left even if he wasn't entirely ready to commit to you.

But you deserved to know, didn't you?

"Hey, Rafi? You doing alright there?" Your voice cuts in, clear as a bell, the way it always did when he lost himself in thought.

"Yeah, uh, I'm fine," he says, loosening his tie and taking it off. You were cooking again, fish, and it smelled heavenly, and god, he didn't want to lose this but he didn't want to tell you either and by not telling you, he could lose you. Weren't you supposed to know your partner? Did you really know him if you didn't know these things?

"You sure? You look like you're nervous," you say, an edge in your voice. God, did you think... maybe you thought he was going to break up with you. Fuck.

"Yeah. I'm nervous. Okay?" he snaps, but he doesn't mean to. He takes another sip of his scotch.

"Why the hell are you nervous? Afraid of some broccoli?" you joke, but your smile doesn't meet your eyes. He'd scared you. Fuck, he was such an idiot.

"I need to talk to you. Okay?" God, why couldn't he be normal like you and just spit it out?

"Okay. Then talk. But if you want me to leave I'll just get out. I don't need to hear the reasons why," you say, turning back to the food.

"No!" Rafael gets up quickly, hugging you from behind. "No. I don't... that's not what I want to talk about. No. This is going good, better than I thought it would."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Fuck me. I keep talking myself in circles," he mutters under his breath.

You turn around, but he keeps his hands around your waist. You're close, and he pecks your lips. You chuckle. "You're a dork. Just spit it out, Rafi."

"I don't want... I don't want this to turn into a fight."

"I don't either, whatever it is. But I need to turn the fish over or your smoke alarm's gonna go off," you say. “Hang on a minute.”

He grips the counter for support and he hates you so much, it’s rage he’s feeling now, and he has to swallow it down, tell himself this was good for him, this was happening for a reason, and that you were different the men and women that had walked out on him before. Or what about those he’d never felt close enough to tell? That was a longer list.

You finish the fish in a few minutes, tell him the potatoes are going to be a few more in the oven, and you start the broccoli on the stove.

“Okay. Talk to me. I’m listening,” you say, smiling at him, but he can tell you’re still scared, still wondering what he’s going to say.

“I’m bisexual,” he blurts out, and he doesn’t know if it would’ve been better if he beat around the bush.

You’re silent for a few seconds, then you smile at him. “Oh, honey, that was it? I thought it was something bad. Jesus, you scared the hell out of me, Rafi,” you say and hug him tight. He hugs you back, somewhat in awe of your reaction.

“You... you... don't care?"

“Rafael, I'm honestly offended that you think I'd be that prejudiced. Of course it doesn't bother me.” You pull away, still holding onto his arms, looking at him that way you did now, that look that doesn’t feel too different from a punch in the gut. "Why did you think I would be upset?"

Rafael shrugs, still at a loss for words.

“Well... for the record, I’ve hooked up with a woman, you know,” you say, turning back to the broccoli.

“Y-you have?” Well, that was a surprise.

“Yeah. I don’t know if I’d ever date a woman, but... I gave it the college try, had experiences. It was fun. It was a coping mechanism if you think about it too much, but it helped me, I think,” you say, and shrug, turning to your side to better face him as you sauté the broccoli. “I mean...we were friends in college. And she took her time with me, you know...in ways college boys wouldn’t.”

“Mm,” Rafael says, raising his eyebrows suggestively. “Bet she did.”

You blush beet red, laughing nervously. “That’s not what I meant... although, yes... she was thorough. But no. I meant she respected me and didn’t get upset when I wasn't ready to put out, you know? She let me set the pace and she was the first person I’d been with that gave me that. But... anyway... enough about that. I really appreciate that you trust me enough to tell me. Do you feel better?” you ask, looking up at him.

He nods. “Believe it or not, you’re the only woman that hasn’t flipped out on me when I said this.”

“Oh, honey. I’m so sorry. No one should feel that way about that.” You lean up, kissing his cheek.

Yelina was the first woman he told, and she didn’t take it well. Immediately, she flew off the handle, accusing him of wanting to leave her for a man - but there was no man. It was just something he'd come to terms with after fighting with himself for so long, and he wanted her to know because he thought he loved her. But he backtracked for her, he pled with her, they both cried, and their hour-long phone conversation ended with Rafael saying that he was just confused, and wasn't really bisexual. He’d never felt more lost in his entire life than when he hung up the phone that night, and it took him a long time to be assured of his sexuality in the same way as he was before he called her.

Some of the women were better than others, but he hadn’t told all of them and he’d never been met with outright acceptance...until you. And maybe it’s a byproduct of the politics of your generation or your own dalliances in same-sex affairs... but whatever it is... you’re still taking him in with open arms, and he feels like he doesn't deserve that.

“You hungry? It’s all set.”

“Yeah. It smells great, (y/n),” he says, his mouth watering at the potatoes you pull out of his oven. God, who knew how good an apartment could smell when you used it to cook?

He has memories of his abuelita cooking, of his mother, but he never stayed in the room and watched them work. His father always said it was a woman’s job, and it went on the long list of things he could never forgive him for. Watching you cook, he realizes it’s an expression of caring and that his father had ignored the league of male chefs there were in the world in support of a chauvinist ideology. Rafael wishes he could cook more than his embarrassing repertoire of eggs, grilled cheese, and boxed macaroni; he wishes he could do something for you.

He swallows it down. This was too much too soon, wasn’t it? What was he doing?

He doesn't have any idea. A relationship should tie you down to the earth, make you remember you inhabit it, but he's been in his head far too much lately. So dinner is quiet, almost painfully so, because he can't stop the thoughts racing through his head and manage to make conversation with you.

Evidently, you realize that too, kissing him deeply after you both cleaned up the kitchen. "Are you okay, honey? You still seem stressed."

"I'm fine." God, you calling him “honey” went right through him. No one really ever used pet names on him before, probably because he was too stiff. How did you know the simple use of that melted him to the core, made him momentarily forget his reservations?

"You certainly don't seem fine. Did something happen at work?"

"Just stop," he murmurs, avoiding your gaze. Why did you care? Why should you care? You were starting to get too close for comfort - but god forbid you start pulling away.

But you do, physically, at least. You let go of his hand, and hurt flashes through your eyes. "Do you want me to leave?"

"No. But I don't want to talk, either."

"Rafael--"

"Don't."

"Okay," you nod, pursing your lips, and you take his hand back in yours. "Do you want me to just sit with you?"

He nods wordlessly, topping off your scotch glasses and meeting you on the couch. You don't touch him at first, but then you take his right hand back in both of yours, massaging through the cramps in his palm from writing scrawled notes on his legal pad. "You don't have to," he says quietly.

"I want to," you respond, pressing your lips to his cheek. "Let me take care of you. Turn around so I can massage your shoulders."

"(Y/n)..." he protests, but he has a feeling you know what he needs better than he does, so he doesn't argue with your firm glance.

You're tentative at first, but you find a rhythm, and he feels the tension dissipate as you work your hands across his shoulders and upper back, and all he can think is that he never did one thing in his life that would warrant this tenderness.

And then.... you run your hand across his side, featherlight, until he's chuckling in spite of himself. "Jesus, (y/n), stop it," he says through laughter as you tickle him with more intensity, your fingers skittering across his stomach.

"I think you should make me," you challenge.

And he's breathless, trying to catch your hands in his own, but he can't stop laughing, either, as he tries and fails to gain leverage against you. You dodge him every chance you get, but at this point, you can't tickle him as much you jab at his sides and stomach. Eventually, his fingers dig deep into the flesh of your waist, and you let out a shriek - and it's then that he enacts his revenge, his long fingers dancing across your thighs and up your stomach until he looks up at you. You're giggling and blushing, your hair splayed out across his couch... and you look back, your laughter slowing as he leans down to kiss you. All he intended was to brush his lips against yours, but your hand comes to the nape of his neck, and your tongue slips past his lips, and you're seemingly still intent on leaving him gasping for air. "Trying to kill me?" he pants, smirking against your lips as he pulls away.

"No. I just know you needed the laugh," you say. "I know you said you don't want to talk, Rafi, but I... I think you should. I want to listen."

Rafael sighs heavily, gently moving off you and helping you sit back up. "I lied to you,” he says softly, not meeting your eyes. “I lied. SVU is difficult at times... for more personal reasons. I didn't go through anything like what you had gone through and believe me... I'm not trying to draw comparisons. But..."

“It was your father, wasn’t it?” you ask softly.

Ah. You know. You read him like a book. He nods. “Yes. He wasn’t a good man.”

“I didn’t... I just, you rarely talk about him, and I just assumed there was a reason why.”

“There was.”

“Do you want to talk about it?"

Rafael nods, finding the strength to meet your eyes again. “He... he would hurt my mother. I didn’t face the brunt of the abuse, she did, for me. But he... if I... he’d hurt me, sometimes, too, hit me if I talked back. He’d never hurt me the way he hurt Mami, but he was abusive toward me as well. I spent a lot of time at my abuelita’s apartment because of this, and she is...she’s the best woman I know. She did all she could to keep me safe. Ultimately, though, in high school... I came out to my mother and her. They didn’t understand it, really, and gave me some good old Catholic shaming. I still loved them, even if it was hard at the time. They didn’t dare out me to my father. They didn’t know what he would do. Well... I had a boyfriend that last year of high school, and my father saw us... and... you can guess what happened.”

“I’m so sorry, Rafi,” you whisper, scooting closer to him.

“I had to go to the hospital,” he whispers, unable to fight the tears. It feels like something’s closing in on his throat. He takes your hand for support, running his thumb over your fingers. “He somehow managed to break one of my ribs. I... he kept saying, ‘I pay for Catholic school for you to end up being a faggot?’ And I... kept thinking, kept saying, ‘no, Padre, you don’t understand,’ kept begging him to stop. He didn’t until he heard my rib crack and... I think he understood, then, that he’d crossed a boundary. It was one thing to him to hurt his wife, he hated women, but his child, his only son? I never told my mother what happened, because it would’ve just worried her and I was terrified. I just... I just said someone at school beat me up. My father... he was never good to me or my mother, let that be clear, but after that, it was almost like he was ashamed, I guess, because I had something over his head that he knew my mother would leave him for. Anyway... he died about 15 years ago.”

You tuck your legs underneath you, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “I’m sorry,” you say softly, kissing his cheek. “No one should have to go through that. Your mother is a strong woman, you know that right? Didn’t you tell me she runs a charter school now?”

“Yes. She does. Single-handedly, really. I owed it to her to make something of myself.”

“You did, Rafi, you did. I know she’s proud.”

“I hope so,” he mutters.

“You’re a better man than your father,” you murmur, rubbing his back. How did you know that was what he needed to hear? Even still, it didn’t feel real. What basis did you have for that?

“The jury is out on that one,” he mutters. “I haven’t had a child to destroy.”

You pull away from him, sit back on your side of the couch. “Rafael. Look at me.”

He exhales slowly, and does, meeting your concerned eyes, the ones all the victims that have come through your precinct have seen, and he hates that.

“Did it hold you back? Is that why you haven’t had children?”

Your voice is small like you almost don’t want to say it, don’t want to put a voice to it, and he wishes you didn’t, he wishes you stayed quiet. He leans back against the couch, a few silent tears leaving his eyes of their own volition.

But you knew him. You knew why. You’d hit the nail on the head once again.

“I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry, Rafael. Please,” you say, and he looks over at you to see your eyes welling up too. “It’s not my business. I’m sorry. D-don’t be mad at me.”

He doesn’t say anything, just leans over and grasps you in a hug. You start crying, murmuring your apology over and over again. Your whimpers in his ear could kill him if he let them. You pull away from him with shaky hands on his shoulders, gripping on his suspenders for support. “I’m so stupid. I shouldn’t have—“

But he kisses you and he can feel your shock as your body tenses up against him. “Don’t you ever fucking say you’re stupid again,” he murmurs against your mouth. “You’re too smart for your own good.”

“Rafael, I overstepped.” You move your hands back to your lap.

“Maybe you did,” he shrugs, wiping his eyes with his shirtsleeves. “But you were right.”

You’re silent. He can tell you feel guilty; you’re wringing your hands and only looking at him when he’s not looking at you.

“I’m not mad at you,” he says, and you visibly relax, leaning over to hug his waist. “I never realized it... until... this woman I dated, her name was Yelina. She wanted a whole white picket fence deal, lawyer husband, three kids, money. And I... I couldn’t give any of that to her at the time. I didn’t want to get married, I was terrified of having a wife. I didn’t want to have children... I was afraid I’d turn into my father and hurt them the way he hurt me. So she left me for my best friend at the time.”

“Oh, honey. You’ve had bad luck,” you say, your voice slightly muffled against the fabric of his shirt. You rub his back comfortingly. “She wasn’t a smart woman. Couldn’t she see you were in pain?”

“I...guess not. Maybe I didn’t even really know I was then. She wanted kids, marriage, all of that, right away, and we were young, then, younger than you. But she didn’t want to wait for me to work out my issues. I can't really blame her. I still haven’t now, so maybe she was right to leave me. Who she left me for... well, that didn’t exactly work out in her favor. I prosecuted him for child pornography about a year ago.”

“Ah. Perhaps she should have learned about delayed gratification before leaving you.”

Rafael chuckles at that. “Why are you saying that?”

“Look who you turned out to be. She knows she made the wrong choice now.”

“I don’t know about that. Maybe neither of us were the right one for her. I’m still my father’s son. I could still turn out...how I feared.”

“I don’t see that in you, Rafael,” you say softly.

“My mother didn’t see it in my father, either,” he says, rubbing his face with his hand. “Part of it is genetic. It has to be.”

“People throw down the deck that they’re dealt and demand a new one all the time,” you tell him. He wraps his arm around you.

“But do they get one?”

“I think so,” you say. “If they fight hard enough and they have the resources. Some of it is luck, no doubt... But you can.”

He feels guilty, because he knows you’re thinking of your brother, who can never outplay the cards he was dealt.

“Well, I guess I never wanted to play the game and risk it," he says bitterly.

“Well, what about now?”

“Who’s going to marry me now, have kids with me? I’m an old man. That ship has sailed,” he says, hating himself and you, a little. Maybe you’d leave now like Yelina did. You were young and pretty, and you could find a man closer to your age that would father your children if that’s what you wanted.

“Do you really believe that?” Your voice is small again, treading lightly. Maybe you were scared for your own future if you stayed with him. Maybe you should be.

“I don’t know what to believe anymore,” he murmurs. He knows what he can’t believe: the fact that you’re still here, still holding onto him like your life depended on it. And you knew him, now, you knew what kept him up at night... and you were still here, acting like he was all you wanted.

“I just want you to know that I’ve been held back, too, Rafael. Abuse does that. I couldn’t have meaningful relationships with anyone for a while, and sex scared me. It still does, sometimes. You’re...you’re one of the few who’s waited this long for me to be ready and not gotten upset. I just want to thank you for that. And that’s how I know you’re not your father because from what you’ve told me, I don’t think he would’ve been as forgiving toward me. You can break the cycle, Rafi. You can if you want to.”

“You shouldn’t be thanking me for that. I’m not going to force you into doing something you’re not ready for.”

