#in this light my hair does trend towards red somehow.

[aahsoka]

first attempt at trying to achieve pre-raphaelite-esque hair . not the best but its something

[honeybeewhereartthee]

Inspired by this video

IMAGINE, You and your friend are playing a game which whoever loses would have to propose to a stranger. Story made short-- you lose, your friend laugh his ass off in your misery. You are a person of your word so you went and grab the candy ring that your friend says is the ring for the proposal (still laughing like a lunatic) and went outside to look for the first stranger you see. (So you get this damn game over with.)

Strangely no one is around until you hear someone walking.

"hiiro you better look where you going--"

"it's ok aira--"

You want to kill yourself as you see the first person. A cute tall guy with red messy hair. You felt so bad and cringe to the max you felt you died and revive over and over again. Your mind work fast to think it a sentence as you felt your friend who's recording the whole thing from the window of his house (where you two played the silly game) laughing his off again. But since the other friends of this "hiiro" isn't near yet. This would be great!

"excuse me." You run toward the stranger. "Oh, hello there. What can i--" he stop from his jagging as he stared at you with a wide smile, you felt guilty to your bone. It's not like his going to believe this shit.

"I know it's odd but I have fallen in love with you at first sight. I thought the world was a dark place but your my light in this dark world the moment I see you turn from that corner.... Would you like to be my significant other? I know it's fast development but I can wait too... But I really love you... *Fake tears." You somehow says those with a straight and honest as you can be. You went on your knee to offer a ring, which is a candy ring to him. He look confuse as heck but since your giving him something he accept it. It's food give the dude a break. "Ah... Sure--" he was about to finish his reply but his friend who just walk out of the corner who saw the, sight scream. "Hiiro wait up ---KYAAA A PROPOSAL IN FRONT OF MY SALAD?!" and says some idol shit and bluh bluh you don't understand, probably hiiro think the same as you.

"NVM IM SORRY TO BOTHER YOUU." you quickly run away in embarrassment because someone else sees you did that. You went back to your friend who's haft dead from laughing already in the floor. You kicked his side which made him groan in pain but still laugh as a response.

...

"hiiro!! hiiro!!! who is that!!!???" Certain unit leader of alkaloids is being questioned while being shaken by aira Shiratori. They have return back to their dorm as aira need a private room to question this friend of his who have lucks in the world to rain upon him. He have a looks, the talent, the brain. Now a girl who probably his s/o behind their back propose to him in board daylight?!

"nom. Nom. Idk." Hiiro says as he noms the candy ring. He never eat sweets from the city before and it's a good kind too! "They said they "fall in love with me" and want me to be their "significant other" ." he casually says this which made the other two who was watching the scene on their own corner stared at hiiro. " What? Is there something wrong? Sorry I don't understand city people common sense." He added.

"oh my, hiiro is quite the charmer indeed to have those situations to happen to him." Mayoi quietly commented.

"so what's your reply." Tatsumi ask him. He think that it's probably those silly trend with kids those days.

"you don't accept right?" Aira start to shake Hiiro. He don't know if idols are allowed to date or be married in their agency so it's better be safe than being in the bottom of the food chain again.

"... What does that mean if I did?" He innocently ask

"hiiro it mean your going to have to marry them." Mayoi joked even through he knows it's probably a prank. "Significant other mean is asking you to be their wedded partner for life. Husband or legal lover... A partner to start a family..." He added which made things worse.

"oh! I see! I see!" Hiiro eyes suddenly have a determine look as he stood up ready to leave.

"wait wait where are you going!?" Aira and mayoi now worries as they forget hiiro have different common sense than others.

"to my brother!" He says with a determination.

" Ahmm I'm afraid to ask why already... Imsosorryimmadethesituationworse..." Mayoi suddenly went to his corner to grow mushrooms as an idea why hiiro would go to his delinquent of a brother after hearing what he said

"to tell him that I'll bring new addition to our family! Dad would be proud!" He sparkle and shined as he says those, which almost blind mayoi.

"GAHHHH YOUR INNOCENT MIND KILLING MY SOUL " (mayoi)

"HUUUH?????" Aira cannot believe this bitch. And hiiro is gone before he can argue that it's probably a prank or a joke.

...

Hiiro indeed told his older brother about the news, Rinne at first choke on his drink his drinking before he hold a laugh but cant bare to laugh at his cute little brother face as he show him the candy ring he already eaten as proof. His unit mate behind him is laughing silently at hiiro through which made rinne to shoot them a warning look. No one is allowed to laugh at his brother even through he act dumb.

He did what good older brother would say: you have to chase your run away s/o before their old pops die, to bring home!

Which made the already worse misunderstanding worse than it's already is. And that moment you sneeze on your part time job on a local podcast station. You college ask if your fine and you said yes. You don't realize your life won't be fine anymore since that very day.

A/N am I high when I write this? Yes. Probably

[sellyoursoulforagoodfic]

Fated Epilogue

Epilogue

Ares x reader

Word Count: 2041

Summary: Time skip to Zag running around trying to fix everything; then he gets a weird message from Ares.

The affair known to most of the Underworld’s population as The Confusion of Zagreus started as most things in his life did, on a run through the place as he tested the defenses against an escaping entity for what felt like the thousandth time. He’d had Ares’ vial with him, so naturally he’d gotten a fair few of the war god’s boons. Nothing too unusual, right? That’s what he thought right up until Ares said the most curious thing.

“When next you see Thanatos, tell him that his sister wants him to visit more.”

Sister? Zagreus wondered. Than doesn’t speak to his . . . Wait, Nemesis . . . But why would Lord Ares have messages from her?

When he mentioned it to his lover, Thanatos just chuckled. “I suppose it has been a while since I last saw her,” was all he had to say on the matter.

And that set the trend that continued for a while. He’d get a message from Ares to Than, pass it on, and get some cryptic non-answer in return. It was absolutely maddening. Even when he asked others, all they had to say was that it wasn’t any of his business, which was fair, but that didn’t aid his curiosity.

Finally, all that started changing when he managed to squeeze a drop of information out of Than when he asked, “So why does Ares see your sister more than you?” while they were dining together one evening.

And without really thinking, Death Incarnate reflexively replied, “Because she lives with him in Thrace instead of here.” Of course, immediately after that, Thanatos realized what he’d just admitted and promptly clammed up, but it was something at least.

Then Demeter let slip something else in one of her messages after he’d accepted several of Ares’ boons yet again. “Ares is aiding you when you get injured, is he? I’d be surprised if Nemesis didn’t have a hand in that sort of attack.”

And that set him thinking. Revenge was her area of expertise, after all. And many of Ares’ such boons were noticeably more powerful in dealing direct damage instead of causing various other effects. Could Than’s sister have been indirectly aiding him through Ares all this time?

Then came another piece of knowledge, this one from his mother upon inquiring why Thanatos and Lord Ares seemed to be so close. 

“Well War and Death were always bound to meet frequently just from their natures, I suppose, but it could also have been because of that mess where he saved poor Thanatos from being chained in a box. I’d wager that was a big help to making their friendship grow.” Before he could ask just what that was about, she continued, “Though it could have also started back when Lord Ares almost passed away, too. I remember Thanatos being quite concerned for both him and Nemesis during all that.”

“What do you mean Lord Ares almost died? He’s an Olympian!”

“He is, but the day Hermes found him was a day that stoked fear in the heart of every Olympian,” Persephone said gravely. “They all worried about Ares’ fate despite how they regularly ridicule the man, because if he could die that meant any of them could.”

Zagreus suddenly found his mouth extremely dry and couldn’t form a response.

“Yes, that was definitely the start of their friendship now that I think on it. It was very kind of Thanatos to linger without threatening the poor dears. From what I heard, he was very calm during the whole affair even in the face of such shocking news.”

“Yes, I suppose learning even the great Olympians might die would be quite dramatic,” he murmured, shoulders sagging.

“No, that’s not--ah! You don’t know, do you?”

He perked back up. “Know what, Mother?” he prompted innocently.

She smiled kindly as she patted his forearm. “It’s not my place to tell you if they haven’t already; I’d forgotten how much they value their privacy when they can get it.”

Who is ‘they’? Zagreus wanted to scream while yanking his hair out. Thanatos and his sister? Her and Ares? Thanatos and Ares?? But he didn’t. Instead, he just smiled stiffly and nodded.

It wasn’t until he managed to broker a peace between the Chthonic gods and the Olympians that he finally got answers.

~

There was a party you were supposed to be preparing for, but you were having a hard time working up the gumption to move from your current position. Because of said celebration, you and your husband--how you’d never tire of calling him that--had arranged your schedules so that they aligned, which of course was the reason you found yourself lying in bed perpendicular to the man, using one arm as a pillow under your head on his chest while the other hand played with his hair.

His gleaming red eyes flicked over to the open, brightly illuminated window where sheer white curtains swayed softly in the breeze. “We really should be dressing; I have a feeling your brother-in-law wants to meet us sooner rather than later.”

“Yes, but it’s so rare that we get time like this to ourselves.”

His hand found the one you’d been carding through his hair and brought it to his lips to kiss. “You and I have an eternity full of moments like this ahead of us; we can spare an evening for the boy.”

You huffed dramatically. “Let it never be said that you’re not a man of your word.” A sigh left your lips, but still you pried yourself out of bed without further complaint. “Are we doing full regalia or casual?” When there was no answer, you glanced back to see that he was transfixed by the sight of your naked form heading towards the shared closet. “Ares!” you laughed, snapping his attention back to reality.

“Darling, I take it all back; you must come back to bed at once. There’s a rather pressing matter that needs your attention at once.”

Now, you rolled your eyes. “Well that pressing matter can wait until we return. Are we doing armor or not?”

From there, there were a lot of kisses, gropes, and laughter between that moment and being fully clothed--in light leather greaves and cloth chitons rather than the usual full armor, after all, Ares so hated to be unprotected or unarmed--but neither of you were really complaining.

“Boys!” Ares called down the hallway with you tucked under his arm.

Two heads of wild silver hair just like their father’s appeared from the same doorway. “Yes, Father?” they chorused.

“We’re leaving. I trust you can manage things until our return?”

“Of course, Father.” And then they were gone from sight, their snickering still echoing in their absence.

Ares chuckled as he shook his head. “Little terrors, the both of them.”

Though they weren’t yours, you’d grown to love both of the twins the moment you met them. With Aphrodite being so absent in their lives, you’d taken up the role of ‘mother figure’ quickly, and the two were practically your own by now. “Well, to be fair, one of them is Panic.” 

~

You were unsurprised at the Olympian turnout at the party; most arrived near the time when you did, but none stayed particularly long. As fond as they were of Zagreus in theory, their detest of the Underworld would always be greater. Only Ares and Demeter attended from the mountain and stayed past the pleasantries and feast. Otherwise, it was entirely the subjects of the House of Hades that were present. Fortunately, they seemed to be enjoying themselves nonetheless judging from the way Meg and Dusa had quickly roped you and Ares into conversation.

Zagreus hadn’t seemed to notice your arrival yet--too wrapped up in getting to know his mother and grandmother, you assumed--but you caught sight of Hades glaring at Ares every now and then. Every time you caught him, the harsh threat he’d delivered to Ares rang through your ears once more. 

“Set foot outside this house, boy, and you shall find yourself in a fate worse than death.” Neither of you were surprised by the warning. He was, after all, still angry about the whole ‘bursting into the Underworld without permission to save Thanatos’ fiasco.

Eventually, you and Ares found yourselves alone for a moment once Achilles and Patroclus excused themselves. You tugged the glass from his fingers to steal a sip of his ambrosia, something that’d been quite hard to find the last time you’d visited. You didn’t want a full glass, and Ares never complained about sharing.

He pressed a kiss to your temple, clearly worried about you partaking in a drink you’d never really managed to develop a taste for. “Are you alright?” he asked quietly. The drinking coupled with the knowledge of how much you hated being dragged to these things had likely set him on edge.

“I’m fine,” you assured him with a genuine smile. “These are my family, remember? Much nicer to be around than yours.”

“That’s quite true,” he murmured. No doubt, he was remembering when he and Aphrodite had been paraded around and humiliated as the entertainment at one of his family’s gatherings. His gaze flickered up as he noticed something before you did: Zagreus approaching at last. “And there’s the man of the hour!” he greeted warmly. It was hard to mistake the boy for any other given his attire was his family’s colors and the way he absolutely looked like a mix of his parents.

“Lord Ares!” Zag’s face was alight with happiness. “I’m glad you were able to make it; it’s an honor to meet you properly.” His eyes shifted to you. “You must be Than’s lovely sister I’ve heard very little about.”

You laughed lightly. You like this kid already. “I suppose that’s me, yes.”

“Frankly, I’m amazed I haven’t seen you around the House before now,” he probed curiously.

You decided to indulge him; it was a celebration in his honor after all. “I pop by to visit Mother and Hypnos from time to time, but I see Than enough that lingering isn’t worth it. I’ve gathered that you’re usually gone from the House as much as he is.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” he chuckled. “Makes sense you wouldn’t just lurk around when you put it like that.”

“Have to budget that precious time off somehow.””

“Plus, it’s sort of my fault that she resides in Thrace since I stole her all those years ago,” Ares teased.

“Stole her, sir?” Oh, how the poor boy looked so confused at those words. You were willing to bet his mind was just running back over Persephone’s situation and comparing it to yours.

Your brows furrowed. “Zag, has no one told you about Ares and I?”

“No!” his voice was laughing but had a manic edge to it. “Everyone keeps hinting at there being something going on with you two, but no one wants to clue me in! I’ve tried to respect your privacy by not asking directly, but it’s driving me crazy!”

“Oh, for Father’s sake.” Ares rolled his eyes. “I’m going to have a word with your brother about this,” he announced as he started pulling away from you.

“Wait! You’re not mad at Than are you?” Zagreus fretted. “Because I’d hate to cause strife between you because of my own curiosity, and--”

“Relax, Zag,” you soothed.

“Thanatos is the only being I would ever call my friend outside of her,” he gestured toward you. “I thought it went without saying that he didn’t have to keep secrets from you for my benefit, but apparently that isn’t the case. I’m simply going to tell him that. I’ll be right back, my darling.” With a kiss to your temple, he stalked over to where Than was loitering with his sleeping brother at the edge of the room.

When you looked back at Zagreus, he was staring at you absolutely slack-jawed, probably at Ares’ display of affection. “Blood and darkness, my Lady,” he managed to wheeze, “what is going on?”

You snorted a little, amused slightly by his turmoil. “Zagreus, Ares is my Fated. He’s my husband.”

His eyes went a little crossed as he realized it was just that simple. “Oh, is that all?!”

[a-tale-of-legends]

Fashion is not my passion but it consumes my mind. Time for the fem presenting oc's of mine!

Kohaku/ Amber: Very outdoorsy. Generally hiking gear and stuff that accommodates with Hoenn's warm weather. Little personal touches like her bow and her backpack that somehow contains everything. All in all very practical for the heat and walking/ running long distances.....and getting swooped up by a Skarmory.

Aiko: OH MY GOD THIS GIRL. I have no idea what her sense of fashion is. Things that I do know: Aiko is very energetic and bubbly. She has trained under the kimono Girls to hone her battling. She has also trained in martial arts ( via Chuck and some of the Kimono Girls). What. What do I do with that. What fashion style fits that. Help-

Danica: Hm. She has this weird balance if comfort and discomfort. Obviously, she wears clothes best suit for the cold climate of Sinnoh ( black leggings, boots, scarfs) and the color I associate with her the most is brown ( especially a more deep reddish brown), so I know she can look comfy and casual. However, her most stand out feature ( other than her hair ) is her scarf. For context, I love creepy Dawn fanart, and it greatly inspired Danica as a character. Her red scarf, in contrast to the rest of her usual fashion choice, is meant feel more ominous ( also relates to her connection with Giratina). All in all, Danica fashion choice I feel would be best for her is something that wouldn't make her stand out much ( hence the brown and maybe black) but when you do see her ( or rather when she sees you), you should be.....concerned. Just a bit. ( Lol she's just gonna give you some poffins)

Elliot: " Clothes have gender? Since when?" 2 electric boogaloo. Like her brother generally, Streetwear/ grunge. Though I know for a fact she's a lot more punk in fashion. Ripped chambray jeans, fake leather jackets ( she's vegetarian btw), fishnets, boots, studs, the whole package. She isn't afraid to show off her leg, unlike her brother being self conscious about his arm ( that isn't to say she isn't self conscious about it, but she sees no point in hiding it). Like her brother, she does wear baggy clothing, but it's more towards the bottoms( which are usually ripped), and her tops are a bit more tight fit( though she has plenty of oversized graphic hoodies). Or she's just wearing a graphic tee of some kind. Wow this is getting long, whoops. Uh, she doesn't wear skirts often like her brother, but shorts are fair game.

Eva: Okay, so remember that weird art trend where people would draw a character or an oc in this specific crop top? Yeah that's what Eva wears lol. That plus some shorts and some running shoes, and she's all good to go. Eva is very much into athletic leisure since she is, believe it or not, a work out junkie. Sports bras, leggings, all that jazz is generally the norm for her. But she also sports jumpsuits, especially when she's building something ( you know for protection). She likes to be a bit flashy in her style, from her little acting career and just her vibe. Though she's very comfortable just wearing something nice and simple. She has most definitely stole some of Elliot's oversized shirts lol.

Aster: Like Yarrow, anything that is meant for the warm climate of Alola. Light blue tank top and shorts. She has little yellow flowers as a headpiece, and would either wear scandals or sneakers( generally a green or teal color). She kicks people's shins with those. Anyway, Aster is also a surfer, so they also have a full body surfing swimsuit ( both for regular surfing and mantine surfing). She would have her hair down or in a ponytail when she's surfing. All in all, she's like Kohaku: outdoorsy, good for running under the sun, or just chilling, except Aster is blue and green ( and teal) while Kohaku is orange and green.

Naomi: Naomi has recently gotten the updated fashion style of Prep-Jock ( low-key cottage core). Light purple/ lavender cardigan/ knit sweater. A simple white shirt/ blouse with blue shorts ( with black leggings similar to what the fighting gym gives you in-game). Finally, some sneakers that are comfortable and meant for running. Outside of that, Naomi does take inspo from her friends, but she's mostly wears her what's she's comfortable with :)

And that's that! Aiko is still a pain, but writing down these helps a lot ( even if I suck at describing things lol)

[asian-hero]

if possible, could you do todoroki with the “marry me” prompt?