“Proving my point, Rafael,” you say, squeezing his arm. “Would your father have that same mindset?”

“Well...no. Probably not.”

“Would your father go to law school with the intent of helping the helpless?”

He shakes his head. His father didn’t do anything to help anyone. "That's not why I went to law school, either. I went to get the hell out of that barrio."

"Why'd you choose SVU then? There are much more lucrative paths you could've taken with a law degree. Why is it every time I try to show you that you're a good man you insist on fighting with me?"

"Because I don't deserve to be put up on a pedestal, (y/n). I'm just trying to survive," Rafael says, shrugging. "I'm not some martyr for a cause, or a Christ figure or--"

"I didn't say that you were. But you’re also not your father, Rafael, and I don’t see any danger of you turning into him, either,” you say and he hopes you’re right, he hopes you know him better than he knows himself, and that you see something in him he’s never seen, something all the men and women before you never saw either. “You still have time.”

“Not as much as I used to,” he says, but that’s the thing, isn’t it? Rafael sighs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. Look at the two of you, both damaged, both broken by what the world threw at you, but here you were, together. Were you healing each other or hurting each other? He can’t tell, at the end of the day.

You sit up a little, and he loosens his grip around your shoulders. You kiss him softly, comfortingly.

All his anxiety about this night is gone, but it isn’t replaced with relief like he’d hoped. Instead, there’s this gnawing ache, this need to tell you to leave, that he was bad news and was going to break your heart, that he was over 40 and didn’t know how to love anyone that wasn’t his family. Why couldn’t anything scare you away?

Part of him knows he doesn’t want you to leave despite all this, even if he’s terrified. You must know, too, because you stayed.

Tags: @caked-crusader @thatesqcrush @law-nerd105

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darkdevasofdestruction · 4 years

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Little Tinkerbell ~ Yin Zhi x Reader

Little maiden, what are you doing? Should you really waste your time in the library, studying, when outside is sunny and you could be playing with the princes and princesses?

Little maiden, what are you doing? Should you really be tinkering with weird widgets, when you could be learning how to apply make up?

Little maiden, what are you doing? Should you really be going riding through the forest, when you could be going shopping for fashionable clothes and accessories?

He heard all the rumours, all the gossips, all the bad words...He saw all the judging eyes of all the close-minded and inapt people...He saw everything...And yet, Yin Zhi couldn't understand how come this little mockingjay would rather study and be by herself, despite all the reprimanding she gets, when she could solve it all by obeying, like all women do?

Why was she so stubborn? Why did she insist on doing literally everything that he was also interested in, and yet, he wasn't reprimanded, just because he was a man, and more, the Emperor's son?

A man...Well, he's not a man yet, he's barely 12 years old, and yet, this girl keeps bugging his mind.

It all started when he went to the library one day, and his way was through the garden, and there she was, a little maiden, her beautiful hair flying messily into the air, as she was hunched over a stone tabled, doing something, clearly focused enough to draw out anything outside of her area of work. She didn't even hear him approach, not even sitting in front of her, until he strategically stepped into her light, and she got too confused at the sudden darkness, until she looked up and realised who was eclipsing her.

"You...You are the 3rd Prince, aren't you? Yin Zhi, was it? What are you doing here?" she asked, her hands hanging awkwardly, still holding the delicate screws and gears from the machinery. "Great, you know who I am. Should I be asking you the same now, for the sake of common courtesies? Or will you finally answer my question?" he asked impatiently, thinking he'd intimidate the girl...But she didn't sketch any of that. "A travelling merchant from the West came by recently, and I bought some musical boxes. They make beautiful music, and this rotating doll has interesting clothes. I wanted to take everything apart, learn how the engine works, how each and every little piece keeps the synergy going, and then attempt to recreate something similar, or maybe even better. Who knows." she shrugged, going back to her tinkering. "Don't tell me you actually understand what you're doing." he scoffed, and yet, leaned forward to pay attention to her dexterous fingers. "I do...But, do you?" she smirked, provoking him. "Are you mocking me?!" the prince scoffed, shocked at her impertinence. "It's mocking only if you get offended. If not, you can shut up, listen, and understand." there was no malice or harshness in her words, and the prince realised that there was an unexpected maturity and wisdom about her, that seemed to calm him...Or tame him. "Fine, then. If you're so sure of yourself, then show me how you'd repair this music box to its original state." he challenged her, which oddly enough, made he grin brightly at him. "No problem!" she started humming a melody, which he guesses might be the one from the music box, and with an outstanding ingenuity, she played around with those tiny tools and even tinier gear pieces, using a magnifying glass to see better, and there it was, in its dull glory, a dancing doll and a pretty song. "Not bad...For someone like you. I must confess, I never expected a girl to be interested in machinery or studying like you are. I am...Impressed." he was just a child back then, still reckless and easily wearing his emotions on his sleeve, as he blushed...She quickly became his childhood crush, clearly. "Thank you, Yin Zhi! Nobody ever said anything nice about my...Out of the ordinary interests, so...Thank you." she gave him a sweet smile, before taking the music box, ready to leave. "It's getting late, I must go home and continue my studying. I hope to see you again soon, Prince." she gave him an innocent kiss on his cheek, waving goodbye, before leaving the place, her beautiful, flowy, pink dress flying behind her.

Since then, this little maiden was the only one that he accepted to study with, to learn with and to learn from, or listen to...And also, she was the only one who could get him to sneak out of the Palace to go on the top of the hill to watch the stars, identify constellations, to watch the fireflies, and she was the only one he enjoyed riding with.

She wasn't like all those princesses and ladies who'd rather waste her time doing needlework and baking cakes... Although he couldn't deny that her osmanthus cakes were amazing, the tea she was brewing was incredibly aromatic, and the costumes she was creating were making even the Western tailors jealous.

However, he couldn't pin point whether she was she was really as great as she was making her out to be, or simply, that's how he was seeing her. That's weird, since he prides himself for being level-headed, rational and also, for seeing things exactly as they are, not veiled by the charms of emotions and...And that other forbidden word he canNOT allow himself to say, not out loud, nor to himself.

But years passed, and not even him, Yin Zhi, the 3rd Prince, was safe from the feminine charms, and Y/N was becoming more beautiful with each day passing.

As time went by, he always felt the need to invite her, under different pretexts, to hang out with him, mostly for the sole reason that he truly enjoys her company. She never speaks more than she has to, and when she does, her words are meaningful and leave a lingering feeling that tugs at his heartstrings, making him want to hear more of her voice.

Even his mother, Consort Qin, was feeling infinitely better whenever she would visit her, and it almost felt like a healing, bright aura, something incredibly refreshing, like the cold mint freeze, that was making her feel so great. She was a mother, clearly, she was well aware of her son’s feelings for this little maiden, and she was happy that her only child, that she loved so much, and in turn, cared so much for her, was able to find such a kind and brilliant woman to be by his side and match his wits and intellect just as he always dreamt of.

So one night, on one of the many occasions that they spent together, they found themselves riding through the forest, and arrived at a gorgeous waterfall, continued by a blue lagoon, surrounded by numerous flowers of variate, vibrant colours, tons of butterflies and choruses of birds singing like angels.

“I don’t know how we got here, but this looks like a true paradise. Wouldn’t it be so much more peaceful if we were to live closer to nature, and farther away from noisy people?” Y/N asked, yet her question wasn’t exactly addressed, as she took of her shoes and lifting up the hem of her long dress, she went to the shallow part of the lagoon, jumping on the stones to get closer to the waterfall. “I can’t deny that would be the ideal scenario...Although, I wouldn’t advise you to stay too long in the freezing water, or too close to the waterfall. You will get soaked and sick.” he shook his head, sitting on one of the big rocks guarding the lagoon. “Don’t tell me...Yin Zhi, have you never bathed into a lake? Or a spring? Or under a waterfall?” she giggled, teasing him, as she gracefully skipped next to him, taking off his hat, putting it on his horse, and then going behind him to braid his hair. “Did I give you permission to touch my hair? Do you want me to kill you that badly?” he let his head down so he could look at her, and despite his words, he bore no ill will. “If you kill me, who’s going to read with you, or help you with machinery?” she chuckled, planting a soft kiss on his forehead. “Besides, you know I can’t resist your hair. It’s the most beautiful and soft in the whole kingdom.” her smile was so playful and gentle that it seemed to relax him immediately. “I don’t need your help in repairing machinery, nor do I need the distraction you offer while reading. And, to reply to the other affirmation, I’m a Prince, after all. We get lucky since birth.” he smirked gracefully, making the girl hum, as she was pondering. “Well...Should I tell you a secret? Yeah, sure, I always tell you all the secret I know anyway. The only other princes with nice hair are Yin Zhen and the 14th prince, and not even they can compare with yours. I mean...Have you seen the Crown Prince? Or the 5th prince? It’s like they don’t care at all! It looks so...Course and greasy! I wouldn’t dare get my finger anywhere close to that!” she started laughing, faking a shudder, as she finished the braid. “Good, because if you did, I’d have cut your fingers off. Good luck touching my hair without fingers.” he grumbled, almost as if jealous. “Awww, but then, who’d braid your hair? You know you like it when I play with your hair, so don’t play the tough facade with me. Besides...I’m pretty sure you’re going to kill me regardless of what I do, so...” with a low giggle, she pushed herself into his back, sending both of them into the lagoon, shocking the poor prince who wasn’t expecting that. “ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?!” he yelled at her, glaring, as soon as he resurfaced to get some air. “YES!” she laughed so carefree, all that hair playing as a curtain draped all over her face. “Oh, spare me.” he scoffed, putting his hand on her head and pushing her underwater, long enough to get his revenge, but not long enough that she might have discomfort. “Okay, but you have to admit, it was pretty fun! It’s always nice trying out new things, isn’t it?” she laughed, struggling to throw away all that hair from her face. “You, dummy...Get here, I’ll help.” he couldn’t help but show a half smile at the girl since, despite all the silliness and complete lack of mannerism, she always managed to warm his heart more and more. “Thank you. Perhaps I should have braided my hair too before, but, oh well, guess now I can look like one of those vengeful ghosts from the stories our mums would tell us to keep us behaving.” she grinned, letting her hair down to allow the man behind her to braid her hair properly. “Speaking of stories...I once heard one from my mother, and I almost think she was talking about you, especially as I met you when we were young...And you were so small compared to me, even then.” he teased her, making her widen her eyes in intrigue. “Ohh, tell me, tell me!” she turned around, hugging her legs and resting her chin on her knees, waiting for the story patiently...Or not so, rather. “It’s not much to say...It’s about a little fairy who was struggling to find out what her defining talent. Some had the power to make flowers bloom in a matter of seconds, others could speak to animals, other could bend water, storms or light to their will...And yet, this little fairy that everyone found so odd, couldn’t find her defining talent among all the other girls she knew. Do you want to know why?” he never admitted that, no matter how many times the girl told him, but he had the gift of story-telling and keeping the listener gripped completely. “Yes, tell me!” his heart was melting seeing her almost childlike enthusiasm and fascination on her face that simply his words could create. “She was special, that’s why. Special, even among her peers. Because she was incredibly inventive and handy, so she was sent to the tinkers to create intricate machinery that would aid all the other fairies on their jobs of keeping nature balanced and properly taken care of. And because her dress resembled a bell flower, she was given the name of...Tinkerbell.” he explained the story, which made her jolt to her feet in a second, running to the bed of flowers. “So, you’re saying I’m Tinkerbell, aren’t you? Then, I have to create a proper outfit for my talent! What do you say which flower should I take inspiration from?” she crouched down in front of the flowers, only to hear a scoff from the man. “You won’t find the one there, silly woman...But here.” he leaned to snatch a pink lotus flower from the lagoon, making his way in front of her, and carefully putting in her hair. “Because a lotus is unique. It’s the true symbol of a woman’s noble and pure personality. It represents the ability to remain pure and become enlightened, even through hardships...And I believe that suits you best.” he muttered the end, feeling shy, yet not turning his head away. “You always know what to say, don’t you? You’re so smart and cool...I bet if you were a fairy, you’d have been the king of them all, for you’d have all the talents the others have.” she chuckled softly, leaning her head down just slightly, feeling bashful, her cheeks resembling just a tiny bit the shade of the flower she now so proudly represented. “And you’d be the queen of the empire.” the ghost of a smirk appeared on his face as he leaned down to kiss her forehead.

But things can’t always remain as ethereal as they are all the time, and he wasn't blind to the Crown Prince trying woo her, or at least gain her as an ally, as he realised her worth, intellect and shrewdness, and nor was he ignorant to how those obnoxious 5th, 7th and 11th princes were constantly on her tail. They don't deserve to be in her presence! They never appreciated her when she was a child, why should they now? But he was ar least relieved with the fact that he knew she has always been a smart girl and wouldn't fall in their web of lies.

That is...Until he started seeing less and less of her around he library, and more of her around the Princes and the Empress...Mainly the Crown Prince. But he could see she was beginning to lose her light, her glamour, her spark...There was something wrong, and he was worrying about her.

How pathetic of him.

Why does he even feel like that? Is that normal?

Sure, it can be normal for those mundane plebs, but not to him! He had to find a way to talk to her, since clearly, she was afraid of something.

Could she be...Blackmailed...?

One day, he found her in the tea house, so he stole the key and bribing the matron there, he prowled in and locked them inside, staring at her with his piercing eyes, watching her prepare a chrysanthemum tea.

"I've never seen you so happy to make tea for everyone who asked you." he pointed out in his usual, cold manner. "...! 3rd Prince, I didn't see you walking in!" she gasped, almost letting the teapot fall from her hands. "Of course you didn't see me. You were much too absorbed in your own mind to see me. I wonder what is troubling you so these days, Y/N." he crossed his arms, analysing her unusual spazzic behaviour. "Oh, u-uhm...Nothing too out of the ordinary. Now, please, if you'd excuse me, I must serve Her Majesty, the Empress, and the Crown Prince with tea." she sighed, hanging her head, hoping he wouldn't see her dejected expression. "You've never been the best at lying or concealing your emotions. Now, tell me the truth. I've known you for years, you can't deceive me." his voice was sharper now, hoping the extra pressure would crack her.