A/N: Thank you for sending in such a fluffy request

Also, (1) this is a pro hero!au since I always age these guys up unintentionally, (2) (Y/H/N) = your hero name, and (3) (Y/L/N) = your last name

“Marry me.” from this prompt list (feel free to send in a sentence(s) and a character)

Summary: Three times that you think Shouto is going to propose to you, and the one time he actually does

Words: 5,876

One: Out having a fancy dinner

It wasn’t often that you and Shouto were able to have date night. With both of you becoming pro-heroes, and having your own agencies, it was quite a struggle for the two of you to make time for each other. However, with meticulous planning on your part, and a whole lot of memorization on Shouto’s, you both were able to come up with a schedule that you accommodate for at least one date night a week. Occasionally you could squeeze out two, but honestly, you were just happy that you could actually see your boyfriend and not have it be at a crime scene. 

Tonight, the two of you had decided that it was time to treat yourselves by going to one of the fanciest restaurants possible. It’d been a while since the two of you went out, as most of your dates had taken place at home, where there were no prying eyes, but tonight was different. Shouto had told you that he’d booked a reservation to a restaurant that Momo had recommended. He gave you no other details about your rendezvous, other than to tell you to dress your best, and not in your old, worn out All Might sweatpants. 

You gave him hell for that one.

In all honesty, you felt more nervous about this date than usual. Perhaps it was because it was the fact that Shouto was the one to take initiative this time, choosing the location and time. Or perhaps it was because Deku had let it slip that Shouto was thinking about proposing to you. 

It truly wasn’t either of your faults that Deku told you. Your lovely, wonderful, and handsome boyfriend really should’ve known that the poor man couldn’t keep a secret to save his life. So, by the time the two of you were on a patrol one night, alone, he should’ve known that the number one hero would immediately spill, simultaneously congratulating you and apologizing for spoiling it. You could remember pushing down your feelings of happiness, instead trying to calm down the man, saying that he couldn’t be crying now, especially while under a streetlight, where it looked extremely suspicious.

That was two weeks ago. So, yeah, you could say that you were a little bit nervous about tonight. 

While your shaky hands were struggling to zip up the back of your dress, you heard a soft knock at the bedroom door. Walking over, you opened the door, sending a sweet smile towards the love of your life, who was currently looking at you as if you were a goddess.

“Sir,” You said, straightening out his tie, “This isn’t a grocery store, quit checking me out.”

He smiled back at you, his hands finding their way to your hips. “Sorry, I can’t help it. You look great,”

Humming, you turned around, removing yourself from his grip and revealing your half-way up zipper. “I’ll look even better if I’m zipped up all the way.”

Shouto didn’t need to be told twice as he finished zipping you up, his hands lingering on your back just a bit too long. Clicking your tongue, you moved yourself away from him, turning back to face him.

“C’mon, handsome. We’re gonna be late if you keep feeling me up like that.”

Before he could even let out a retort you linked your arms together, leading the two of you out the door and into your car.

Once you had arrived to the restaurant, and the valet had taken your car, the two of you entered, greeted by the sounds of gasps and whispers. Ah, yes, this was why you two didn’t go out often. As much as you knew what being a hero entailed, there were times that you wished you could just walk around and not be recognized. However, because you knew Shouto put a lot of thought into this, you bit your tongue, and instead focused all of your attention on him. 

The two of you were brought to your seats, where he made sure to pull out yours, and then jokingly mumble about how heavy you were, which you awarded with an unamused stare. As you two were ordering and pretending as if the entire restaurant wasn’t staring, you couldn’t help but anxiously glance from your menu, to him, and then back to your menu before he could see you. This happened a few more times before he finally decided to say something:

“Is there something on my face?”

You snapped your head up, tilting your head slightly.  “No, why would you ask?”

“You keep looking at me, I thought you were trying to tell me something,”

You could feel the heat creep up your cheeks, a wave of embarrassment crushing you. Clearing your throat, you looked back at your menu, not willing to make eye contact. “Well, I’m sorry, I can’t help that I have such a pretty boyfriend.”

It was Shouto’s turn to blush, as a nice crimson color rose up his neck, making you let out a small snicker. Before you could tease him anymore, the waiter had come around. After he promptly freaked out over the two pro-heroes he was currently serving, he took your orders, and left with a bow, saying that your dinner should be out shortly. 

Without the distraction of the menu, you couldn’t help but feel naked. Fiddling with your hands, you were staring at everywhere but the person you were supposed to be on a date with. Even though the two of you were practically married, if the amount of years you’d been together had anything to say about it, you still couldn’t help but feel anxious. You really wished that Deku could’ve kept his damn mouth shut, because now you felt about as awkward as you had been on your first date. 

As if sensing your unease, Shouto spoke up:

“So, I saw Bakugou trip and fall on his face while on patrol today.”

With those few words, he was able to bring the two of you into an animated discussion. You were grateful that he was able to make you feel comfortable with such ease, and that he never called you out on your awkwardness. 

Once your dinner had finally reached your table and your hungry mouths, the conversation came to a lull. Sometimes you’d speak up, but you mostly ate your dinner in comfortable silence. Somehow, though you didn’t notice it, you had knocked your napkin off the table and onto the floor. You didn’t pay any mind to it, but your partner seemed to notice it almost instantly. 

Looking at him with curious eyes, you watched as Shouto stood from his seat, and kneeled down on one knee in front of you. Unfortunately for you, this all occurred while you were happily sipping down your wine. Once you saw the tuft of red and white hair beside you, and the position he was in, you felt your self choke on your drink, some of it going up your nose.

Coughing loudly, you covered your face with both of your hands, an embarrassed look coming across your features. Popping back up, Shouto pat your back lightly, attempting to help you with any wine that lodged itself in your throat.

“Shouto, what the hell are you doing?” You hissed, desperately trying to shield yourself from onlookers who were worried over your outburst.

“You dropped your napkin,” He said, holding up the offending article, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

While normally you would be taken aback by how sweet your boyfriend was, with what was currently going through your head, you couldn’t help but feel embarrassed. Embarrassed that you actually thought he was going to propose in front of such a large crowd, how you, one of the top ten heroes in Japan, nearly choked on a glass of wine. Sinking behind your hands, you groaned quietly.

“Please just get back in your seat. People are staring,”

“I think people are looking more at you than me,” He raised his hand to wipe your face with the napkin.

Moving your head, you gripped his wrist. “I know you did not just try and wipe my face with a floor napkin,”

He rolled his eyes, but moved back into his seat and handed you his own napkin instead. As you wiped yourself down, you couldn’t help but feel the heat from your embarrassment creep up the back of your neck. The rest of your dinner was in silence, with the occasional teasing remark from Shouto, and your grumbles of how you’d kill the man if he kept it up.

For the next few days, (Y/H/N) chokes was trending on Twitter. Bakugou never let you live that down.

Two: Watching the stars together

The cold air brushed against your cheeks as you hopped from one rooftop to the next. It was one of those nights where not a sound could be heard, yet some heroes opted to patrol, just in case someone suspicious popped up. As you took a deep breath, you couldn’t help but find yourself drawn to the stars shining bright above you. If you looked close enough, you could see Orion, bathing you in his light. You felt yourself smiling back up at the stars, a serene expression melting into your features. 

You were grateful for these peaceful nights, even though you’d much rather be curled up in bed. While of course, any sane person wouldn’t want to be walking around in the dead of night, you found that even the dark could be comforting, with the stars acting as your guide. 

Since you were so wrapped up in your own inner monologue, you didn’t hear the quiet footsteps behind you. You also didn’t notice the hands that were reaching out to you, but once the hidden figure placed their hand on your hip, you swung into action. Gripping the offenders arm, you twisted your way out of their grasp and pinned their arm behind their back. Glaring at the person, you narrowed your vision to see them better, only to be both shocked and relieved at who it was.

“Shouto?” You called out hesitantly.

“Hey,” He said, saying it as if this were just a normal, everyday occurrence.

Letting go of his arm, you placed your hand on your chest, as if trying to catch your breath. “Why would you do that? I could’ve hurt you!”

He rolled his shoulder, attempting to relieve any pain your grip had caused him. “I tried to text you, but you weren’t answering. I didn’t think I’d get attacked,”

Grabbing your phone from your pocket, you felt a slight pang of guilt shoot through you as you saw three missed texts from Shouto. All of them asking where you were. Looking back up, you rubbed your neck sheepishly.

“I’m sorry,” You started, before pointing towards the sky, “I got a little distracted.”

Shouto glanced up at the sky, then at your embarrassed face, back to the sky, and then towards his phone. After a few more beats of silence, he moved towards the ledge of the roof, sitting down and letting his feet dangle from the side. He motioned for you to sit next to him, which you happily did. When you looked to him in confusion, he merely shrugged his shoulders. 

“Our shift is over, we may as well enjoy the rest of the night.”

For a second time that night, your face lit up in happiness. Not only did you get to gaze at the stars, but you got to do it with the love of your life. Soon, you found yourself rambling about anything and everything about the stars and planets, like how the Big Dipper was one of the easiest identifiable star patterns in the sky, or how there were a multitude of planets that you could see with the naked eye. When Shouto had a hard time finding the constellations, you gently grabbed his hand and traced the outline of the stars, and giggled when a childlike expression crossed his face once he found it. As you continued to ramble on about the night sky, Shouto couldn’t help but stare at you in admiration. He found it cute that you got so excited over something seemingly so mundane. The way your eyes glowed whenever you’d recite a fact that you learned, or the fact that you spoke quicker the more invested you were. It was days like these that made him love you even more than he thought possible.

“So that’s how—honey? Are you listening?”

“Ah,” It was his turn to be sheepish, “I apologize, I was just a little distracted by how ecstatic you are,”

You ducked your head, heat creeping up your neck. “Well, who wouldn’t be ecstatic about the galaxy? It’s so vast, and we’ve only scraped the surface! Knowing that, even though we’re just on one small planet in a gigantic universe, we’re never alone, because we have the stars to guide us,” You paused, trying to find the right words, “It’s just, there’s something beautiful about that.”

As you looked up at the sky, you didn’t notice that Shouto’s gaze was still on you. In fact, his eyes had never really left you. 

“Well, do you know what else is beautiful?”

You rolled your eyes and snorted, but answered nonetheless. “What, me?”

“Yes.”

Snapping your head towards him, you looked at him incredulously. “C’mon, be serious here,”

He tilted his head to the side, his sign of confusion. “I am being serious,” He leaned towards you, a small, uncharacteristically content smile spreading across his lips, “I think you’re more beautiful than anything in this universe.”

“I think you’ve been hanging out too much with Kaminari,” Pushing him away slightly, you fanned your face.

He rolled his eyes, but said nothing. Looking back up at the stars, the two of you listened to the night ambiance, with some cars driving by, the humming of the old streetlights, and the whistle of the wind. You found yourself leaning into his side, warming yourself up as you traced the constellations, quietly muttering which were which. His arm wrapped itself around your waist, making sure that you were secure. As the two of you sat together, you could feel his eyes on you, how whenever you’d point up at the sky, he’d hum, pretending to be paying attention. If you turned your head to catch his gaze, he’d look away from you, a slight blush dancing across his face. Frowning, you lightly patted his cheek in an attempt to get his attention.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“What do you mean?” He responded, still not looking at you.

You pouted, letting out a small huff. “Shouto, why aren’t you looking at me?”

You could see him glance at you from the corners of his eye. “There, I looked.”

Scoffing, you waved your hand, dropping the subject. In all honesty, the fact that you still had this sort of effect on him made you giddy. You were happy that you could still make him feel flustered, even after all these years. As you continued to take in his face, you noticed the purple bags under his eyes, how he seemed to be hiding his exhaustion. Sighing, you ran your hands through his hair, feeling your heart melt when he leaned into your touch.

“You said our shift’s over, yeah? Let’s go home,” When he didn’t seem like he was moving any time soon, you pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, “We can cuddle in bed, Shouto. It’d be much more comfortable than a rooftop,”

Once you pulled away and stood up, you felt his grip on your hand tighten. Looking back at the man, you let out a noise of confusion. He finally stood as well, resting his forehead on you down. Before you could question his behavior, you found yourself freezing at his words:

“I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you,”

Slowly, he began to sink a little further, causing you to panic. Was this really the time that he was going to propose? It certainly was romantic, with the stars hanging above you, and the city being peaceful. Still, you couldn’t help but feel the butterflies in your stomach. Just as you were about to call his name, you heard snoring. 

Peering down, you noticed Shouto, laying like a deadweight in your arms. Ah, he was sleeping. Groaning, you faced up towards the sky, praying whoever was out there to give you the strength to slap this man for giving you not one, but two heart attacks. Of course he wasn’t going to propose here, it was too spontaneous for him. 

Shifting his body, you managed to drape him on your back without waking him up. Once you found a position where you were comfortable, and were sure that Shouto wasn’t going to fall, you set out to your shared home. You couldn’t help the small smile that appeared on your face.

By the time the two of you got home, your back hurt and your arms were exhausted. It was okay though, as the next morning, Shouto treated you to a lovely breakfast in bed.

Which he bought from your favorite cafe, of course.

Three: Cooking together (or at least attempting to)

“Shouto, honey, what are you doing?”

“You said you needed room temperature butter,”

“Yes,” You started, trying to hold back your laughter, “But why are you using your quirk to melt it?”

If anyone had seen Shouto, the number three hero, attempting to use his quirk to melt the butter into submission, they’d convinced themselves that they were dreaming. Unfortunately for you, you knew of your boyfriend’s stupid behavior, so this was just another day for you.

Today, you woke up with an intense craving for lemon cupcakes. So, as any person would, you walked over to your kitchen and began to prepare. About ten minutes into your preparation, a sleepy Shouto stumbled into the kitchen, complaining about how you were up too early, and that you should come back to bed. When he saw that you had no intention of coming back to sleep, and that you were making some treats, he pulled on an apron and asked what he could do to help. While it was very sweet that he wanted to help you out and spend some time with you, Shouto was an absolute mess when it came to the kitchen. The poor man would live off of instant soba if he lived by himself. 

So, here you were, standing in the kitchen, watching as your pro hero boyfriend attempted to melt the butter to room temperature, before realizing that he had melted it too much, and then attempted to freeze it back, which resulted in you having a frozen block of butter. As he let out a quiet apology, you just sighed, putting the block of ice into the microwave, allowing it to defrost from its icy hell. 

“You know,” You said, turning away from the microwave to measure the flour, “Sometimes I wonder if you have any braincells.”

He let out a soft snort, not bothering to dignify your words with a response. Once the butter had finally defrosted, albeit still a bit cold, you finally began to combine all of your ingredients. As you mixed the dry ingredients together, you called out to Shouto.

“Hey, can you juice those lemons?”

With a hum, he moved towards your cutting station, where he cut both lemons in half. As he was squeezing the lemons, he felt a slight stinging in his hands, but he paid no mind to it. He probably got a paper cut earlier in the day. It wasn’t until you turned away from your bowl and gasped that he realized that he’d actually nicked himself with the knife.

“Honey, your hand!”

Before he could even react, you rushed out of the kitchen, only to return minutes later with a box of hero themed bandages in one hand, and a bottle of rubbing alcohol in the other. Skidding to a stop, you placed the bandages on the counter, grabbed a paper towel, and doused it in rubbing alcohol. You gently grabbed his bleeding hand, muttered a small sorry, and pressed the damp napkin to his fingers. 

“You know,” Shouto started, an amused glint in his eyes, “This wasn’t a life threatening injury.”

“It’s about to be if any blood got into that lemon juice,” You warned, though your glare was anything but threatening.

Once you finished disinfecting the cut, you pulled out a Ground Zero bandaid, and as you attempted to put it on his finger, Shouto pulled his hand away, almost looking insulted. Sighing, you put the bandaid back in the box, shuffled around a bit, and then pulled a Deku bandaid instead. When he still refused, you furrowed your brows, then hesitantly searched for a Shouto bandaid, only for the box to be pulled away from you. After a few more seconds of shuffling, he eventually pulled out a (Y/H/N) bandaid. He held it out towards you proudly, causing you to scoff. 

“You’re such a dork, it’s just a bandaid,” You teased, wrapping it around his finger securely. 

With that, the two of you went back to work, with Shouto being more careful about what he did, and you observing every single task he’d do. Finally, you two were able to get the cupcakes into the oven without any other mishaps. With the time you had before the cupcakes were done, you quickly whipped up a buttercream frosting, which you had to guard from your lover’s surprising sweet tooth. Luckily for you, by the time the cupcakes were out of the oven, your frosting was still there, though you had a grumpy boyfriend to deal with.

Once you allowed for the treats to cool down, with a little help from your thermostat of a man, you two piped the frosting into some bags and began to decorate. You decided to divide the job evenly, with six cupcakes being yours, and six being his. While your frosting skills couldn’t compete with a real baker, you still thought you did a damn good job. They weren’t terribly uneven, and none of the frosting was tipping over and spilling, so that was a good sign. You couldn’t say the same for Shouto’s, however. After you had finished your last cupcake, you turned to Shouto’s, wanting to see how he did. 

It took all your self restraint to not just laugh at him.

His frosting work was, subpar, to say at best. Frosting was covering his hands, there were gaps in between the swirl he was attempting to make, and it was starting to slip. If anyone saw them, they’d assume that a child decorated them. You didn’t even take a breath before he spoke:

“I don’t want to hear it.”

You snorted, trying your best to hold in your laughter, “I wasn’t going to say anything,”

He turned his head to look at you, an unamused expression painting his face. It was only a few seconds before you broke down, covering your mouth to conceal the giggles and wheezes that were spilling out. 

“Oh my god, honey, it looks—“ You took in a deep breath, which only resulted in more laughter, “It looks like a five year old did it!”

He set the piping bag down and crossed his arms, pouting. “It’s harder than it looks,”

Letting out the last few giggles you had in your system, you pulled his arms away from his chest, making room for your body. Wrapping your arms around his torso, you pecked his jaw.

“Don’t worry, it has a lot of, character.”

There was a beat of silence, before Shouto smeared the remaining frosting from his hands onto your face. Gasping, you tried pushing yourself away, only to find yourself trapped by his arms. As you attempted to wriggle free, Shouto was only getting started, as he now grabbed his piping bag and began to squirt frosting into your hair.