And it did. "I hate them...I hate them so much...I want to run away, but they are threatening me, and I can't find a way out. The Empress and that...That...That brat of hers are trying to marry me off to one of those horrible and uneducated rats that call themselves Princes...And I don't know what to do!" she slammed the tea tray on the table, and it was clear that she didn't crack - She outright shattered, just like those cups and teapots she placed so gingerly, just a few seconds prior. "So, that's it? They are threatening to marry you if you don't obey, and instead of coming to me for help, you dig a hole and hide in it. I thought you were smarter than that." he sighed, shaking his head in disbelief. "I couldn't possibly get you involved in this mess. You're already on hot waters for being the next best contestant to being an Emperor, along with Yin Zhen, and the Crown Prince hates you. The Emperor wants you to compete as well. If you get involved, it may throw your peaceful life into a complete chaos." she looked away, hanging her head in disappointment. "So you were trying to be considerate with me, I understand. Next time, I'd suggest the smarter approach, which would be communication. I can easily solve all your problems with just a two words." his voice softened, as he chuckled at her reaction. "Two words...? What do you mean...?" she looked up at him, confusion obviously plastered on her face. "Marry me." those words were so simple, so easy to say out loud, and yet, it brought complete turmoil and shock in both of them. "Wh-What ?! I-I- ...Y-You-...?! Wha-...?! B-But...?! Y-You have t-to l-love the person you're marrying, w-we can't just....S-So sudden..." she kept stuttering and rambling, her cheeks as red as his were long ago, when she kissed his cheek. "I see no problem, then." with a mischievous smirk on his face, he stepped forward, kissing her cheek, making her freeze on the spot. "...?! Y-You...You really...?! Since when? Why didn't you say anything sooner?!" her bottom lip quivered softly, frowning at him accusatory. "A long time ago. We were doing fine the way we were before, I didn't see why we should mess with perfection. But others stomped on it, and made you upset, so I have to solve this. And what better way to have you happy, by my side, then to be my bride? Nobody would dare come between us, that much, I can assure you." he explained with clear confidence, knowing very well that she melted, realising her feelings were reciprocated. "...I love you." she threw her arms around him without any warning, which he wasn't surprised by in the least, as she'd always surprise him with kisses, hugs, pinches and little gifts. "...And I love you, Tinkerbell." he muttered, stroking her hair and kissing the top of her head.

As soon as the 3rd Prince went to his father, while he was alone, for his blessings, he received what he wished for. The look of absolute dread and hatred on the faces of the Empress, the Crown prince, and the 5th, 7th and 11th princes, who realised they lost their potential bride and spy to the one everyone least expected to get married.

The 3rd Prince was, by far, the one with the most tricks up his sleeves, and that will never change.

#legend of the phoenix x reader #legend of the phoenix headcanons #legend of the phoenix #legend of the phoenix imagine #yin zhi #yin zhen #3rd prince #4th prince #crown prince #emperor #empress #5th prince #7th prince #14th prince #11th prince

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ardenttheories · 4 years

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I don't expect a super serious answer from this, but I'm just curious. in a perfect world, how would hs^2 be written? do you have any particular headcanons or plot lines that would be interesting to explore? I understand the hesitation in answering a question like this, because other people might try to discredit your critiques under the guise of "well its not ur headcanons so that's why ur mad". anyways, just curious because I respect your perspective and ideas

In complete honesty? The first thing I would consider vital is a diverse team of people - genuinely diverse - to consider every point of representation with. I’m talking people of different races (to avoid the anti-black coding of Gamzee), with mental illnesses (to avoid the ableism in both Gamzee and Dirk), with different gender identities (to more accurately and healthily portray Jade, Roxy, Vriska, June - any character we could feasibly want to make trans or nonbinary), with different romanticisms and sexualities (so that we could write genuine MLM and WLW relationships without falling into homophobic pitfalls; to avoid biphobic stereotypes), and overall, with different traumatic experiences and triggers (so that we could more accurately gauge what triggers would need to be tagged and how to go over them in an appropriate and respectful manner).

We could never be 100% perfect, but with a team like that, we could at least get close to it.

Additionally, I’d bring back either fan prompts or closely listen to fan theories and conversations. Homestuck^2 was touted to be written with the fandom in mind; to consider the direction we were asking it to go in, while basing it around a general barebones structure. I’d want to make sure we were including as much of that in as humanly possible. So, if a fan theory seemed like it’d fit into the story? I’d want to include that with the rest of the text; if the fans liked a specific character? I’d want to try and include them more often. Little things to show that we’re listening and that we’re writing the story WITH the fans - like how early Homestuck used to be.

On an actual storyline basis, I really do love the concept of Meat and Candy; that there’s one timeline that goes off the rails and one that is very rigidly stuck to a track. I wouldn’t want to change that concept entirely, but I would want to make it more palpatable for people to read.

This would mean, for me, absolutely getting rid of anything to do with Yiffany. I’d completely replace that with Dave and Jade having a child together via ectobiology; how Jade has to raise their child in Dave’s absence after he goes missing, how that affects her, who she turns to for comfort and help.

I’d want to focus Candy more on that feeling of helplessness and dissociation. On John feeling adrift in a world that doesn’t quite connect with him, that doesn’t entirely feel real; how that would affect his relationships, his friends, his family. In this timeline, all of the rebellion stuff would be completely background to the interpersonal connections everyone has (the things that supposedly don’t matter, as is the point of Candy), with much more emphasis on how useless and frivolous the whole war is. It’d get to a point where nobody actually knows why they’re fighting anymore except for the fact that they are, and that even Jane, who started it out of a genuine fear for the human race, is getting tired of it, is losing resources, is starting to realise that she’s drifting away from her own child.

A truce would be garnered, started by Jane who just very much wants to reconnect with her son, with Karkat taking on the role as troll emissiary. It features long talks in a large, empty room, pouring over papers, where Jane admits that she doesn’t actually know what anyone is up to these days, how long it’s been since she’s seen her husband, since she’s seen John, and Karkat quietly confesses that it’s been several years since he’s seen Dave or Jade, and that he misses them both.

After that, a lot of the content of Candy would focus on healing. They would get back to their happily ever after, even though some things would never be the same, and there would still be inconsequentialities. It would also correspond with John coming to the slow realisation that he really doesn’t need a plot to be happy at all; that just because it doesn’t matter to the overarching story doesn’t mean it can’t matter to him.

The Candy timeline, therefore, would close early; it would fade from our view just as Dirk feared, but it would be happy and content, and free from any further meddling. I’d essentially want to enforce this idea that, yes, we can still have happy endings - even if they aren’t “full of meaning”. They can still be satisfying.

The Meat timeline, on the other hand, would have a significant focus on Dirk and his attempts to continue the plot. I think it would be fun, admittedly, if nothing went the way he thought it would. That after all of his villany and his acceptance of destruction in order to facilitate something he thought would be better, he actually just lost complete and utter control.

The plot isn’t something that he alone can continue. It’s created with character conflict, with motivations and rises and falls and losses and gains; trying to recreate SBURB, to try and restart the cycle, isn’t what a plot needs to be. It isn’t what he thinks it will do.

I’m unsure if you’ve seen this recently, but there’s been a lot of fanwork around the Lord!Jake English idea that went around several years back (when people saw the Caliborn sona). Now, this I’d want to put into it.

Jake, fed up with being stepped on, walked over, hurt, suffering from the trauma of being completely and utterly ruined by Dirk, absolutely flips shit. He chases after Dirk to seek revenge, to cut short whatever bullshit he’s trying to do, and therefore much of the comic becomes this constant back and forth with an increasing fear for Dirk the closer Jake gets as he traverses Paradox Space.

It’s very much clear that when Jake arrives, Dirk will lose. There’s no question about it. Nobody suggests that anything else will happen. There’s several arguments on Meat’s Earth C over whether or not they should try to stop Jake, or let him stop Dirk - and whether or not Jake will calm down afterwards or continue his rampage.

In the end, Dirk fails. Jake catches up to him, and just before he hits the killing blow, the entire thing goes dark. Our narrator dead, the plot abandoned; there is nothing more to see. This I would want to use to enforce the idea that, yes, plot can still be satisfying as hell and still have integral moments and be heavy and harsh - but it can also end in a way that leaves open questions because that shows that it isn’t the best ending you can get.

And then we jump back to Terezi, using her Seer powers. Both timelines have been her trying to use her powers to See what’s in store, where she should go, what she should do. She’s still floating through Paradox Space, looking for Vriska, and as such she’s met with this... sort of internal dilemma.

She knows, now, that the chances of her dying out here are high. She also knows that even if she does survive, she’s pretty much never going to see Vriska again anyway. She knows there’s a chance at a happier relationship with John, and that the only way she can get that is if she somehow manages to make a timeline where Meat and Candy merge together at once.

So, she flies back. She manages to arrive on Earth C the day of John’s big decision, and interrupts him before he can go to the picnic. Through their dialogue, John gets it stuck in his head that, hey, there’s something BIGGER out here that you need to do, but you need to do that amazing thing again where you make a third Choice.

When John arrives at the picnic, he decides to eat some of the pumpkin instead - to which you might be thinking, what pumpkin? The one he put there, of course, using his retcon powers.

So we start on the Pumpkin timeline, written entirely in the 1st person narrative from John’s POV. It’s a completely biased interpretation of what’s going on, but it’s honest to John’s own thoughts and feelings, too, allowing everyone to act the way they usually would do without any influence, but still having a narrative touch.

It shows John actively fighting to free the timeline from Dirk’s and Alternate Calliope’s narrative controls, those little hooks they’ve planted in it since time began, with a lot of back-and-forth as the two talk to John through the narration (which, he hears their voices as thoughts in his head).

John attempts to free them both from their own biases and chains, encouraging Alternate!Calliope to leave the space she’s isolated herself in and join Earth C while convincing Dirk to undo the bullshit villain schtick he’s on (and that plot or no plot, there’s still a reason worth living for).

It’d be a timeline filled with references back to original Homestuck (and funny quips from both Alternate!Calliope and Dirk along the way), a lot of morality discussion, plenty of theorising on narrative control and arcs and the placement of plot and fluff in a satisfying story, and have plenty of representation and romance and hints towards kids, too (such as nonbinary RoxyJaneCallie, DaveJadeKat, aromantic Jake, JohnDirk [because I couldn’t stop myself, honestly, with how their Classpects work so well hand in hand], and definitely RoseMary being the first to adopt a child that they absolutely do not call Vriska).

It’d fill plotholes the fandom wants to be filled, and it’d have drama, of course, in the form of figuring out a way to destroy Lord English that doesn’t inherently lead to the Candy timeline. But it’d go back and forth between the heavy, plot-filled moments and the slower, relationship-based moments, with more humanising and development of Dirk and Alternate!Calliope and John as rounded characters.

That’s the best my tired mind can come up with right now. It’s something I’ve daydreamed about a lot, actually; how I’d rewrite Homestuck^2, or what my own ending to Homestuck would be using it as a foundation. I hope it makes sense! It’s a fun little thought experiment, honestly.

#long post//#ardenttheories #homestuck^2 critical #Anonymous

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seriouslyhooked · 4 years

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Thank You (For the Joy)

Future set CS Christmas fic that is the second part to a story I posted for Thanksgiving, Thank You (For Your Love). Emma, Killian, and their children are gathering with family and friends for the holiday, and have a special Christmas present to share, but before festivities begin there is just some shameless CS Christmas morning smut. Rated M for ‘my readers would never forgive me if I skimped on this.’ Available on AO3 Here and FF Here.

A/N: Hey everyone! So when I wrote the first part of this story, I thought that maybe it could be expanded, but also it could remain a one shot. If no one really paid the story any mind, I could move on to other fics if time allowed. But your love and feedback and your requests for more have not fallen on deaf ears, and I am so grateful for your positivity and your urging me to keep going with this story. I miss Once so much, as I know many of us do, and it’s always fun to imagine what Emma and Killian’s life together would look like past what the finale showed us. As promised, this chapter is picking up at Christmas, and there’s plenty of fluff (and a little smut) to hopefully satisfy all my lovely readers. Thanks so much for reading and hope you all enjoy!

Stirring from a dream that was now nearly dissolved, Emma shifted in her bed, hesitant on some level to open her eyes when she knew what would await her. It was still dark outside, the hour oh so early, and beyond the walls and windows of their bedroom was a frosty winter chill. Maine at this time of year might as well be the North Pole, and though that might get tiresome by March, it was perfectly suited for this morning. At the realization that it was Christmas, Emma opened her eyes, looking out her window and seeing the slightest trace of snow on the glass pane. She smiled and let out a contented sigh. A white Christmas, undoubtedly the perfect kind.

“Merry Christmas, Swan,” Killian murmured, the sound of his silky voice washing over her like the crystal blue waves in the dream she’d just been having. Closing her eyes once more, she could almost imagine she was still on that warm and sandy beach, but the glow and heat surrounding her wasn’t thanks to tropical sunshine. No, it was Killian, totally and completely Killian.

“It’s never going to happen, is it?” Emma asked and Killian chuckled, already knowing what she was getting at without her finishing the statement.

For years she’d been trying to wake up before him and, save for a few emergencies in the night when they were both roused from sleep unexpectedly, it had never happened. Somehow her pirate was simultaneously a night owl and an early bird, and more than that his biological clock was perfectly attuned to hers. If she woke up at 6, he woke up at 5:59, but after years of thinking that maybe she’d wake first, it was just a fact of life that this was a game she’d never win.

“I think it highly unlikely, my love. But I have some good news for you.”

“Oh yeah?” she asked holding back a contented sigh that threatened to slip when he grinned in that sexy as sin way of his as his eyes cast over her with nothing but the truest appreciation.

“Aye. The good news is for once we have time. It’s early, too early for the kids to be up, and you know what that means.”

Emma noticed the clock on the bedside table read 5:30, meaning Killian was right. Even at Christmas her kids never woke before 7. Young as they were, Hope and Liam were good sleepers and that was fantastic because both of them needed a tremendous amount of rest to get them through a normal day. It was all thanks to Killian of course, the master of regimen and routine. Apparently that came from his time on the high seas. Emma didn’t really know the particulars, all she knew was that she loved it, and in moments like this, where her husband was looking at her with seductive, sultry eyes, she was eternally grateful. Still, she had to tease him, if only to get the response her sass always brought out in him.

“Do I?” She asked, feigning a yawn. “Because I’m thinking it means I can catch some more Zzz’s...”

With a movement so quick it was almost superhuman, Killian came above her, putting her on her back and sending the anticipation in her belly spiraling even higher. The need and want she felt with him was palpable, pulsing through her with the quickened haste of her beating heart, and he’d barely even touched her. The second he did, she was gone, all rational thought flying from her head, and Killian knew it too. She could taste it in his kiss and feel his satisfaction crackling in the air around them. He toyed with her, riling her up with his hand and his mouth, nipping and sucking and caressing each place that she desperately wanted him to. It was the sweetest of tortures, one that went on for so long, until Emma was writing beneath him and desperately trying to turn the tables. Two could play at this game, but damn, in the end, Killian just played it so much better.

“You knew what would happen the moment you called this into question, didn’t you?” Killian ground out, his voice hoarse from her own attempts at pushing his limits. Still he was too strong for her. His willpower was unchecked, and no matter what she did, he wouldn’t give in until he was ready to do so. He had a rule, he never came before she did, and his constant fidelity to that rule filled her with lust and love in equal spades. On the one hand it was the sweetest most selfless thing, but on the other hand it was dominant and confident and irresistible.

“Maybe,” she hedged. His mouth nipped down her body, trailing from her breasts down the swell of her belly, which had just begun to show signs of their little one on the way, but as he slowed down his tempo, showing he wanted more from her, she changed her answer. “Yes I knew.”

“And yet you did it anyway,” he acknowledged, a mirthful delight etched in the gravel of his voice. “Because you wanted me like this, barely hanging on but never letting you go.”

“Yes,” she said, and as his grip on her thigh tightened, she clenched in desire.

Damn! She was so freaking needy, but she didn’t care, all Emma wanted was him and the completion he always brought her. She pleaded with him to give it to her, but the plea fell apart before it could even take form as Killian kissed her sex with a mastery that transcended all reason. No one man should be capable of such a wickedly wonderful thing. It was a revelation every time, even if they’d shared this a million times before, but he kept her so dizzy with pleasure. He gave and he gave and he gave until she lost count of how many times she broke apart. She was satisfied but hardly sated and finally she had to do something, resorting to a play that she only ever used when she was at her wits end.

With a flick of her wrist she summoned her magic, using it for her own personal gain and switching their positions so he was laying back on the bed and she was right above him. Before he could protest, she took him in to the hilt, making them both groan just a little too loudly. Thank God she had the sense to put the barrier spell in place years ago, so no one outside this room could hear anything.

“Fuck, Emma!” Killian cursed and Emma smiled despite herself. He liked to call her his siren all the time, heaping praise on her and how she tormented him with her beauty and her mind, but these were the moments where she felt that power the most. Seeing Killian straining for more, tossed over the edge of his carefully crafted control, and craving her with a wanton abandon made Emma feel like she could do anything, anything at all.

“That’s the plan, love.”

Her attempt at recreating his accent was never without flaw, but hell if she cared as Killian met her thrust for thrust, helping her arch to that place where every time he filled her he hit that perfect spot. She felt consumed with fire and filled with light, her eyes closed as she reveled in the sensation, and then she heard Killian’s voice again, telling her to come and she did instantly, feeling that perfect rightness that came when the two of them caught that crashing high together.

In the aftermath Emma took a while to catch her breath, but she felt totally at peace in the warmth of Killian’s arms. He held her close, still pressing gentle kisses along her body, telling her with actions that he loved her. It brought happy tears to her eyes to know that she had all of this, a husband who loved her, a true match for her once wayward soul, and a family that was forged in nothing but happiness and hope and joy. Here, on this still dawning Christmas morning, Emma had nothing to wish for, because she already had it all.

“You make me so happy,” she finally said, running her hand against the stubble of Killian’s growing beard. He hadn’t had time to trim it this morning, but Emma loved it like this, enjoying the feel of the coarse hair just a shade longer than normal. “You bring me such joy. I love you, Killian. Merry Christmas.”

Her words were met with wonderful, heartfelt words from Killian too, and though she knew her husband could have gone another round or two, he let them slide back into slumber again, taking one last quick nap before their very long, but beautifully bright, day began.

“Mommy, Daddy wake up! Santa came! Santa came!”

The words from Hope as she came bursting into the door were a definite wake up call, and for a second Emma panicked before realizing she’d used a last bit of magic to get her and Killian dressed in their Christmas morning attire before falling back asleep. Everything was totally kid friendly, despite their sensuous actions just a little while before, and for that Emma was grateful. That was definitely not the kind of surprise any child needed to get at Christmas.

“How do you know he’s come, little love?” Killian asked, cuddling their daughter close as she hopped up into their bed with them.

“Because daddy, it’s Cwistmas. It’s when he comes.”

“Bright lass,” Killian said, pressing a kiss to the crown of Hope’s head as he gathered her up, making her giggle and squeal as he headed downstairs.

Emma chuckled at her daughter’s antics as she moved from her room and went to find baby Liam. She was unsurprised to see him already sitting up in his crib, his eyes wide and excited, but his demeanor quiet, like he was waiting for her patiently. Liam was nowhere near as excitable as Hope, but he was filled with just as much love and cuteness. The smile that he shared with her spoke to that, as did the chirpy little laugh he made when she picked him up.

“Good morning, handsome. Sleep well?” Emma asked and Liam babbled in that precious baby way as she got him ready for the morning and headed downstairs. Once there, she saw Hope perched on the very edge of the couch. She was waiting for them and Emma smiled.

“Go for it, bean.” Emma’s words were barely out and Hope jumped off the couch, sprinting at the tree. “Careful, don’t want to break anything.”

The word of caution was immediately met with Hope’s increased care, and as the morning went on she opened gift after gift that she oohed and ahhed about. She loved everything, and was happy as a little girl could be, making Emma’s heart melt more than once as she not only showed them her toys but also tried sharing with Liam too. But it was the last gift that Emma was most excited to give Hope, and most anxious to see a reaction for.

“All right, honey, we’ve got one last present ok?”

“Where is it, Mommy?” Hope asked, searching under the tree, where there were no more boxes with her name left to find.

“What did you want most of all? What did you ask Santa for not once, not twice, but three times on your list.”

“A little sister,” She said automatically and then as she started to realize what they were saying, her little hand came up to cover her mouth and she gasped. “Oh my gosh Mommy, a sister? Is she here? Is she here?!”

“Not yet, little love,” Killain said, sweeping Hope into his arms and bringing her towards Emma. “But she’ll be here in a few short months. She’s still growing.”

Hope gasped before carefully reaching out to Emma’s belly. “She’s in your tummy Mommy.”

“Yes she is.”

A few seconds passed before Hope screeched at the top of her lungs, a sign of her unbridled joy, and she started sprinting around the room yelling ‘A sister! A sister!” It made Emma and Killian both laugh, and prompted a rare screech from Liam too, which had them all laughing once more. She only wished that Henry was here for this moment, but she had had the chance to tell her son the good news last night, making him the first to know apart from her, Killian, and the doctor.

“Now princess, since you’re such a big girl now, we were wondering if you wanted to help us tell everyone else about the baby,” Killian said, and Hope nodded so much it almost hurt Emma’s neck just seeing it.

“Oh yes yes yes! Please, can I help?!”

“Of course, but we have a plan, okay?” Emma asked.

“A seec-wet plan?” Hope asked, excited at the prospect.

“A secret plan,” Killian said, explaining it to Hope as they all four of them headed in to eat their Christmas breakfast. With the plan laid before her, Hope was satisfied for the moment, and luckily they didn’t have long to wait. The kids only had a few hours of playing with their things before they all had to get ready for the yearly Christmas meal at her parents. And because Emma knew there was no way Hope could keep a secret that long, their plan was one that could be hatched right away.

“You remember what to do?” Emma asked as she held Hope’s hand, walking up the front path at her parents’ place. Her daughter nodded, brown curls bouncing up and down as she did. “Good. I love you.”

“Love you too Mommy.”

The next few minutes were composed of a flurry of greetings and warm wishes. Her parents, as ever, were wonderful hosts, and the house was already filled with people. In fact, it seemed they were the last to arrive, which was perfect seeing as this reveal could only happen once.

“Can I take your coat, Princess Hope?” Emma’s father asked gallantly, pretending that he was fully at her disposal and ready for her orders.

“Sowwy Grandpa, but I can’t talk so much right now,” Hope said, barreling into the house without so much as taking off her jacket.

“Oh no?” he asked.

“Nope,” she said, popping the p with four-year old intensity. “I gots a supwise.”

“A surprise?” he asked, his brow raised at Emma and Killian.

“Yup. Come on, let’s go find grandma.”

“Oh jeez,” Emma whispered, not even risking a look at Killian who she could feel was at the edge of laughter. But it was useless because then Hope flung her jacket in the big reveal, only she ended up hitting an unsuspecting Grumpy with he coat. He cried out in frustration and Emma barked out a laugh before mouthing a half-assed ‘sorry to him.’ But while everyone was distracted by Hope’s unending flair, their daughter was growing more and more impatient. She cleared her throat and looked to Killian who then called for everyone’s attention.

“Excuse me everyone, before we get started today, Hope has a little something she’d like to share with us.”

“What is it, sweetie?” Emma’s mother asked and Hope twisted from side to side.

“A song grandma. I made it myself.”

A chorus of ‘wows’ broke out through the adults at the party and then without anymore fanfare Hope was off.

‘Oh all I want for Cwistmas is a sister please, A sister please, oh a sister please Oh all I want for Cwistmas is a sister please and I could have a merry Cwistmas!’

Apparently finished though she still had two more verses she was supposed to sing, Hope danced around expectantly, waiting for everyone’s reaction and though it took everything in her not to laugh, Emma stepped in.

“Hope, honey, is that the whole song?”

“Oh no, there’s more, but it’s too long. Mommy’s having a baby and I get a little sister!”

Immediately everyone was in motion, congratulating them and cheering for the new addition. Her parents especially were thrilled, and though it hadn’t gone exactly according to plan, Emma still thought it was just about the sweetest moment she could imagine.

“Don’t worry, Mom, I go the whole thing on tape,” Henry said, showing her his phone as he came to give her a big hug. “We’re gonna want to remember that one, he said with a laugh.

“Yeah we are, kid,” she agreed, thanking Henry for his thoughtfulness before Hope pulled him over to talk all about the new sister who was coming.

“You already knew at Thanksgiving, didn’t you?” Emma turned to see her mother, who had happy tears in her eyes and she nodded, knowing it wasn’t right to lie.

“Yeah I knew. I wanted to tell you but…”

“No, this was better,” her mother said, hugging Emma close. “This was perfect.”

And the thing was that her Mom was totally right. Even with all its unanticipated twists and turns, this part of their story was perfect. Her kids were happy, their family was growing, and everyone was together and healthy and whole. It was exactly what Emma wanted and what she never could have dared to dream of years ago, back when she was a lost and lonely little girl.

“It’s only right that things should be this way,” her father’s voice said from beside her, bringing Emma out of her own thoughts and back into the moment. When she looked at her Dad he had that gentle expression she often saw, one of understanding and love. “All those Christmas wishes that you thought went unanswered – they found you in the end.”

“They really did,” Emma agreed, hugging her Dad close and telling her she loved him, fighting off tears that were sparked from nothing but the truest kind of joy.

As if he could sense her emotion, Killian caught her glance across the room, approaching her as he still held little Liam. But no sooner was he in front of them, then Emma’s Dad was snatching Liam and carrying him away for some ‘littlest grandson bonding time.’ With his arms now free, Killian pulled her close, kissing her gently and then just holding her, luxuriating in being together, and enjoying all that their life had turned out to be.

“Best Christmas yet, love,” he said, putting her exact thoughts into words.

“Yeah,” she agreed. “Best Christmas ever.”

Post-Note: So there we have it. Just a simple shot of shameless smut and a cute baby sister reveal for my fluff-loving friends who are reading this. Again I thank you all so much for sharing this story with me and I hope this chapter finds you enjoying this time of year and surrounding yourself with the people and things that make you happy. I am so grateful for all of you and wishing you all a happy holiday season, until next time!

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tales-from-exo-planet · 5 years

Text

LYON II PATHCODES VOL. II

ACT III./Pt I. “Dirty Chai”

Length - 8,637

Mood - Amorous, Captivated

Pairing - Baekhyun x Reader

Warning - Mature for sexual references

“You’re perfect

I’ll fill up your empty heart

To the brim with me”

-Baekhyun “Stay Up” feat. Beenzino

You tucked the slim rose gold circle back into your pocketbook after checking your complexion once again.

The inside of the cafe he had suggested to meet, a blend of cream and taupe walls, sky blue ceiling and plates, silver and earthenware cups, and cherry wood furniture, a modern update to a cultural staple, was tranquil and enchanting as expected.

There were a mixture of students stopping to take a break from their studies, young couples side by side at tables sharing small café plates of tartine between them while enjoying a peaceful weekend, and elder patrons ordering an un déca to take to the terrace, the prime spot for people watching, the morning paper rolled and tucked against their side as they carried their cup out into the breezy afternoon air.

You’d taken a barstool window seat at the front, where you also observed the comings and goings of café patrons.

It was a non assuming, homey weekend in Lyon yet within your ribcage you felt as though your heart was spastically beating out of time every minute that he had yet to arrive.

You felt a jittery whirlwind of unbidden exhilaration and nerves after your chance reintroduction at L’ambassade.

You knew you weren’t fooling him with your, “my schedule should be clear soon. It’s just a crazy month,” texts.

In fact, every time you sent one of those after another “so what does your week look like?” texts from him he would call you after an hour, shifting the conversation to something entirely apart from what you had previously talked about, sharing an anecdote about his day, and always asking you more about yours. It was after one of those conversations that he met you again, somewhat at your invitation but moreso because you told him about the event, at a charity concert by a classical pianist spotlighting the entirety of Chopin’s Nocturnes. He came with a friend whom he introduced you to, an equally connected young man that disappeared from his side before the actual event leaving him alone to find a way to you without his wingman.

Later, on the phone, he continued to ask a lot about your hobbies; recreating Pinterest boards in your office as vision boards for potential clients complete with fabric and scent details, thrifting with your best friend whether here in Lyon or Marseille for vinyls, unique home decor, and vintage seasonal wear you liked as a reward to yourself for another happy customer, volunteering at the plant nursery you’d been going to since you were a child when they needed help, and told you about his; taking a foodie tour of the city with his grandmother and mother when she was in town to visit them, staying in after long stretches of activity for his radio broadcast to game, ordering in lunch and dinner at his studio’s practice room to try his hand at a new piano composition unbothered, spending time with his grandparents at their country home he had bought for them after his first paycheck to help around the house with their gardening only to be rewarded with a home cooked meal.

The conversations were unhurried and disarming, his tone of voice, always genial, growing warmer the more you shared.

Sometimes you were still confused at how two low key individuals would choose to meet one another in an environment altogether separate from their private big hearted, blissful personalities.

Why had he chosen to host that party?

Why had you chosen to go?

Couldn’t you have just as easily bumped into him while out thrifting with your mother and he, out on a foodie tour with his grandmother and mother?

Wouldn’t that have been more organic and natural to affection than to see each other as you had at L’ambassade, in the ambitious, commanding personas you reserved for the public?

”I hope to see you soon,” he’d say towards the end, in a hushed confiding tone and you’d pause hearing his hopes crumbling until you answered, “Mhm. If my schedule clears up.”

You confided in your best friend (Marseille Reader) after one such conversation, saying that “Mm what if it’s not all that I think it will be anyways. There’s nothing worse than having your time just...wasted. After all the anticipation…” But she made fun of you where you hoped to find someone to laugh with.

“I’m so through with you! After he hopped in the car to come have pizza and watch your favorite movie, your mother suddenly called and said that she had an accident at the shop in the middle of the night? I mean...I tried my best not to blow your cover but really____?”

You were sheepish at her blatant though truthful accusations about your dubious attempts to avoid being left alone with him.

“I thought you were IN LIKE with the guy! He was ALL you would talk about whenever you found the time and now when he hopped in the car, and ditched his own party, something Prince Charming didn’t even really do, need I remind you Cinderella, to get to know you, you’re going to text your mom and chicken out? I was too embarrassed to laugh.”

You took a breath to respond but knew that you couldn’t explain it away. You were out thrifting at the time and she had moved on to the next clothing rack by the time you’d thought of a response anyways.

As soon as she (Marseille Reader) had taken off from L’ambassade, you were texting your mother to call you with some excuse so that you could get out of this possible date slash round two of whatever you had started back at his party.

And much to your shame, she did call but asked you about “the spontaneous affair” later.

He was all you could talk about.

He was the person you had wanted to meet the most.

Well...one of the people you had wanted to meet the most.

It felt wrong to feel drawn to him, and to desire his presence as you did.