“Todoroki Shouto I swear to everything holy I’m going to—“

“Hold on, stop moving. I’m trying to paint,”

“I’m not a canvas, Sho—“

He shushed you. Sighing, you closed your eyes, accepting your fate. After a few seconds, Shouto finally put down the bag, wrapping his arms around your waist once again.

“Okay, finished.”

Cracking an eye open, you noticed the absolute love-struck look on his face. It was odd, since you were certain that he’d drawn a mustache on you, and many other things. Ducking your head down, you folded in on yourself.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

Glancing up at him, you saw the curiosity dancing in his eyes. Honestly, you never felt as embarrassed as you had in that moment. 

“Stop looking at me like,” You paused, searching for the right words, “Like such a love-struck idiot.”

He tilted his head, moving even closer, if that were even possible. “I don’t know how else to look at you,”

You moved your head to the side, feeling too close for comfort. One day, this man was going to give you a heart attack with how sweet he could be. When your eyes met once again, you couldn’t help but remember what he’d said to you a few nights back. How he told you that he couldn’t wait to spend the rest of his life with you. Looking back, you wondered if he was just content with this, living together, being together, but not necessarily married. After all, you two already acted as if you were married, so there’d truly be no difference in your lives. 

Still, you couldn’t help but ask.

“Hey Shouto?”

When he hummed in response, you took a moment to steady your breath. “Do you ever think about getting married?”

There was a pause, the air filled with a tense aura. It took him a few moments to respond, most likely due to the shock from your question.

“Maybe one day,” He took your hands in his, running his hands across your knuckles, taking an extra second when it came to your ring finger, “I’m not sure.”

You felt your heart break a little, but you smiled. Of course, you weren’t going to leave because he may not want to get married, but you couldn’t help but feel a bit let down. Perhaps Deku had gotten it wrong? Maybe he was just talking about whether or not the idea of marriage sounded good, not necessarily that he wanted to get married to you. 

As if sensing your change in mood, Shouto’s grip on your hands tightened, gaining your attention. “Are you alright?”

Putting your negative thoughts in the back of your mind, you nodded. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Before he could answer, you pulled away from his grip, heading towards the cupcakes that were long forgotten.

“C’mon, these cupcakes aren’t going to eat themselves!” 

+ One: By complete accident

If there was one person that you hated most in the world at this current moment: it’d be Ochako. 

Not only did this woman come to your home and brag about getting engaged, but she also asked, or, more so forced, you to take care of her dog while her and her partner were away on vacation. A “pre-honeymoon,” she called it. You were both happy for her and envious of her. Of course, you agreed to take care of her dog, after all, it’d only be for a few days. How hard could that be? Even Shouto had agreed, so it couldn’t be that bad.

Well, it wasn’t necessarily the worst time of your life.

It wasn’t that you didn’t like dogs, in fact, you loved them. They had such cute faces, and you found it adorable that they would get all excited to see their owner every single day without fail. However, Ochako’s dog, Mochi had a personality that was as if you combined Tenya’s, Deku’s, and her personalities into one being. Somehow, the dog could go from being a complete and utter obedient angel, to a hyperactive monster. One moment Mochi could be relaxing with you and Shouto on the couch, minding her own business, and then in two seconds she’ll see an animal on your TV and start barking all over the place while running laps in your house. At one point you saw her get scared at her own reflection and start barking. 

It also didn’t help that she was pretty smart, too. Mochi had gotten into your closet at one point, and made a mess of your clothes. When you went to go and discipline her, you saw her curled up next to Shouto, staring right at you. With the both of them looking so cute, it was impossible for you to do anything, so you just begrudgingly sat beside the two of them, feeling as though you’d just been played. 

One of the things that you hated to do the most, though, was picking up her poop. While you absolutely adored dogs, and you probably would want one in the future, picking up their poop was not your favorite activity. You had tried getting Shouto to be on poop duty, but he outright refused, and really, you couldn’t blame him. Mochi was a big dog, and with big dogs, comes big poops. 

This is what led you to your current predicament. It was currently seven in the morning, and here you were, standing outside, waiting for Mochi to go. While you’d love to sleep in and catch up on some much neglected self-care time, you knew that if you waited any longer, she was going to do her business in the house instead. Every morning, Mochi would need to use the restroom, at a specific time. While of course you understood, the poor baby has been holding it in all night, you also couldn’t help but feel that seven in the morning was too early to pick up large dog poop. 

After what seemed like forever, she’d finally done her business, and was now happily prancing around the yard. In the time that she took, Shouto had wondered his way out of bed and onto the back porch, where he’d struck up a quick conversation with you, which was interrupted by your need to pick up Mochi’s mess.

As you bent down to pick up the mess, you could hear Shouto faintly call out:

“Marry me.” 

Pausing, you took a minute to process what was being said to you. Once the realization finally set in, and you were finally caught up, you quickly picked up the poop and tied off the bag, throwing it in the garbage can. Looking up at the man, you pointed an accusatory finger at him.

“What did you just say?”

Even he seemed to be shocked at what came out of his mouth. One hand went to cover his mouth, while the other gripped the railing. 

“Well—“

“You did not just ask me to marry you while I was picking up dog shit.”

He nodded his head, letting go of the rail and heading back inside. “I’m glad we’re forgetting this moment. Good bye,”

“Shouto don’t you dare!”

You ran up the deck and slammed the sliding door shut before he could leave. When he didn’t turn to look at you, you sighed.

“Out of all the places you could’ve proposed, you just had to choose the most embarrassing one,”

“I’m sorry.”

“You should be!” You yelled, placing your hands on your hips, “I didn’t even think you wanted to get married to me!”

He looked at you like you were the craziest person in the world. As if you’d just said something sacrilegious. “Why would you think that?”

You deadpanned, using all of your self restraint in that moment. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because a few weeks back I asked, and you said, ‘maybe one day.’”

“And? How does that translate to me not wanting to marry you?”

“Maybe, Shouto! You said ‘maybe.’ That usually means ‘no!’”

He crossed his arms, a slightly irritated look on his face. “Or ‘maybe’ means that I’ve been trying to propose for the past few weeks but I’ve been to afraid to go through with it.”

You furrowed your eyebrows, slightly confused at where this conversation was headed. “What?”

Shouto looked up towards the sky, as if summoning all of his patience and courage, before taking your hands and looking at you.

“I’ve tried to find the right place to ask you, but every time it’s just ended up with me choosing not to do it at the last second. Since I’ve already messed it up, I may as well ask you now,” Getting down on one knee, his lips stretched into a soft smile, albeit a little shaky, “(Y/L/N) (Y/N), will you marry me?”

You could feel the tears begin to well up in the corners of your eyes. As much as you wanted to rip into him about proposing to you while picking up poop, you couldn’t think about anything else other than how happy you were. Sinking down to your knees, you tackled him into a hug, sending you both flying to the ground. 

“Of course I will,”

Pulling you away slightly, he checked your face to see any signs of hesitation, or any other signals that were opposing what your mouth was saying. When he found none, he finally broke out into a grin, cupping your cheek.

“I have your ring in our room. It’s in the sock drawer,”

You snorted. “The sock drawer? You do realize that is one of the worst places to hide something from me?”

“To be fair, I was planning on proposing once I got the ring,”

“When was that?”

Silence. When he didn’t respond, you giggled, taking his silence as an answer. Leaning down, you captured his lips with yours, sending all of your love and happiness into it. He seemed to get the message, as he deepened the kiss, with one hand traveling down to your lower back while the other was still caressing your cheek.

You two could’ve stayed there forever if it weren’t for the hairy monster who pounced on the both of you, effectively crushing almost every bone in your body. Swatting her off, you looked down at Shouto to see if he was okay. 

You didn’t have anything to worry about, as his laughter soon began to ring through the air. Smiling down at him, you got up, extending a hand for him. As the two of you got up, you couldn’t help but think of how ridiculous this whole day had been, and it was only seven thirty. 

As you watched Shouto go back into the lawn to get Mochi, you couldn’t help but think of how lucky you were, to be engaged to a man like that.

Though, you’d definitely be telling your friends and family a different story of how he proposed.

[honeyzen]

domesticated - k.d

genre: smut, petplay 

words: 4.4k 

warnings: kitten!play, dom doyoung, choking, unprotected sex (use protection!)

The sky outside darkened a midnight blue as you sat quietly on the couch, watching shapes and colours contort on the television. Your mouth widened in a yawn as shuffling footsteps wandered over from the kitchen, they gently pattered until your boyfriend Doyoung appeared from behind a wall. His eyes darted around the room as he set a bowl of popcorn on the table, fingers curling around a piece before he lumped down beside you. His tall frame slumped on the sofa, arm nearest to you stretching around, giving you the room the snake around his torso. Cosying into Doyoung you felt his fingers bury into your waist, his other hand reaching over and grabbing the remote. You felt the rumble of a pondering sigh, Doyoung beginning to flick through the channels as he always did. He was indecisive, easily bored and on nights like this, where neither had work the next day or a reason to protest, you knew how it would end.

Even the night you met he was like this.

In college, you had found it difficult to bond with anyone. Parties were too loud, being alone in your dorm was too quiet, balancing the two was near impossible. Especially when you hadn’t had much experience with people or being away from home in the first place. In the end, you relied heavily on your roommate to take you out and show you the way of the world. And she tried her hardest, it’s just that not much of it interested you though you did try your best.

After another night sat in the quietest room of a frat party, you began to feel despondent to the entire college experience altogether. You flicked through the books in the bedroom you’d barricaded yourself in, sighing when a porno magazine fell from between two classic novels. You bent over to pick it up, skirt riding high although it didn’t seem to matter alone in the room. As your fingers grabbed the corner as to avoid any residue that may linger between pages, you heard the oak door behind you open wide. A panic washed over you, heat rising to your cheeks as you half expected to spin around and find a drunken couple wanting to consummate. Instead, as you turned, while holding the magazine behind your back cautiously, you saw a sober looking man stood in the doorframe.

The blush hanging over your cheeks only intensified. His stature was large, shoulders broad in his blue, baggy jumper. Eyes big and brown, dark hair falling into his eyes as his slender fingers came up to brush it away. You stood speechless as his bottom lip became hooked beneath his teeth, his eyebrows furrowing for a moment before he stepped into the room. Your chest felt thick with embarrassment. You kept the magazine pressed tightly to your back, stepping back and the man stepped forward.

‘Sorry, I thought this room was free.’ You said quietly.

‘Uh, no, no, it’s fine honestly, I just um, usually keep my bedroom off limits while there’s parties. I like it, clean, don’t want people you know, in my bed.’ The man whispered, and despite the loud music, you could hear his every low toned word perfectly.

‘Understandable. I’m really sorry, I just kinda wanted to get out the way of everyone,’ you chuckled nervously, ‘I don’t really like parties that much.’

‘Like I said, it’s fine.’ The man smiled wide, exposing a gummy grin that only made you blush further. ‘I’m Doyoung by the way.’ He finished, reaching his hand out to shake yours.

Instinctively, you lurched forward. The magazine slipping out of your grip for just a moment, but long enough for it to drop to the ground. It splayed open on the carpet, thudding wide to the centre fold. Your chest tightened; stomach burned. You couldn’t bare to look back at what Doyoung was seeing.

‘I’m so sorry.’ You apologized quickly.

‘Where was that?’

‘Um, on the bookshelf, between Dracula and Wuthering Heights. It kinda just fell out, I, um, wanted to read.’ You laughed at how ridiculous you sounded.

‘Oh, right.’ Doyoung managed somehow to look more worried than you, his fingers scratching at his head. As his arm raised up, so did his jumper, revealing the soft toned torso beneath. You felt yourself tighten.

‘Look, I’m sorry, I should let you get to bed or,’ you mumbled as quickly as you could, wishing to vanish from the building altogether. You spun on your heels once again, bending down to pick up the magazine and return it to its owner. However, when you did, you actually saw what was sprawled across the pages.

A woman was sat on a red, leather sofa in a pristine lingerie, her privates covered though the sheerness left nothing to the imagination. Her arms were twisted behind her back, threaded together perfectly with thick, crimson rope. Her legs were wide open on the sofa, still covered in the same beautiful rope but this time only for aesthetic purposes. The expression on her face was that of pleasure, eyes closed, mouth wide kind of pleasure. Her makeup and hair was immaculate, untouched. It was a beautiful image, the kind that could have gotten away with being in an art gallery.

Confusion waved over you. The expectation of seeing unrealistic, graphic depictions of two women or a woman and a man had been dashed. There was only a soft, artistic image that left you with no words, only a deep yearning that maybe one day, you could be that woman. Clearly desired, clearly within someone’s control but beautiful and immaculate all the same.

Doyoung let out a withering sigh as you lifted the magazine and turned to face him. He stepped closer, fighting back the urge to rip the magazine from your grasp and throw it underneath his bed. Doyoung waited for you to wrinkle your face in disgust, to snicker at the image but nothing of the sort happened. Instead, you began to flick through the images. Turning your head to see all the sideward pages, tracing your fingers over the threads of rope that where consistent throughout the entire magazine. You pondered at it as though it were an art magazine, you seemed to appreciate it as one. Doyoung was gobsmacked.

After a few moments, you closed the magazine, handing it over to Doyoung. He gently took it from you, his fingers dancing over yours for a moment before the heat of his digits disappeared.

‘It’s beautiful.’ You said without thinking.

‘What?’

‘Um, it’s beautiful.’ You repeated.

‘Yeah, yeah, it is.’ Doyoung concurred nervously, staring at your features as they twisted in thought.

‘Do people actually do that? Or is it just for the pictures?’

‘You mean the, the rope?’ Doyoung asked politely as you merely nodding back shyly, your lip between your teeth.

‘I think I’d like to try it.’ You admitted, looking up at Doyoung to find his eyebrows scrunched in disbelief. ‘With you, please.’ You finished, not quite understanding what you’d asked for, but knowing in your gut that it felt right.

Nearly two years later and you were still trying out so many different, new things with Doyoung. When you met, you were both shy. Wrapped up in desires both of you thought no one but you had, but meeting each other, it gave you both the outlet you desperately needed. You often looked for things to try, often on nights like this when you both had time to kill. Whether it was between the pages of magazines or online, you found that both you and Doyoung had an endless stream of erotic things you wanted to try.

A ritual you’d created early into your relationship was looking at the trending page of a porn site, rooting around for something you hadn’t already done a thousand times and trying it. No pre-judgements, no reservations, just trying something to see the outcome. There were times when you or Doyoung decided the thing was not for you but often enough, both of you found that whatever you did, as long as it was with each other, it was perfect. This ritual however meant that things often got a little taboo which didn’t bother either of you but there was a certain stigma to some things and sometimes that did give you reservations. Out of an ingrained habit that was built into all people, when you saw something strange, it took a lot to try it. But with Doyoung, you never felt uncomfortable.

Doyoung sighed from beside you signally that he could find nothing to watch and so, the ritual begun.

You peered up at him, eyes big and doe. Doyoung waited for a moment before looking down and smiling warmly. ‘You wanna choose something tonight?’

Your mouth lifted to smile back at him, nodding happily, hands almost snatching the remote from your boyfriend. He chuckled. Usually you both picked, though really, you’d go along with whatever Doyoung wanted. Letting you choose without protesting was a special occasion and it made you light up like nothing else. You opened up the website on the television, still shy about looking at such lewd things in front of someone else on a large scale. The screen became sodden with erotic video links and dirty advertisements, all clearly made by men who knew nothing about women. You tutted to yourself, flicking down through the pages and pages until something towards the bottom left caught your eye.

‘Naughty kitten punished.’

With eyebrows knotted you turned to Doyoung. ‘Is this really a thing? Dressing up like a cat, I mean, I know I’ve done it for Halloween but for, fucking?’

‘Of course, it is. If you can think of it, there’s probably porn made of it.’ He retorted with a smirk wiped across his lips.

‘I don’t like that sentiment.’

‘So, that’s a no?’ Doyoung peered, careening his head to stare his umber orbs into yours. His grip around your side tightened a little, allowing you to feel the warmth emanating from beneath his black t-shirt. From habit, you closed your eyes, enjoying the small circles he drew into your hip.

‘Well?’

‘I, I mean, it’s weird, right? Dressing up like an animal?’ You said sceptically.

‘Obviously, but it’s not out of the league of what we’ve done before.’ Doyoung added.

‘I guess.’

‘It’s your call, princess.’

‘Uh, I mean, I have the costume… maybe it’d be nice to get some use out of it?’ You felt yourself defending your ideas, ideas that you knew deep down Doyoung would never judge. And yet, the shame of desire was so engrained in you, that you could not help it.

‘Let’s go get you dressed then.’ Doyoung smiled, standing from the couch, his stature above you like a skyscraper. You fought back the urge to reach out for his jean button right then and instead smiled to yourself with sparks alight in your mind.

‘Maybe I should go alone, if you come, we’ll never get back out the bedroom.’ You taunted standing up beside Doyoung. His smile lowered as yours grew ten-fold. You found your hands resting on Doyoung’s wide shoulders, pushing him back slightly until he sat back against the sofa. His legs widened, back slumping, as though inviting you to sit atop him, instead, you began walking to the bedroom, a chuckle leaving your mouth.

After sulking into the bedroom, you shared with your boyfriend, you began the hunt for the outfit you’d worn once and long forgotten. While it was true that Doyoung accompanying you would’ve lead to something before you’d be able to grasp the costume, you also needed to root through your messy wardrobe for it. Which was, undoubtably, a mood killer. Through grumbles and profanities, your hands dived through piles of clothes, each pile loosely organised by occasion. Dating Doyoung meant that the fancy dress pile was rather large and took some time to sift through. Until, almost at the bottom of the pile, two clip on ears poked out. As you grasped them, the soft fur tickled your palm, their deep brown nearly matching Doyoung’s eyes. Beneath the ears was a pink, leather collar that Doyoung had gifted you separate from the costume and to match, you pulled a set of pink, lacy lingerie from another messy pile.

You tugged down your sweatpants and removed the hoodie you’d stolen from Doyoung earlier in the day and pulled the pink lace over your head. The soft material felt like warm honey on your skin, and perfectly covered your body enough that you felt like the woman in that magazine. After slithering the undies up your bare legs, you grappled the ears once more. With fur between your fingers, you attached them high on your head, staring in the mirror at how sweet the clips looked. You smiled strangely excited for what you had been a little weirded out at first.