Whose presence do I desire?

It felt wrong now that he was looking at you, sharing not only your space but the sweat of your dance upon his own skin.

It felt too rushed.

Too soon.

How could you know something as surely as you felt within your soul that though he was a stranger to you in name, in touch, in scent, his aura told you otherwise.

Truer was he becoming to the drawing of happiness you had inactively but subconsciously crafted when thinking “this is the kind of man he will be.”

Could you trust that blueprint when you had failed before, falling for those who turned out to be fallen, faithless princes instead?

But I have known you before.

The whole world has known our story as some sugar spun fairytale but it’s real.

It’s before me, finally.

I can’t let the sun go down another day without being in your presence.

Without being by your side.

When he looked at you as you took that call from your mother.

When he called you after you sent another frightened “I need space” text.

You knew that he knew it.

He felt it.

And he waited.

More patiently than you honestly expected him to be.

His tone of voice was ever cheerful, ever sweet, ever thoughtful.

When you lied to him and to ___ (Marseille Reader) that you had to see about your Mom and hoped you could see him again another time, he paused. His entire being seemed to slow in motion, his head turning, though not suspiciously, but genuinely concerned that he had done something irrevocably wrong.

“I hope everything is ok?” Was all he said at first and the car was quiet as _____ (Marseille Reader) slowed at the light and made to turn the car around to return to the club.

“I’m sure it’ll be just fine,” _____ (Marseille Reader) sighed as she came to a stop.

You felt your breath coming in high and fast as you waited for him to go.

“I really hope everything is ok. Maybe we can see the movie another time?” He asked, his inflection, meant to be both compassionate and trusting, drew your gaze from your screen where you looked at your mother’s most recent text.

“I thought you were at an event tonight. Why would you need an excuse to leave? Is everything ok? Are you safe?”

You tapped the button to darken the screen.

His eyes took you in, gauging your false worry and concern over your mother’s shop.

But though you were sure the lie you crafted was clear as the night’s starless sky, and that he was merely seeing the extent of the growing anxiety you were sweating to contain, he only gave a small, tender smile that lit his eyes with knowing.

“If it’s ok, I’ll call you later? Just to make sure you’re ok. Ok?”

And after so many phone calls, later here we finally are, you thought to yourself as he entered the cafe, took a cursory glance around the place and upon settling his eyes on you, smiling a smile that was for you and you alone.

As if to say, finally.

“________,” he greeted you as he came closer to your perch.

“Hi,” you smiled back, remembering your Mom’s hands in your hair that same night you fled to her shop.

“Don’t be afraid to love someone, _______. There were boys you met in school. You have had some heartbreaks now as a young adult. Things don’t always appear as they seem to be. We’ve talked about those times. We’ll talk about everything that happens no matter who it is. But life is about experience. Life is to be lived in both joy and pain, no matter what happened before. Don’t be afraid, my darling, my baby girl,” she smoothed her hands through your hair, scratching gently at your scalp as you turned your face into her stomach and cried.

————

“Café allongé? Really? I would have thought…”

You knew you were pulling a face and his eyes watched as you playfully judged his choice.

He sniffed at the dirty chai you ordered too before leaving the café.

“That smells so good. The dirty chai you ordered.” Did he have a thing for scents too?

“It’s one of my favorites. Have you ever tried a chai before? If you like café allongé you might like a dirty chai. It also has espresso in it but has more flavor from the milk and spices used. Milk drinks are more for breakfast but ah well. My mom uses cloves and fresh ginger when she makes it for me at home,” you stated, stopping beside him where you walked to bring the steaming to go cup up for him to smell.

Stepping closer to where you offered him your uncovered cup, he took a hearty inhale, nodding once with his eyes closed, a fan of golden brown lashes against his pinkened cheeks.

“That does smell delicious,” he said as he opened his eyes.

His eyes resembled the spice blend swirling beneath the steam from your uncovered cup.

Delicious, he had said in English.

The slight spring breeze carried his voice high above you, above the square framed by the Cathedral Saint Jean to the sun, beaming brightly atop the clouds.

You stood still moving carefully to replace the top without wasting your coffee all over yourself from nerves.

“I wasn’t sure what you would like more,” he said after you finished.

You could tell that he had watched you until you successfully replaced the top.

The nonchalant way his hand slid back into his pocket that wasn’t holding his coffee cup as if he was braced to pull the cup from you if it began to fall.

“What do you mean?” You asked, sipping briefly.

“I mean...I didn’t know if you would like to go out dancing again. You seemed to have so much fun when we were out,” he tilted his head back to swallow a large gulp.

The way he winced afterwards let you know that it was as bitter as you thought.

“Ah well dancing is fun too...it’s nice to just be out today. Thank you for inviting me,” you shook off his assumption that you were bored with his choice when it was entirely the opposite.

It was a beautiful spring afternoon in Lyon for window shopping, most specifically at Les Jouets des Anges, for his nephew and niece who were visiting next month.

“It’s just...if I can be honest with you I don’t go to nor do I host events like that often. I’m more of a homebody,” he chuckled at his sudden confession but it was the expression that came over his face that made you chuckle too.

“I can relate to that. After the past couple months of back to back to back schedules, it is so nice to just do something low key like today. What kind of gifts are you looking for?” You asked as you neared the shop’s ruby red and gold lettered facade.

You followed him into the shop, greeting the shopkeepers and waiting for him to explain his reason for stopping in, that he was looking for a unique doll for his niece and potentially a new toy car for his nephew.

You noticed the pauses between his phrases, as if he were searching for the right words to use and remembered that he had mentioned still not feeling as comfortable with using French as he was his native language, a revelation that made you think back to the combination of English, Korean, and French you had heard him using during his evening broadcast.

The shopkeepers brought you around the shop, showing you the best that they could offer, and he was considerate of their offers though you could tell that none of them were exactly the items that he was looking for.

You left without purchasing anything at all, and continued to wander together, another swift breeze wafting the citrus like scent of magnolias your direction.

“Ah, that's a shame that there wasn’t anything there. I know that she does have a doll at home but it’s dress is older and so I was hoping to find a new one,” he frowned as he suddenly brought his phone from his back pocket, and swiped at the screen.

“Here they are,” he spoke softly, and again you came closer until you both were standing beside the bench where the magnolia blossoms had fallen from their tree onto the seat.

He gingerly brushed the blossoms to the floor, making space for you both to sit side by side so that he could show you the photo.

She sat in his lap in the photo, a little boy whom you assumed to be her elder brother stood beside them where they sat, his head leaned on his uncle’s shoulder, who had his arms wrapped around them both.

You saw the doll and action figure he had mentioned to the shopkeeper only moments ago on the floor in their boxes, newly unwrapped Christmas presents.

Their sincere smiles melted the last dregs of your anxiety and you allowed yourself another deep exhale.

“They’re beautiful. Both of them. How old are they?” You asked and he brightened at your question, telling you all about his brother’s children whom would be visiting soon to celebrate his birthday with him.

“So most of your family still lives in South Korea, where you’re from?” You asked, turning towards him and placing your pocketbook against your stomach so that you could cross your legs.

He nodded, turning towards you as you turned, crossing his opposing leg, his arm stretched along the back of the bench, his phone tucked into his front pocket, his left hand on his thigh.

“Yes my grandparents and I are the only ones who emigrated here when I started school. My parents could not afford to come too, otherwise they would have. My brother and his wife were just starting their family when I planned to move so they weren’t able to come too,” he spread the fingers of his left hand wide along his thigh as he pushed and pulled his palm along the fabric.

“Why Lyon of all places in France?” You asked, genuinely curious as he pursed his lips, a gesture that told you that he was again thinking about how to say what was on his mind in a way that you would understand.

“Well back home, my brother, my father, and I, and a lot of men in our country are required to enter military service within a certain time period. I decided to go in as soon as I was old enough to do so because my parents and I had discussed what I would like to do in my professional career.”

“I have always loved music and had learned to play the piano when I was very young. There was a piece I learned in school by a French composer and I thought that in addition to learning about genres from other countries that maybe it would be interesting to travel and live in a different country. I did not know any French when I decided to come here for my studies but I thought I could learn and just give it a try.”

“So my grandparents decided to move with me. My grandmother teased me and said it wasn’t realistic to send me off on my own to a foreign place where she could not be sure I would eat well.”

He paused at this part of the story as you giggled at another of his shameless admissions, a quirk of a meek smile spreading from one corner of his mouth to the other.

“How could you just uproot your grandparents like that for the sake of food?” You quipped and he laughed aloud, shaking his head and hands simultaneously, “아니, 아니!”

“But you haven’t even tried my grandmother’s cooking. There’s just something about home cooking, you know,” he said in his own defense and you laughed all the more, falling forward and doubling over at his shamelessness.

You hadn’t meant to reach out to brace yourself against him, one hand on his thigh while the other arm cradled your own stomach.

But he didn’t pull away from your touch.

Instead you felt him lean to shift his weight and allow himself to support you.

You sobered up, leaning back, brushing your curls away from your face.

His eyes followed your assent, his cheeks somehow pinker as a sudden glimmer took over his gaze.

“So you moved your dear grandparents here from their home and then you went to Conservatoire National Superieur de Musique et de danse de Lyon for piano pedagogy?” You remembered that had come up during one of your initial conversations after you confessed that you wanted to take your time before considering seriously talking to anyone. Especially with the way that you had met. It’s easy to get confused.

He apologized immediately, thinking that you were assuming that he was only interested in coming back to your place with you and your best friend potentially for...well.

“Yes, they moved with me and I stayed with them on the weekends especially when my family came to visit and during the holidays. I think my grandmother especially was worried not only about my diet but also about my being alone without anyone to talk to.”

“That was another reason that I started my radio program. I wanted to work on using French more and more often. I had experience during my high school years doing a radio broadcast for our school as well. But in college it was different as all things are. I had a lot more freedom in my programming and tried to make it more than just being about myself. I’m not sure when it started to be shared outside of the school circulation but eventually I was approached by producers to make this a regular gig after I completed my training. I was surprised to be received as well as I was and happy that my French improved, even just a little.”

His smile was shy when you nodded and said that you could understand him.

“I think it would be wonderful to learn a new language. I of course know French, but also English, and Portuguese. It would be interesting to learn Korean. The more you are able to rely on yourself and not have to hire outside to supplement needs, the more marketable you are. Definitely worth it to try to pick up a new language if you have the time,” you said, meaning every word that you said.

He seemed to take you at your word, leaning slightly closer to you.

“Also, if you’re still looking for a new dress for your niece’s doll, I...may know a dressmaker that can help you out. Would you be ok with sending me that picture? When would you need the dress by?” You asked, pulling your phone from where it was tucked within your pocketbook.

He gasped at your offer and looked shocked at the sincere way you looked at him, your phone cradled in your hands.

“I...you don’t have to do that. I have been looking on and off but just have not found anything that looks right for her. Or him. That’s so nice of you to offer. Really.” Again, his really was in English.

“Well I don’t mind. Really.” You intoned as he did, his shy smile beaming ever brighter.

“I…” he sighed, running a hand through his hair as a blush bloomed against his neck.

You tucked your hair behind your ear, placing your chin on your hand anchored by your knee, blinking at him expectantly.

He exhaled aloud, blowing a raspberry as he tapped through his phone and you felt your phone buzzing within your palms.

“Thank you,” he had written below the photo now in your inbox.

______________

The evening fast approaching, he drove you back to your flat after you took another walk along the streets, from which you had walked to meet him earlier that afternoon, his hand fidgeting on the stick shift where your hand rested on your own thigh only inches away.

___________

“So should I send the items to your grandparents or should I bring it to you whenever we meet again?” You asked after you shut the door to his Audi and met him on the sidewalk where he stood waiting for you.

He flushed again at your mention of meeting again.

Before you left the Cathedral’s square, he had asked you out to coffee again or maybe dinner out to which you had agreed.

“That’s up to you and also the dressmaker. Would it be ready when we see each other again? Did you want to go out again tomorrow? Or next week?” He asked, as you stepped closer, your heels clicking against the pavement as you went.

“Mm that is true. It would be a shame if it was not ready in time. Is it ok if I have your grandparents’ address then?” You asked, offering him your phone which he took, stepping closer still, to type the address in the note you’d left open under the title “Operation: Toy Delivery.”

He smirked at the title, slipping the phone from his hand to yours so that your hands overlapped and for a moment his hand held yours.

“I was serious about improving my French, if you were serious about learning Korean,” he said, your eyes dancing from his eyes down to his broad shoulders in his trench coat that towered above you, the sun crowning him in its rays.

You were a breath apart now but you spoke in your normal voice, feeling the vibrations bounce back to you as you stood within the cradle of his broad chest.

“So next time, French and Korean lessons?”

“Just next time?” He asked, the end of his question lifting in wonder.

You watched his lips form each syllable he uttered in English.

“Well...it depends on the level you want to reach,” you breathed.

And his smirk broadened.

“I want to be proficient,” he said, again in English.

Now you were flushed to the soles of your feet.

But you smiled all the more, relaxing ever more.

His gaze was ever watchful and when you smiled, when you really smiled, he took your hands in his where they were clasped in front of you keeping your pocketbook still where it rested against your stomach.

His touch was gentle, as you expected, his slim fingers weaving through yours.

“내 미소로 너의 미소의 아름다움을 만지고 싶다,” he whispered in the most tender tone.

“I...what did that mean?” You shivered, coming further into his embrace, the sun falling to insignificance behind him.

“I want to touch the beauty of your smile with my smile,” he whispered, his tone ever more tender as he waited for you to realize what he had asked.

You felt a quivering in your knees but held his hands more firmly, tipping forward and up towards him to kiss the corner of his mouth.

He bit his lip as you settled back on your feet, his hands still holding yours tightly.

You stepped further into his embrace and lifted yourself up again on your toes, feeling him bring you closer, his head turning just in time.

_______________

Two weeks later

He sent you a photo of the gift on his grandparents’ dining table, and a video of his niece and nephew opening the gifts while squealing in delight at the matching outfits for both of the children and each of their toys, crafted by your mother at your request, unbeknownst to him.

You looked at the tag “from your uncle’s good friend” you had written coyly and wondered if he had thought you were passively aggressively friendzoning him.

He called you later that night to thank you again.

“You really didn’t have to do that. I can’t tell you how much they loved the outfits and the extra toys you sent. My brother and his wife, my parents, my grandparents, they all want to thank you personally. It was such a nice gift, ______,” his tone reverent.

______________

A week later

Weaving his fingers between yours once you stepped up to the sidewalk from the car, you walked once again alongside the magnolias, a chattering of birds following you as you spoke together translating phrases and teaching one another new ones.

“너는 오늘 너무 아름다워”

“J'aime cette couleur sur vous”

“나는 너와 함께 시간을 보내는 것을 정말 좋아한다”

“J'ai hâte de vous revoir”

His kisses at your door that night were ever more demonstrative in their tenderness.

The way he cupped your cheeks in his palms, and cradled you into his chest, swaying slightly when you wrapped your arms around his waist, accepting his warmhearted embrace.