Staring down at your collar, a thought came to you, bringing warmth to your loin. You wandered over to a set of draws by the bed, heaved open the bottom section and pulled out a chain leash, the metal clasps jingling as you did so. Your smile grew as you flattened your hair and prepared yourself.

Timidly, you tiptoed back into the living room, head low as you approached where Doyoung still sat. With open palms, you knelt before your boyfriend, raising the items that sat atop your hands. After a few moments of silence, you peered up gently, looking over his face for any kind of emotion.

‘Look down.’ He muttered sullenly.

You followed his order immediately, keeping your palms up but eyes toward the hardwood floor. After another moment, the weight of the chain and collar disappeared and Doyoung’s feet came into your view and moved behind you. Though a cautious wave of anxiety rolled through your stomach, you still remained staring at the floor in silence. A sigh passed through your lips as cold fingers brushed your hair aside and cool leather pressed against your throat. Doyoung’s cold digits appeared again as he buckled up the collar and latched on the chain leash to hold you in place.

His hand remained low of the chain, gripping it so tight that it choked you slightly but still, you stared at the ground, motionless. A low snicker came from behind you, making your stomach swirl and tighten as moisture moved toward your heat. It was torture not to turn and look at him but following his orders was more important. You waited for what felt like forever until a palm mellowed over the top of your head, soothing over your hair, and following over the ears. Doyoung’s frame moved around you, allowing for you to see his lower legs once more and just knowing he was there, that he was the one touching you made it harder not to look up.

‘Look up at me baby.’ Doyoung finally said.

Your head snapped up immediately, big eyes staring desperately toward Doyoung and the grin smeared across his face. The confidence clearing instilled in him was terrifying and so, so arousing. You mewled, Doyoung raising his eyebrows as he smoothed over your head once more. From instinct you pushed your head up into his palm, nuzzling close to feel warmth from him.

‘My good kitten.’

A warmth filled your lower region, burning with every moment Doyoung touched you in any way. Until suddenly, a large heave bevelled through your body, the chain rattling as you were forced to push into Doyoung’s legs. Your hands leant atop his feet, wide eyes begging him to do something, anything. Doyoung merely grinned, tugging on the chain once more as he sat back on the couch and pulled you between his legs. Your features faced his crotch, mouth only a few inches from his covered length that tented his tight jeans. Just seeing you knelt before him, perky ears and collar and pink lace made him unimaginably hard and Doyoung struggled to compose himself. One more tug on your leash and your chin came to sit above his thigh. Doyoung released the chain, sitting it beside himself as he moved his fingers to his jeans.

You felt yourself smile, knowing what was to come. Pushing your face against his thigh, you purred, nose nuzzling into his clothed muscles. Doyoung let out a splintered moan, coaxing you to continue. As you did, you heard the undoing of a zip and rustling of thick material. The silence that settled in after is what made you look up, your eyes widening as you saw Doyoung holding his member tightly, slowly moving his hand up and down. He kept his darkened gaze locked upon you. Moving his other hand, Doyoung cupped your cheeks, soothing his thumb over the blush that painted your skin. His fingers moved slowly until he danced them to the back of your neck, his grip tightening and forcing your face forward. He pulled violently until you were face to face with his length.

‘Go on, kitten.’ Doyoung whispered.

He pushed his length toward you slightly, allowing your lips to engulf the tip and sink down the shaft. Doyoung let his head fall back against the sofa pillow and a low growl fall from his mouth. His noises only propelled you to continue, head bobbing up and down quickly as his member began to hit the back of your throat. It burnt, a kind of burning that travelled all the way down to your core, that was beginning to drip with desire. You lifted your hands and placed them atop Doyoung’s thighs for stability. Doyoung gripped your hair, twisting it into a makeshift ponytail and using it to control your pace. The tightness spread all over your body and ached in your loin. A need for Doyoung to be buried deep within you exploded.

The speed became relentless as you peered upward, staring at Doyoung’s scrunched up features; small, rhythmic groans pouring from his lips. You longed to kiss him, to nuzzle your fuzzy ears into the crook of his neck. You wished to be his pet forever.

‘Baby, stop, stop.’ Doyoung repeated frantically, pulling your mouth off his length by your hair. You understood why he stopped, for he wanted to be within you just as much as you wanted him inside you, but the loss of contact hurt, nonetheless. Spit dribbled from your lips, lining from Doyoung’s member to your mouth. He groaned low once more as you mewled, staring up at him with pleading eyes.

Watching from the ground, Doyoung pushed his hard member back in his jeans, sat up straight and patted his lap. You nearly leap up, pouncing onto Doyoung like the kitten you were pretending to be. With legs either side of him and arms slung over his shoulders, you waited. His expression twisted into a smirk, a devilish thought swirling around his mind.

‘Lie down on me, ass up.’ He muttered sternly. You watched his eyes for a further moment before Doyoung raised his eyebrows and nodded downward at his lap. You lifted yourself slightly and flipped over, placing your waist in Doyoung’s lap. Your face burrowed into the couch, feet kicking the edge of the seat and heat pressing directly onto Doyoung’s still stiff length. After a second, you felt as your boyfriend pulled your lace underwear down your thighs, cold fingers dragging over your skin. He lingered them back up to your ass, spreading his palm wide over the flesh. Doyoung kept it there for a moment, still and gentle, your stomach settling before suddenly, his touch disappeared and reappeared with a sharp, jolting sting.

A yelp came spurting out your lips, a chuckling emanating from Doyoung as again, his touch left and smacked back down. You mewled helplessly, another slap.

‘Count for me, okay kitten, five more.’ He said softly, swaying his hand over your red, hot skin before once more, lifting it and slapping it back down. A gasp escaped your throat.

‘One.’

Doyoung chuckled again, forcing down a particularly devilish spank.

‘Two.’

Your ass burnt painfully, the side that Doyoung had been slapping beginning to feel bruised and swollen. It was beautiful, and as another hit pummelled down upon you, a wave of pleasure rippled through you.

‘Three.’

Another.

‘Four.’

Doyoung soothed over your skin one more time as he lifted his hand and brought it down mercilessly. You yelped once more, feeling the other side burn just as the first. A small tear spat from your eye, trickling down your cheek and dripping onto the couch below.

‘Five.’ You croaked.

You lay down for a moment, air aggressively attacking your bruised ass as Doyoung removed his hand and placed into on the back of your thigh. He gently stroked the skin, giving you a few moments to catch your breath and recuperate.

Doyoung held onto your upper arm, pulling you up to kneel beside him. A finger coming up to swipe away a stray tear.

‘Do you wanna stop? We can?’ He enquired softly; eyes tender as his hand careened your jaw.

‘Fuck no.’ You said, leaping over once more to sit back in Doyoung’s lap, legs either side of his and lips reaching forward to kiss the man beneath you. With mouths collided, you wrangled your arms around Doyoung’s shoulders, his tongue darting between your lips and exploring your mouth. Instinctively, you began playing with the hair on the back of his neck, pulling slightly so Doyoung tilted his head back. You took advantage of the position, dragging your lips down to kiss and nibble at his slender neck. Doyoung groaned, his hands wandering to the underwear that still sat at your thighs, pulling them lower until they could no longer move. You felt the material dig into your flesh, stuck in their current position. While you wanted your bare heat to sit against Doyoung, you dreaded the idea of moving. He tugged again, helpless.

‘Rip them, rip them please, please.’ You begged, merely wanting to feel him beneath you, desperate for any pressure or friction against your heat.

‘Sure?’

‘Do it.’

Doyoung wrapped his fingers around one side of the fragile, lacy material and heaved it apart. The sound of ripping filled the room as Doyoung groaned, moving the material away as finally, he had access to your core. You felt the bulge in his jeans harden once more, pressed tight to the wetness that was pooling from within you. It burnt to be so close but separated by the already unzipped jeans. Doyoung held your hips, pushing you down to tease. A whimper fell from your lips.

‘Aw, is my kitten desperate? What does she want?’

‘You, please, I want you.’ You mumbled, unable to speak properly from sheer desperation.

‘Want me? To do what?’

‘I want you to fuck me! Please, fuck me!’ You almost screamed helplessly, Doyoung merely grinning, proud he had made you so desperate.

With his hands on your hips, Doyoung pushed you backwards further down his thighs. Giving him enough room to pull his jeans below his waist, allowing his hard member to spring gently from the material. It clung, pressed between his groin and your heat, that had, by now, created a wet patch on Doyoung’s trousers. You pushed upward, kneeling as you moved back up the thighs below you. Doyoung held your waist with one hand and with the other, moved his member to the entrance of your core. He was moving slow, but you wanted him, wanted him buried within you. And so, you pushed downward, feeling as you sunk onto Doyoung and he disappeared within you.

Doyoung let out a moan as you whimpered. The feeling of him inside you, putting pressure against you was intoxicating, so intoxicating that you could not move for a moment. As you began moving, slowly up and down Doyoung’s length, every inch of him burnt against every inch of you. The man below held desperately onto your hips, pulling you up and down to take complete control of the pace. The rhythmic tempo made a coil of pleasure begin to spin in your stomach, the grip upon you tight and almost painful. Another whimper fell from your lips as Doyoung let his head tilt back in pleasure. You shook, placing your hands upon his shoulders for stability, body nearly slumping against him.