___________

Two days later

“But why didn’t you tell me that your mother made them? I...I would like to pay her back-”

“But that’s the point of a gift. It’s not about paying me back. I paid for the fabric and I did also pay my Mom for her time. I know better than that,” you chuckled, picking up your fork to get another bite from the cake you two were sharing.

He pulled the plate of cake from your reach, so that you had to look at him.

“I’m serious, _____. I haven’t even met your mother yet. But my family knows all about these gifts and about you. I would like to meet her and tell her thank you, myself,” he insisted, his tone dropping into his chest.

“Well...ok then, Boss,” you said, reaching for the plate of cake, which he gave to you after holding it away from your grasp a moment longer, kissing and sucking away the cream at the corner of your mouth.

“Was that so hard,” he laughed at your bashful frown.

____________

Two weeks later

“This is my grandmother and mother. 할머니, 엄마 this is ____, and her mother,” he gestured between the three women, the jade green 청자 vases he had ordered and his brother had brought back with him on the center table of your mother’s floral shop.

Your mother, her eyes large as saucers at the size and variety of the vases, quickly began to ask the sweet women, his grandmother and mother, about traditional floral arrangements. He sat between his mother, grandmother and your mother and you sat opposite him helping them to understand one another in their mutual excitement that you felt had less to do with the vases the longer you listened.

_____________

That same week of your birthday

“I trust you, but I don’t trust the sidewalk,” you laughed, feeling his gait slow to awkward shuffling steps framing your tentative ones.

“I won’t let you fall. I promise,” he whispered, brushing his lips against the top of your ear before letting his hands fall.

“Lumière Fourmi closed for an exclusive event...” you gasped at the title, Ever After, showing in each of the window panes.

He took your hand in his, ushering you through the front doors where a banner sparkled under the pearl white ceiling lights.

“Happy Birthday, _____”

——————————-

After a shared bucket of popcorn while cuddling in the plush velvet seats

“Monsieur, Madame, your dessert has arrived,” your lone attendant of the evening announced as he wheeled the cake tray in, complete with a frosted ice bucket of champagne.

After handing the matches to him, they bowed and made their exit.

He sat up, lighting each of the candles one by one, spelling your name.

He sang you the birthday song, his voice like his embrace, warm-hearted, and buttery like toffee, in French.

You clapped enthusiastically, tears in your eyes as you leaned forward to kiss him in thanks.

“마음에 드세요?” He drawled, seemingly happily dizzy from your successive kisses.

“응! 너무 좋아! 정말 고마워!” You took his cheeks in your hands, leaning forward to kiss him again.

He held you to him after the last kiss, murmuring throatily, “Serez-vous ma petite amie?”

Though at this point you knew it was purely a formality, you sat back, his hands resting on your mid back.

“Mille fois oui,” you answered, your gaze straightforward and your heart clear.

_______________________

After a mouthful of cake sweetened kisses

“What movie did you learn that phrase from? I didn’t teach you that,” you joked, snuggling into his arms, as the credits began to roll.

He rolled his eyes, licking his lips after a beat.

“사랑에 빠진 사람은 한계를 모른다,” he murmured between kisses.

_____________________

Finally, at your apartment later that evening

“Wow, this is such a beautiful place, ______,” he said the moment that you led him into your flat.

“Thank you,” you said, pulling down at the hem of the sleeve of his trench coat as he stood in wonder.

He looked down at where you tugged at him and giggled as he shrugged out of his trench coat, and waited for you to hang it at the door before you let him know to make himself comfortable.

He stepped out of his dress shoes at the door, placing them so that their toes faced the door, before he walked towards the living area where your curtains were held open.

You moved through your apartment, dreamily, gathering blankets, pillows, placing a new unopened toothbrush on the bathroom counter that you bought for yourself but hadn’t opened yet.

He stood at the window, leaned against the pane, viewing the street below where his car was parked across the street after bringing you both back to your flat.

You stood, unable to move closer.

Though not entirely in fear.

But in peaceful stillness.

In absolute incandescent happiness.

“This has been such a great birthday,” you announced, seeing him jolt slightly at the sudden sound of your voice.

He turned to walk towards you, and you met him in the middle of your hardwood living room floor.

“I’m sorry that I kept you out so late. I hope it’s ok that I stay just this once,” he winced and you rolled your eyes at him.

“I insisted that you come by instead of driving all the way back to your grandparents. I would have been worried if something happened to you out there at this time of night. You forget that both your grandmother and mother have my number.”

He shrugged, his eyes drifting to the blankets and pillows in your arms.

“Let me help you with these then?” He offered and took them, placing them on your sofa and you followed to sit beside him.

Sitting which inevitably became cuddling.

“I’m embarrassed at how easy it is to end up like this,” you admitted into his neck, feeling his throaty chuckle against your lips.

“Is it bad that I’m not?” He murmured, wrapping his arms around you.

“That makes you sound like a player though,” you said, leaning out of his arms, to gauge his reaction.

His brow rose at your insinuation.

“I…?”

He released you from his chest, taking your hands in his instead.

“I don’t want there to be misunderstandings between us. I’m not here for any other reason than that I really truly like you. But I feel like there’s a barrier between us no matter how sincere I am. Please help me to understand that,” he spoke in low tones, the pads of his thumbs gently tracing the veins on the backs of your hands.

Could he feel the jump in your pulse at his heartfelt inquiry?

“...well…”

“We don’t have to go too fast. I’m not asking you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable. I can leave if you feel burdened. I don’t want to harm you, ____. Ever,” he brought your hands to his lips, kissing the back and hearts of your palms twice.

“I’m not afraid of you touching me. Or holding me. It’s not the physical intimacy that scares me. I can feel our hearts becoming closer the longer we spend time together moving at a pace that seems rushed when I think about the amount of time we’ve actually spoken to one another.”

“But my heart says another thing. My heart wants more time. More and more time. It’s so easy to talk with you. To spend time with you. To just be.”

“But do you really, ____? Sometimes I feel that our hearts are in the same place. I feel that we both feel safe together. And that you’re beginning to trust me. But then I can feel you pulling away as if you want to hide instead of remaining in the same place with me. Is there something about me that makes you feel uncomfortable?”

He kept his eyes on the back of your palms, tracing your veins with his forefinger as he gradually let your joined hands drop between you both.

“I…”

How messy was it to explain the gaps between your fingers where he held onto you more tightly than you held onto him?

How soon was too soon to reveal all that you feared?

But he had become close to the entrance to your heart.

He chose to wait there.

Sincerely, just as he said.

“You don’t have to tell me everything at once. But I want you to know that when you are ready that you can tell me everything. I want to know.” He waited for some time before speaking, continuing his gentle rotations against the back of your palm.

Don’t be afraid to love someone, _______.

Life is to be lived in both joy and pain, no matter what happened before.

Don’t be afraid, my darling, my baby girl.

You fidgeted, pulling your hands from his embrace, to cradle his instead.

You brought his hands, the backs of his palms, his fingers, then turned his hands to their center to your lips as well.

He exhaled, slowly. Allowing you to turn him this way and that.

Closing your eyes, you repeated the gesture before bringing his hands to your heart, pressing down until you could feel your heartbeats, his through his hands, and yours atop his.

He leaned forward, brushing the bridge of his nose along the hill of your cheek.

“Please be careful with me,” you whispered, shivering as he kissed the center of your cheek, moving glacially towards your lips.

Then your hands, yours and his, pulled each other closer.

Breaking apart, he hummed against your lips.

“Please be careful with me, also.”

You answered in kind with another kiss.

__________________

7:00 am, the morning of your actual birthday

You awoke curled into his chest, feeling him shiver as you stirred again in his arms, turning into his neck.

Your clothes from the day before that you both still wore were rumpled where they had been pressed and freshly laundered for the surprise special showing he had gifted you the evening before.

His dress shoes were still at the door.

Your pumps had somehow ended up beside them.

He moaned as you shifted your weight, pulling yourself up to a seated position.

His arms followed you where you went, his hands drifting down to your waist, his fingers twitching slightly as you continued to move.

You turned to look at him, seeing that he was still asleep, his lips puffed and bruised as were yours.

You blushed as your eyes trailed to the right of his lips, focusing on his chin, his neck and where his dress shirt were unbuttoned exposing his clavicle.

There you had left your marks.

Seeing his made you bring your hand to your own that he had made; love bites on both sides of your neck, the top of your left shoulder and the stretch of skin just above the mound of your left breast.

Your phone chimed in your purse on the counter and you stood up quickly, hearing him gasp and groan in his sleep.

You made it in time to catch it on the third ring, answering it as you swiped your purse from the counter and hurried down the hall to your bedroom.

“______! Happy birthday love!” _____ (Marseille Reader) exclaimed as soon as you answered, blowing her kazoo into the mouth piece of her phone.

You laughed hoarsely, muffling the volume of the sound.

You thanked her as you started your shower, creating another barrier for your conversation.

“Am I catching you at a bad time? Are you on your way out already? Why is your voice so husky? Is he…? Wait!-”

“Could you be any more nosy?” You sighed to which she laughed.

“Well a very happy birthday to you girl. I’ll hang up now. Text me when you have a minute ok?”

You hung up after you both said goodbye, texting her quickly.

“We didn’t. If that’s what you’re thinking. He just stayed over after we came back from the theater. We slept together but not...not like that.”

Three dots.

“Are you ok? How do you feel about things? I know you’ve been anxious about it for awhile.”

You placed your phone on its designated dish for when you brought it to the bathroom, and went back to your bedroom to place your purse on its hook.

“I’m still nervous about everything. I don’t know why though. You’ve known me long enough to know what I am always like.”

The three dots flashed quicker this time.

“What makes it so different this time?”

You undressed, thinking about her question as you washed your hair, scratching your scalp in slow methodical circles.

When you were rinsed clean, you hurried to change into comfortable sweats, grabbing your hair brush from its holder in your bathroom but turning round in a circle stunned to see that your leave in conditioner was missing.

“Where-”

You went to grab your phone, swiping to open a happy birthday text from your Mom.

“Thank you! I’ll call you in a little bit ok?” You responded quickly before going back to _____‘s (Marseille Reader) text message from before.

“Obviously every situation is different. But...it’s just the way he completely reads me, _____ (Marseille Reader.)”

A question mark.

“Last night we talked after we got back and he wants our relationship to move forward. He officially asked me yesterday. And somehow he realized that though I said and meant yes, I was also still feeling wary about it. And he asked me why? And when I was wondering why he would be willing to trust me so completely, my mom’s voice came back to me telling me that trust is part of the process. No one can really guarantee that things won’t happen.”

“Mmhm”

“Trust is part of the process.”

You felt your hair dripping on your bare shoulder.

“You deserve to be loved the way he wants to love you, _____. Don’t you think you deserve to be wanted and loved like that? If you don’t think you’re ready for that then don’t lead him on. But if you want to love him then don’t be afraid to want and accept that.”

________________

“I’m sorry,” you cried out as you almost collided with him in the hallway.

“I’m so sorry!” He exclaimed also, catching you where you had almost fallen to jump away from him in time as he approached.

“I just wanted to come take a shower because it sounded like you were done. Is that ok? Can I use the towel that you left out? I should have brought some things with me but I didn’t think I would stay over,” his chuckle was nervous as if he was worried that you were going to rescind your invitation.

But you shook off your nerves, reaching out to take his hand in yours to lead him to your bathroom.

“Your hair is different from how it usually is ,” he said aloud, his eyes surveying every wet curl atop your head.

“Yea...I was coming out to get my conditioner that I left in the living room. I was hoping I wouldn’t wake you since you still seemed tired-”

“Oh no I’m fine. So what will you do to your hair now? Just let it dry?” He asked, reaching out a hand to touch one of your curls.

“I’ll be right back if you want to wait right here?” You asked, and left him to look around to find a chair to sit in, hurrying quickly to your guest bathroom to find your leave in conditioner bottle that you had left on the window sill the day before.

You returned to your bedroom to find him looking at the picture frames on your writing desk, those of you and your mother, _____ (Marseille Reader) and you on holiday, you outside of your university holding your diploma.

You moved around him, allowing him to see what he wanted, turning on your radio.

You went into the bathroom, hearing him stir at your writing desk as he watched you go past.

After hunting for your comb you went to sit at your bathroom bench, spritzing your hair with your leave-in conditioner spray you concocted before you began to comb through and part your hair.

You heard him before you saw him at the door of your bathroom, “you can come in. If you want to sit beside me?”

He came slowly, his footsteps soft on your marble floor.

You felt him come closer until he sat down beside you and you shifted over, giving him room.

He sat quietly, watching you as you braided your hair and put it into a bun.

“What’s in that spray bottle? It smells like coconut and something else delicious,” he asked, as you turned back to him, handing him the unopened toothbrush after putting your hair care items away and washing your hands.

“I’ll tell you as soon as you shower ok? What would you like for breakfast?”

__________________

After breakfast, your mother’s chai tea recipe, baguettes, strawberries, and 길거리 토스트, something he asked for but wasn’t positive of the recipe for, you cleaned up the living room and you both moved into your bedroom.

You called your mother back while he showered earlier and she planned to invite both him and his family if they were available for your traditional birthday dinner at her home.

When you asked him over breakfast, if he and they were available later this evening or tomorrow depending on their schedules, he immediately called his mother who called your mother to arrange the dinner for the following evening.

“Did you call off your schedule for the rest of today too?” You chuckled, when he announced that everything was arranged.

He sighed after a long sip of chai, rolling his neck side to side as if he were finally waking up, saying, “I didn’t have anything else scheduled for this weekend. I go back in on Tuesday to record again. I planned ahead. I have time.”

“Time for me?” You asked, enjoying the warmth in your hands from your cup of chai.

“Time for us,” he smiled in return.

_________________

“Come here,” you said, standing with his hands cradling yours.

He followed where you led down the hall past your kitchen, past the half guest bathroom, further down the hall to your bedroom, weaving his fingers between yours in a solid embrace.

You led him to your room, leaving him at the door to get your picture frame.

He waited by the door, not crossing the threshold, until you gave him permission.

_________________

“This love, this love

This love, this love

Let me feel the love, you get to know me

Figured that soul, I hold you only

Take him in and chilling, we keep it rolling

Let me get a hit of, you feeling on me

Let me feel the depth as you get to know me

Figured that soul, I hold you only

Take him in and chilling, we keep it rolling

Let me get a hit of, you feeling on me”

You laid side by side as Cassie sang, her voice tinging the light of the sun’s descent filtering into your bedroom from your curtains in bashful pinks, and deeper reds.

His hand held yours, slipping his fingers between yours, rubbing his thumbs against the inside of the heel of your palm.

You turned, your eyes finding his first where he watched you.

“이쪽으로 오세요,” he whispered, his other arm reaching up and over, creating within himself a circle for you to fill.

You went, snuggling into his chest with your ear over his heart. His arms held you close, one of his hands drifting higher to your now dried hair. At first he petted your hair, gently teasing stray curls from your bun, and eventually his fingers inched along your scalp, scratching you in all the right spots.

You moaned against him, writhing closer.

Until he suddenly stopped.

You opened your eyes just as he reached his hand that had been in your hair beneath your chin, tilting your face up to him, his kiss full and passionate.

You pulled him, by his broad shoulders, wrapping yourself around him, as he turned with you, bringing your thighs around him, his palms spreading along your skin.

“Mm,” he kissed the tender love bites he’d created earlier that morning at dawn, and nosed down further as you pulled at your sweatshirt.

You helped each other out of your clothes, down to your silk and his cotton, chasing each new reveal with another kiss, and another until finally you were free.

He shyly pulled away when you pulled him closer by his hips.

“I-”

“Are you ready or are we moving too fast?” He asked immediately.

You brought your hands to your chest, covering yourself.

“I don’t...if you don’t want to be together...I really don’t want to do this…” he said, his eyes looking and you hushed him with your lips realizing then that you were both nervous about whether you were in the same head space.

“I want to. Je veux.”

“Moi aussi.”

__________

“Mm…” he let out a long low moan as your kisses drifted from his neck.

To alternate between sucking and blowing hotly against his nipples, his chest, his stomach.

He bucked against your sudden kiss at his hips.

The way that you slowly opened your mouth, nibbling at the indent of his hip bone.

While he focused there, panting open mouthed, you reached, sliding an open hand down, past his belly button pushing past curls of hair, grasping him.

“____,” groaning your name at first, you felt him still against you as you opened your mouth.

“Ha...I,” he squirmed involuntarily but towards you.

____________

He was buzzing in your ear, humming as he breathed you in.

You turned into his embrace, your back flush against his chest.

He cradled you, making himself a throne upon which you reigned.

His hands were at your breasts where his mouth had been before he turned you over.

You pulled one of his hands from your breast, as his lips pressed into your neck, murmuring drunkenly against you your name over and over and over.

“Vous pouvez aussi me toucher ici,” you murmured rotating your hips as you brought his hand down further past your belly button, past the silk, past your curls, to you.

“Vous êtes si doux et doux même ici,” he bit at your neck, sucking the skin there as he placed his hand above yours, following your movement.

___________

He turned you to him, taking a handful of your hair in his hands, helping you closer with his other hand spread wide against your behind, as he rocked you higher and higher.

“B-Baekhyun!” in tears you said his name again and again.

__________

“Seeing you again at my party after that first winter we happened to meet left me empty. I tried to wait until we could see each other by chance. But I found myself asking and wondering more. I found every chance to ask about you. But how could I find a way to casually see you being that our careers are what they are?”

“When I saw you again _____. I can’t tell you what it meant to know you were coming.”

You pressed a sleepy, tearful kiss to his Adam’s apple.

“I’m surprised you didn’t give up…” you whispered huskily.

“How can I? My heart belongs to you. There’s nowhere I can go without thinking of you. Not even to sleep, ____. You’re with me always.” He kept a hand at the small of your back, circling from there to the rise of your bottom, while his other hand held your thigh ascending to your knee. He held you to him, with your thigh wrapped over his hip.

“Always?” You asked, your hand that rested on his rising and falling chest, moving up to turn his face down to you.

“Always,” he nodded, nuzzling you and turning until he rested his head on your breast.

You scratched at his scalp and neck, stirring and writhing against him as his drowsy kisses again became urgent.

“B-Baek-Hyun-Ah please…”

How did he know that you liked it like this?

How did he know that you needed him to touch you there?

“Ah foda-se...ha!”

Like that.

Again.

“...please”

More.

“Come here baby,” he murmured against your brows, one hand in your hair, as his other held your thigh, pulling you together until you were blissfully one, again.

____________

#EXO Pathcodes AU #baekhyun fanfic #Lyon x Baekhyun #Lyon #Human Realm #Universe Gamma

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serenlyss · 5 years

Text

Growing Up

Rating: G Pairing: Background terumob Summary: Shigeo decides to branch out a little. Crossposted to AO3: Growing Up

Here's my second stab at @bisexualwinry‘s fluff prompts!

On an unrelated note, I've been looking for fellow mp100 writers here with the potential of creating a writer's discord! Specifically I've been looking in the mp100 fandom since that's the one I'm most active in rn but it's open to all fandom writers. I haven't created it yet bc I haven't seen enough interest but I feel like it could be a really fun place for writers to get together, find beta readers, workshop ideas, etc! If you're interested, hmu here on tumblr or my discord (LyssaGirl1998). You can send me an ask or an im, whatever you prefer!

“Master Reigen,” Shigeo says one day from his spot on the couch in Reigen’s office, “I think I’d like to learn to play piano.”

Reigen looks up from where he’s tapping away at his keyboard. It’s still odd to hear Shigeo call him that, after he’d admitted to being a fraud, but despite his insistence that he doesn’t need to anymore, he still does anyway. Shigeo reclines against the couch, one leg lifted so that his ankle rested atop his opposite knee. He has a book open in his lap, which he’s been quietly reading up until now.

“Piano?” The voice of Reigen’s unwanted and self-imposed secretary butts into the conversation before Reigen can reply. Tome leans forward in her seat, the seat that used to be Shigeo’s, before he’d stopped coming around as frequently. “What would you want to learn something like that for?”

Shigeo shrugs with a small smile, slipping a bookmark between the pages of his novel and setting it aside for now. The smiles are less rare now, more generously offered and less stifled and withheld. “It was thinking that it could be fun to learn how to play an instrument,” he explains. “I don’t have a lot of hobbies, after all.”

Reigen’s more than a little surprised that piano is the thing that Shigeo has decided to pursue. He’s never seemed like much of the musical type, aside from whatever music he liked to listen to in his free time, and he’d only ever taken interest in a few random activities, like exercising. But he’s in his third year of middle school now, and he’d finally started letting go of the tight hold he’d kept on his emotions for all those years, so it’s only natural for him to want to explore those hidden and repressed sides of himself now. Besides, Reigen finds the idea of careful Shigeo sitting at a piano quite easy to imagine, once he puts his mind to it. “Hmm, I think it would suit you,” he comments. “Why piano, though? Any particular reason?”

“Well, Teru knows how to play, and he’s even offered to teach me a few times,” Shigeo replies, his smile turning a bit more shy and fond with the mention of his boyfriend. “He’s really talented, and I bet he’s a good teacher.”

At her desk, Tome makes choking noises and pretends to be sick.

Reigen ignores her entirely. “I think it’s a good idea,” he says. Shigeo deserves encouragement and support, and if he wants to try something new, Reigen firmly believes that he should.

Shigeo, at least, seems pleased with the answer, nodding with a confidence Reigen still isn’t quite used to seeing before returning quietly to his book. Reigen lets himself stare a moment longer, noting that Shigeo’s gotten taller. It won’t be long before he shoots over Reigen’s head and starts rivaling Serizawa.

He huffs out a breath that ends up sounding annoyed, turning back to his work. These stupid kids, they really do grow up way too fast.

---

Teru and Shigeo meet after their club activities often to study and, occasionally, to have a brief piano lesson. Teru can’t fit a keyboard in his little apartment, so he comes to Salt Mid instead, and the two of them take up residence in one of the school’s open practice rooms in the music wing.

Shigeo’s fingers are inexperienced and uncertain, and he’s quick to doubt the soft way he presses the keys, so different from Teru’s quick and confident playing. He’s stubbornly dedicated to learning, though, and his ear is incredibly sharp. He picks out his mistakes quickly after he makes them, fingers jerking into the correct positions with little need for Teru to correct them for him. Teru’s quick to praise him for his progress and gentle when he points out his missteps, and they quickly fall into a routine in their lessons of sitting on the bench together, close enough to brush shoulders, Teru leaning over to mess with the music while Shigeo does scales and arpeggios and sight reads the kind of music meant for three-year-olds and pretends not to notice how the proximity makes his chest warm comfortably.

---

Ritsu hears Shigeo practice, sometimes, when their mother goes to run errands, their father isn’t quite home from work yet, and it’s just the two of them in the house. Usually it’s when Ritsu is up in his room, working on his homework. He’ll catch the faint, distant sound of piano melodies as Shigeo plays whatever comes to mind: random little tunes that Teru’s taught him, old folk songs and nursery rhymes, and occasionally something of his own creation.

The tunes start out rough and shaky, large breaks between bits of the music Shigeo hasn’t quite committed to memory yet. Ritsu wonders how he can see so little progress and yet still not find himself frustrated. He shakes his head and goes back to his homework, drowning out the quiet plinks of the piano beneath him with headphones and his own music.

---

Shigeo graduates middle school.

Reigen gets invited to come sit with his family for the ceremony, and Teru does as well. They find a seat off to the side, easy to spot but not too overbearing. The ceremony is widely unnecessary, in Reigen’s opinion, and drags on for far longer than he believes it should, but that doesn’t stop the rush of unprecedented pride he feels when he hears the principal call Shigeo’s name.

He watches, speechless, as the boy he’s known for the last five years of his life crosses the stage, and hides the fact that he’s on the verge of tears by pretending he’s sleepy and rubbing his eyes. Ritsu shoots him a look that says he sees right through Reigen’s bullshitting, but not even Shigeo’s snarky younger brother can steal his good mood away from him when he eagerly goes to congratulate his student after the ceremony has concluded.

Shigeo’s parents shell out to buy him a nice graduation gift: an electronic keyboard of his own, one that he can easily put up in his bedroom and take with him when he eventually goes off to college. It’s full-sized, with the nice weighted keys that feel like a real piano’s, but compact enough that he doesn’t need to worry about how much space it takes up. Reigen pitches in to help pay for the accessories as his own congratulations, and it’s beyond satisfying to see the way Shigeo’s eyes light up at the sight of the crisp, new black-and-white instrument already set up and waiting for him when they all go back to the Kageyama house to celebrate.

---

Shigeo keeps practicing. He gets better every time Ritsu hears him, his pacing more consistent, repertoire more confident. It makes him happy that Shigeo has found something he likes, that he’s willing to practice and get better at. He hopes he sticks with it.

---

Shigeo grows older, taller. His daily exercises with the Body Improvement Club show in the lean muscles he hides beneath the sleeves of the better-fitting high school uniform. His shoulders broaden and his face loses its childishness in favor of more mature, angular features, but it retains its softness in the laugh lines around his eyes and the toothy smile he no longer hesitates to show.

Larger hands and longer fingers make playing the piano that much easier, after the initial adjustment he has to make to account for his newfound clumsiness. He runs into things constantly now, banging his feet on chairs and tables that he swears are too far away to be problematic and hitting his head on low-hanging objects and shelves he used to be able to walk right under. He forgets sometimes that he can reach the high shelves now, the ones even Reigen can’t get to unless he uses the little step stool by the pantry.

He joins a music club at his new high school and uses it as his designated practice time, putting his hours into the well-worn pianos in the music room while the other club members hone their own talents all around him. It’s been months since he first touched a piano, and he’s grown confident and deft in the way he moves his fingers over the keys. He can sight read now, at least certain things. He plays whatever he feels like playing, not confined to classes or grades or any sort of classical training. He picks out song with tunes he thinks sound pretty or interesting and then he recreates them, with or without music, content to play on a whim instead of by necessity.

He never becomes so good at the piano that he’s asked to perform outside of occasional pieces he plays for his friends or classmates at his music club. He learns a few duets, with Teru or with friends who play other instruments, but he doesn’t perform in front of large crowds or even attempt to.He’s perfectly content to play for himself, and only himself.

---

Shigeo loves playing the piano. When he feels stressed, it’s an easy way for him to relieve some dormant energy and express those feelings in a productive way. He plays happy things when he’s feeling sad, somber things when he’s feeling contemplative, whatever comes to mind in the moment. He plays easy things and complex things, whatever sounds pleasing to the ear, and challenges himself by picking up pieces that he thinks may be a bit beyond his skill level. He surprises himself by putting in the time and effort into making what seemed impossible his new glass ceiling, and shatters it with every day he pushes himself out of his comfort zone.

Sometimes he plays out loud, for anyone to hear, and other times he plugs in a pair of headphones and plays just for himself. He plays as a break between homework assignments, putting his brain to work in a completely different way, plays when he’s feeling bored and has nothing else to do.

Sometimes he doesn’t play at all, too wrapped up in the business of his schedule as he balances occasional work for Reigen with hanging out with Teru and his brother and all of their friends. He never goes too long without playing, though, his attention inevitably going back to the keyboard set up by the window in his room, where he can glance outside at the neighbors walking their dogs down the street while his fingers drum against the plastic keys. It’s peaceful, and takes his mind off his other concerns.

---

When he finally leaves his parents’ house, he takes the keyboard with him.

#mp100 #mob psycho 100 #mp100 fluff bomb #terumob #kageyama shigeo #hanazawa teruki #kageyama ritsu #arataka reigen #fanfiction #mp100 fanfic #serendipitousfics

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ariadnelives · 5 years

Text

Chapter 13 -- The Perfectly Good Explanation

[Missed earlier chapters? Go catch up here! Otherwise, welcome back! Oh, and make sure to join our discord server! Chapter can also be found @ ao3”]

“She's coming back,” Sasha said.

“I want to think so too,” Backflip sounded a lot more worried, “but—”

“I don't think she's coming back,” Sasha demanded, “I know it for a fact.”

“Deathsbane,” Backflip lowered her voice so the police officers outside the cell couldn't hear, “she took our guns and a backpack with 500,000 credits and ran away to save her own skin.”

“Nope,” Sasha insisted, “we're not seeing the whole picture.”

Backflip whispered harshly, “she ditched us and let us get caught so she could get away!”

“There's got to be something we're missing.” Sasha shook her head. “She wouldn't just leave me like this. I can't believe that. I won't.”

“You're in denial.” Backflip sighed.

“You know, you can be a real child sometimes,” Sasha snapped.

Backflip looked hurt.

“I'm sorry,” Sasha said halfheartedly.

“It's whatever,” Backflip crossed her arms and looked to the side. Sasha was right, technically speaking Backflip was only fourteen years old and was, by most definitions of the word, a child. However, Sasha was not being technical, she was being intentionally hurtful, and it wasn't, as Backflip claimed, “whatever.”

“No, I'm actually sorry,” Sasha said, this time sincerely, and moved over next to Backflip. “We've both had a pretty bad day, and I shouldn't have snapped at you like that.”

Backflip grunted to indicate that the apology was accepted, but since she was actually a child in exactly the way Sasha meant, she still continued to maintain an air of grouchiness despite not officially being upset anymore.

“Plus, it's my fault you're in here anyway,” Sasha continued.

“How do you figure?” Backflip asked, “You're not the one who called the cops on us, or the one who ditched us.”

“I tricked you into coming on this stupid mission because I was feeling cooped up,” Sasha shrugged.

“I knew the risks when I thought I was leaving with Spacebreather,” Backflip shrugged back.

“You've got to understand, Sweettalk might not be concerned with rules, but she wouldn't throw us under the bus. I'm sure there's a perfectly good explanation for what she did.”

“I'd love to hear it,” Backflip rolled her eyes, “I think I saw someone who could explain that booking it down an alley with all our guns and money.”

“I know it,” Ghostrunner said from the opposite corner without looking up from the stars she was drawing on her arm with a semi-permanent marker. She had been so quiet that Backflip and Sasha both jumped when she spoke, having almost forgotten she was there.

“Well, lay it on us,” Sasha said, “Not like we've got somewhere else to be.”

Ghostrunner continued to draw stars on her arm as she began to explain the story. Backflip and Deathsbane were both enthralled, they'd never heard Ghostrunner talk for this long before, and they allowed her to tell Sweettalk's entire life story without interrupting.

A lot of the story was stuff they already knew. Sweettalk's birth name was Mingxia Huang, and she was born in Xiagu, the sole colony of Saturn's cold moon, Enceladus. The moon was too rocky and full of canyons to build a standard bio-dome on level ground, but when a team of engineers is faced with a problem, it's a safe bet they'll come up with a solution far more ridiculous than simply abstaining from attempting to colonize a completely inhospitable moon.

Instead of a normal hemispheric bio-dome, the top of a canyon was sealed off with an advanced glasslike material thick enough to stop a nuclear bomb. The steep, flat walls of the canyon were outfitted with artificial gravity to allow the inhabitants of Xiagu to walk up and down them, heating elements to keep them from freezing to death, and specially engineered gardens to keep the atmosphere breathable in the airtight canyon.

Xiagu was a quiet, very insular community, more suburb than city. The children went to school during the day, did their homework in the evening, and for recreation, there were weekend games of a team sport that involved groups of players standing on one side of the canyon and throwing a ball high enough that it would get caught in the opposite wall's gravity and fall to the other side, where the opposing team would attempt to volley it back. On paper, it was an incredibly boring sport that amounted to little more than volleyball with more complex physics, but the whole community usually came out to watch, and getting lost in the cheers and enthusiasm actually made it pretty fun to watch.

The adults all had jobs and, for the most part, nobody was poor. Their food was all produced in gardens at the base of the gulch, there were small businesses that offered just about anything you might need at a reasonable price. There wasn't much crime, except for the occasional smuggler bringing contraband food or imported clothes in, but this was usually harmless. It was a nice, if incredibly dull, place to live.

The one thing about it that was, from the inside, extraordinary to a young Mingxia Huang was that she could always look to the mouth of the canyon and see Saturn, glorious, golden, and ringed, hanging in the sky. She used to watch it as she fell asleep and dream of places far more exciting than her home.

Her parents were good people. They weren't too strict, but they also weren't so permissive that Mingxia felt the need to act out for attention. They had steady, boring jobs tending to the climate control systems that made sure the colony stayed habitable. They loved their daughter, and she loved them. She hoped that when she grew up and got to live her exciting, glamorous life in the big city, she'd be able to provide for her parents in their old age.

Unfortunately, however, her parents never reached old age. They were two among the first wave of casualties in an outbreak that would claim the lives of every single resident of Xiagu, with two exceptions.

The viral cause of the plague would have been detected and eradicated quickly in the larger cities of Mars and the Jovian moons, and was little more than a minor annoyance in the mining communities of the Kupier belt where it originated. It was, technically speaking, alien life, but it was nothing as exciting as the Divoratori, it was just a few microbes and viruses that had been frozen in some of the larger asteroids, left over from some chunk of rock that had drifted into our system when the planets were young and never found its way back out. It caused sniffles and mild disorientation at first, and was just severe enough to affect productivity the slightest bit. The mining company added supplements to the company store that altered workers' DNA to compensate for the symptoms, and slowly but surely, the community built up an immunity. Within a few generations, every single miner in the belt had the virus in their system, but they were completely asymptomatic.

Every couple of years, the virus would mutate and the sniffles and disorientation would return, and the mining company would have the supplements adjusted to address the new mutations. What they hadn't accounted for was the cumulative effect of their continuous cycle. The virus had been incubating for hundreds of years in a community of people whose immune system had been genetically engineered scores of times to be resistant to its effects.

After generations of mutation and compensation, what had once been nothing but inconvenient sniffles and disorientation to the miners would, in the system of a person whose genetic code had not been radically altered to resist the virus, be a respiratory arrest and complete shutdown of the central nervous system within 18 hours of exposure. Under normal circumstances, the minerals would be disinfected and made sterile before anyone outside the community could touch them, and anyone who risked contact with the virus would be given a viral inhibitor that would prevent them from becoming infected.

This was, unfortunately, through legal channels. Smugglers, however, aren't usually known for being sticklers for the rules. One young smuggler, a teenager from Xiagu, had gotten his hands on a sealed case of Platinum ore and a single dose of the antiviral supplement from a disgruntled miner who wanted to make a quick buck on the side and didn't think to first disinfect the payload. The young smuggler then used the platinum ore as a bribe to convince a customs agent to look the other way while he brought his exotic fruits and designer jewelry into the bio-dome.

The customs agent would become patient zero fifteen hours after opening the case to inspect it. In those fifteen hours, he managed to interact with seventy-eight other people, sixty-two of whom were infected with the virus. Mingxia's parents would become the seventh and eighth casualties, respectively. The victims were quarantined as soon as the threat was identified, but it was far too late. The virus was spreading too quickly to treat, and the community was far too small to sustain losses this heavy.

Mingxia was not able to say goodbye to her parents. They died while she was in school when she was twelve years old. She refused to believe they were really gone at first, and she screamed at her principal that he was lying, and demanded he bring her to them. It wasn't until she arrived back home and saw the town pastor there to prepare her dinner and tuck her into bed that her heart properly sank.

She did not eat the dinner the pastor had prepared. She did not sleep that night. Her eyes remained fixed on the sky outside her window, on Saturn, as she wondered how this could be allowed to happen to people as good as her parents.

The next day the pastor drove her to the church and told her she'd be staying there for a while. It would be difficult to find her a new caretaker, half the town was in quarantine and the church was serving as a sanctuary for those who were uninfected and preferred to remain that way.

It was here that Mingxia met a young altar boy by the name of Prescott Cain. He, like her, was an orphan (although she almost struck him when he used the word “orphan” to describe her) who dreamed of one day going out into the stars and living a glamorous life in the big city of Xijing, on Callisto. She liked to hear about Prescott's big dreams, even if they seemed unrealistic. He'd lost his parents years earlier, and she liked the idea that he was doing so well and still had hope even though he'd lost so much.

After a few hours of him regaling her with tales of escapades he hadn’t been on yet, he decided to confide his deepest secret with her: he left the village all the time. He'd go out on adventures, hunting treasure and seeing strange new places, but he always had to come back quickly or else the pastor would get wise.

“But if I had a partner,” he told her, “maybe I could start adventuring in the big city full-time!”

Mingxia was too young to realize she was being conned. She hadn't put together that his “adventures” were actually petty crime, and she had absolutely no way of knowing the consequences of the crimes he’d committed. He wouldn’t even piece it together until years later, so how could she have known?

The next night, in total spite of how terrible an idea it is to run off with strangers even when one is emotionally stable, let alone in a state of grief, Mingxia and Prescott boarded a small shuttle and, taking advantage of the confusion the outbreak had caused, managed to escape their hometown. Mingxia and Prescott were lucky enough to evacuate before she could become infected, so they both assumed that the quarantine had worked and that life in Xiagu continued as usual without the two orphans who left in the night.

The next six months were spent on Callisto, in a shack that Prescott's current gang had set him up with. Their days were spent running cons on the streets of Xijing. They started out small, with games of Three-Card Monte. Prescott would play the dealer, showing the crowd three cards (both black jacks and the queen of hearts) and laying them facedown on a table. Players would place a bet on whether or not they could identify the queen after the cards were quickly shuffled and rearranged, and if they were successful, they'd win back double their bet.

Of course, Three-Card Monte is a fairly well-known con, so it's hard to get people to actually play. This is where Mingxia, the shill, comes in. She'd pose as a player, and when passers-by saw this little girl betting her allowance on the game and winning, they'd think maybe this game wasn't rigged for once. It helped that Prescott was scarcely older than her, so most players actually thought they were taking advantage of him.

When this proved to be a somewhat slow way to make money, they started to up the ante. For a while, Mingxia would be sent into a bodega, one with no more than a single cash register, and wait for Prescott to make a purchase. When the register opened, Mingxia would have to break a bottle in the back and start crying loudly, causing the lone attendant to rush back to check on the ruckus. Approximately half the time, they'd forget to close the register all the way, and while the store owner was helping Mingxia clean up shards of broken glass, Prescott would empty out the cash drawer. If they failed, they'd have lost the cost of the candy bar Prescott bought, since store owners rarely charged the crying, unattended little girl for the bottle of iced tea she broke. If they succeeded, they'd walk away with several hundred dollars.

Across Xijing, Prescott pulled just about every scam and grift in the book with Mingxia as his shill. With varying degrees of success, they pulled slip-and-falls, fiddle games, melon drops, and for two shocking months, purchased dirt-cheap mushrooms from a local deli and passed them off as illegal hallucinogens to unsuspecting high school students at a vastly inflated price, knowing they couldn't be reported for this without their customers admitting they'd attempted to purchase illegal narcotics.

Mingxia was never happy during this time, but she participated after Prescott told her she had to choose between taking the moral high ground and eating. She knew what she was doing was wrong, especially when the scams took advantage of others' generosity. She felt lied to. She'd been promised a glamorous lifetime of adventure, not a hungry ten months ripping off shopkeepers and broke kids who were too dumb to know any better. When she raised this objection, Prescott would invariably ask, “how exactly is this different from what I promised?”

Mingxia became very good at persuasion. She lived with Prescott for a little under a year, and by the end of it, she could sell any lie with very little effort. She could, and often did, convince grown adults to part with hundreds of credits on the pretense that she needed to buy a three-credit bus fare. She hated herself almost as much as she hated Prescott.

Near the end of their time together, she couldn't take the guilt anymore and threatened to roll over on him if he didn't take her back to Xiagu. She figured the pastor could find her a caretaker, or she'd become a ward of the church, or they'd go to jail and end up in a state-run children's home, and either way she'd be going legit and getting more food and a warmer bed. Prescott whipped up a batch of crocodile tears and claimed to agree with her. He told her, of course he'd take her back to Xiagu, but that he'd spent their last few dollars on packets of mushrooms, and that they'd have to sell this one last batch in order to buy passage.

They split the packets down the middle, agreed to run their usual routine on a high school where their stock hadn't been discovered as fakes yet, and rendezvous back at their shack with whatever money they'd made.

Mingxia got within two blocks the school's grounds before a police officer stopped her, announced that they'd received a tip about a young girl matching her description selling narcotics outside a high school. They searched her bag and found several packets of mushrooms inside. The police claimed the tip was anonymous, but she knew Prescott had sold her down the river to protect his own skin.

They took her into custody and, eventually, determined that the packets in her bag were full of perfectly legal, non-hallucinogenic mushrooms. As far as they could prove, she'd committed no crime and would have to be released into her parents' custody. She told them she had no parents. They asked if she had a legal guardian. She gave them the name and address of the pastor in Xiagu, hoping they'd send her home.

It was at this point that Mingxia found out there was no more Xiagu to go back to. The entire population was dead less than a week after she left. She and Prescott were the only two survivors, and he was probably halfway across the system by this point.

The officers were left with no other option than to send her to a nearby home for orphaned children. This is where Ghostrunner first encountered Sweettalk, and where she'd learned of these events. Ghostrunner was the only person she'd ever confided this story in, and she'd made her promise to keep it a secret.

“Who would I tell?” Ghostrunner asked her, “I don't talk to anyone.”

Ghostrunner confessed to feeling incredibly guilty for sharing this story with them, even though Sweettalk had apparently betrayed them, but reasoned that she would probably be okay with it if it made them blame her less for bolting.

Conditions at the orphanage were subpar, to say the least. There were only five residents, and they were given only enough food to keep them alive. For recreation, they had three moth-eaten books, a broken stationary bicycle, and each other's company. They slept in sleeping bags on the floor instead of beds. Mingxia missed being able to look up at Saturn as she fell asleep terribly; the water damage on the ceiling of their windowless bedroom couldn’t hold a candle to that view.

The children at the orphanage had assumed there was just no funding whatsoever. The caretakers seemed nice enough, and were always very apologetic about being unable to provide filling portions or new clothes for the children. It wasn't until after their rescue that they found out the caretakers were receiving thousands of credits in state funding and had keeping fake budgetary books that showed razor-thin margins. In reality, they spent the bare minimum on the children's care and pocketed the rest for themselves.

An elderly neighbor named La Pesadilla eventually discovered the conditions the children were forced to live in, and, in a rare moment of conscience, she alerted an associate named Pilar Aguilar, who she knew operated a much better home for children with her young girlfriend.

The next day, the caretakers told the girls they'd all been adopted by a wealthy benefactor who'd offered to buy out the orphanage for an exorbitant price. The girls were surprised to see that their savior was such a beautiful young girl, hardly older than them, and covered in tattoos from the neck down. She ushered them into her shuttle and brought them to their new life on Ship Trap.

Later that day, Law Enforcement received an anonymous tip that included all the evidence necessary to put them in jail for the remainder of their lives. When the police got to them, the caretakers were found savagely beaten and tied to a post in the run-down orphanage, restrained in the childrens' sleeping bags. They gave a full confession and offered no explanation of who had assaulted them. It was clear they'd rather live out their lives in prison than invoke that person's wrath again.

Mingxia was initially resistant to the community on Ship Trap Island. She didn't see how it was different than what Prescott did. It wasn't until she found out that those living there were fed and sheltered even if they refused to participate, and that they exclusively took from those who had too much to feed those who didn't have enough, that she was okay with it.

She eventually became a willing participant in the pirates' adventures, and that's when she really knew that this was different than what she'd been through with Prescott.

This time, she didn't feel like she was taking advantage of innocent people, she didn't feel like she was being taken advantage of, and she felt like her partners in crime viewed her as family, not as a tool. Her charisma made her rather popular with the crew, and the criminal skills she'd developed under Prescott became invaluable now that she was putting them to good use.

She was on the scene when a young Pilar Aguilar survived exposure to the void of space and became Pilar Spacebreather, and first took notice of Sasha Aguilar as she worked almost supernaturally hard to save her sister's life. It would be a little while before she worked up the nerve to talk to her, but when she did, she laid on the charm like she never had before.

It wasn't long before she earned her own new name, by—

“Well,” Ghostrunner said, “you know that part. She got Ariadne away from the police by posing as her lawyer, even though she was only fifteen years old. Stole a pantsuit from a department store and used talcum powder to put streaks of gray in her hair.”

“Jeez Louise,” Backflip sighed, “no wonder she ditched out. Last time Prescott sold her down the river, she ended up in that horrible orphanage. I'd have run too, if it was me.”

“That's not a story about why she ran,” Sasha insisted, “my takeaway from all that is that she always has a plan.”

“Mine is that her plan is to get as far away from the police station as possible,” Backflip shrugged.

“Sasha's got it right,” Ghostrunner said, “Look.”

Backflip and Deathsbane turned around to see the entrance to the holding cell, where a tired-looking officer was playing a card game by himself on a tablet.

Standing in front of the desk was Mingxia Sweettalk, dressed in high heels, a pencil skirt, horn-rimmed glasses and a navy blue blazer, carrying a tablet of her own and attempting to look as grown as possible.

“Excuse me, officer,” she said firmly, “I believe you've been holding my clients illegally.”

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