His fingers began to trail up your body, tracing the pink, sheer lace that covered your breasts, swirling past and up your throat. His journey stopped, fingers halting and spreading up against your skin as he grappled the chain that attached to the collar. You let a loud moan explode into the atmosphere as you lifted yourself up and down Doyoung’s member, the pleasure in your loin beginning to burn. Low growls fell from Doyoung’s mouth, filling your ears like music as his grip upon you, both on your waist and collar, tightened. Air tightly passed through your windpipe, head spinning as you arched yourself quicker upon Doyoung. He growled loudly, his face scrunching up in pleasure as you felt him release inside of you, the warm liquid applying even more pressure inside your heat. The hot, wet feeling made you complete, and you felt yourself tighten and spasm on his member.

A last, prolonged mewl fell from your lips as you ceased your movements, still sat upon Doyoung’s member. His tempered sighs filled the room, grip on your collar loosening and hand falling back to your waist. You fell into Doyoung. Chests pressed together as sweat mixed like a cocktail of pleasure and sleepiness. Doyoung wrapped his arms around your waist, holding you close, your cheek pressed flush against the crook of his neck. While holding you, Doyoung lifted slightly, giving him enough room to remove himself from your heat. A stifled moan fell from both of you, heat swelling around the room. You sighed, sleepy upon your equally tired boyfriend.

‘That was nice.’ You whimpered in a hushed tone.

‘It was, wasn’t it?’ Doyoung agreed, your head tilting upward to stare into his big, doe eyes. ‘C’mon kitten, let’s go and get you cleaned up and in bed.’ He soothed, fingers weaving through your hair as you purred once more against his chest. Nuzzling into him as your ears nudged his chin.

[honeyctzen]

domesticated - kd

genre: smut, petplay

warnings: kitten!play, dom!doyoung, oral (male recieving), unprotected sex, spanking 

words: 4.4k

The sky outside darkened a midnight blue as you sat quietly on the couch, watching shapes and colours contort on the television. Your mouth widened in a yawn as shuffling footsteps wandered over from the kitchen, they gently pattered until your boyfriend Doyoung appeared from behind a wall. His eyes darted around the room as he set a bowl of popcorn on the table, fingers curling around a piece before he lumped down beside you. His tall frame slumped on the sofa, arm nearest to you stretching around, giving you the room the snake around his torso. Cosying into Doyoung you felt his fingers bury into your waist, his other hand reaching over and grabbing the remote. You felt the rumble of a pondering sigh, Doyoung beginning to flick through the channels as he always did. He was indecisive, easily bored and on nights like this, where neither had work the next day or a reason to protest, you knew how it would end.

Even the night you met he was like this.

In college, you had found it difficult to bond with anyone. Parties were too loud, being alone in your dorm was too quiet, balancing the two was near impossible. Especially when you hadn’t had much experience with people or being away from home in the first place. In the end, you relied heavily on your roommate to take you out and show you the way of the world. And she tried her hardest, it’s just that not much of it interested you though you did try your best.

After another night sat in the quietest room of a frat party, you began to feel despondent to the entire college experience altogether. You flicked through the books in the bedroom you’d barricaded yourself in, sighing when a porno magazine fell from between two classic novels. You bent over to pick it up, skirt riding high although it didn’t seem to matter alone in the room. As your fingers grabbed the corner as to avoid any residue that may linger between pages, you heard the oak door behind you open wide. A panic washed over you, heat rising to your cheeks as you half expected to spin around and find a drunken couple wanting to consummate. Instead, as you turned, while holding the magazine behind your back cautiously, you saw a sober looking man stood in the doorframe.

The blush hanging over your cheeks only intensified. His stature was large, shoulders broad in his blue, baggy jumper. Eyes big and brown, dark hair falling into his eyes as his slender fingers came up to brush it away. You stood speechless as his bottom lip became hooked beneath his teeth, his eyebrows furrowing for a moment before he stepped into the room. Your chest felt thick with embarrassment. You kept the magazine pressed tightly to your back, stepping back and the man stepped forward.

‘Sorry, I thought this room was free.’ You said quietly.

‘Uh, no, no, it’s fine honestly, I just um, usually keep my bedroom off limits while there’s parties. I like it, clean, don’t want people you know, in my bed.’ The man whispered, and despite the loud music, you could hear his every low toned word perfectly.

‘Understandable. I’m really sorry, I just kinda wanted to get out the way of everyone,’ you chuckled nervously, ‘I don’t really like parties that much.’

‘Like I said, it’s fine.’ The man smiled wide, exposing a gummy grin that only made you blush further. ‘I’m Doyoung by the way.’ He finished, reaching his hand out to shake yours.

Instinctively, you lurched forward. The magazine slipping out of your grip for just a moment, but long enough for it to drop to the ground. It splayed open on the carpet, thudding wide to the centre fold. Your chest tightened; stomach burned. You couldn’t bare to look back at what Doyoung was seeing.

‘I’m so sorry.’ You apologized quickly.

‘Where was that?’

‘Um, on the bookshelf, between Dracula and Wuthering Heights. It kinda just fell out, I, um, wanted to read.’ You laughed at how ridiculous you sounded.

‘Oh, right.’ Doyoung managed somehow to look more worried than you, his fingers scratching at his head. As his arm raised up, so did his jumper, revealing the soft toned torso beneath. You felt yourself tighten.

‘Look, I’m sorry, I should let you get to bed or,’ you mumbled as quickly as you could, wishing to vanish from the building altogether. You spun on your heels once again, bending down to pick up the magazine and return it to its owner. However, when you did, you actually saw what was sprawled across the pages.

A woman was sat on a red, leather sofa in a pristine lingerie, her privates covered though the sheerness left nothing to the imagination. Her arms were twisted behind her back, threaded together perfectly with thick, crimson rope. Her legs were wide open on the sofa, still covered in the same beautiful rope but this time only for aesthetic purposes. The expression on her face was that of pleasure, eyes closed, mouth wide kind of pleasure. Her makeup and hair was immaculate, untouched. It was a beautiful image, the kind that could have gotten away with being in an art gallery.

Confusion waved over you. The expectation of seeing unrealistic, graphic depictions of two women or a woman and a man had been dashed. There was only a soft, artistic image that left you with no words, only a deep yearning that maybe one day, you could be that woman. Clearly desired, clearly within someone’s control but beautiful and immaculate all the same.

Doyoung let out a withering sigh as you lifted the magazine and turned to face him. He stepped closer, fighting back the urge to rip the magazine from your grasp and throw it underneath his bed. Doyoung waited for you to wrinkle your face in disgust, to snicker at the image but nothing of the sort happened. Instead, you began to flick through the images. Turning your head to see all the sideward pages, tracing your fingers over the threads of rope that where consistent throughout the entire magazine. You pondered at it as though it were an art magazine, you seemed to appreciate it as one. Doyoung was gobsmacked.

After a few moments, you closed the magazine, handing it over to Doyoung. He gently took it from you, his fingers dancing over yours for a moment before the heat of his digits disappeared.

‘It’s beautiful.’ You said without thinking.

‘What?’

‘Um, it’s beautiful.’ You repeated.

‘Yeah, yeah, it is.’ Doyoung concurred nervously, staring at your features as they twisted in thought.

‘Do people actually do that? Or is it just for the pictures?’

‘You mean the, the rope?’ Doyoung asked politely as you merely nodding back shyly, your lip between your teeth.

‘I think I’d like to try it.’ You admitted, looking up at Doyoung to find his eyebrows scrunched in disbelief. ‘With you, please.’ You finished, not quite understanding what you’d asked for, but knowing in your gut that it felt right.

Nearly two years later and you were still trying out so many different, new things with Doyoung. When you met, you were both shy. Wrapped up in desires both of you thought no one but you had, but meeting each other, it gave you both the outlet you desperately needed. You often looked for things to try, often on nights like this when you both had time to kill. Whether it was between the pages of magazines or online, you found that both you and Doyoung had an endless stream of erotic things you wanted to try.

A ritual you’d created early into your relationship was looking at the trending page of a porn site, rooting around for something you hadn’t already done a thousand times and trying it. No pre-judgements, no reservations, just trying something to see the outcome. There were times when you or Doyoung decided the thing was not for you but often enough, both of you found that whatever you did, as long as it was with each other, it was perfect. This ritual however meant that things often got a little taboo which didn’t bother either of you but there was a certain stigma to some things and sometimes that did give you reservations. Out of an ingrained habit that was built into all people, when you saw something strange, it took a lot to try it. But with Doyoung, you never felt uncomfortable.

Doyoung sighed from beside you signally that he could find nothing to watch and so, the ritual begun.

You peered up at him, eyes big and doe. Doyoung waited for a moment before looking down and smiling warmly. ‘You wanna choose something tonight?’

Your mouth lifted to smile back at him, nodding happily, hands almost snatching the remote from your boyfriend. He chuckled. Usually you both picked, though really, you’d go along with whatever Doyoung wanted. Letting you choose without protesting was a special occasion and it made you light up like nothing else. You opened up the website on the television, still shy about looking at such lewd things in front of someone else on a large scale. The screen became sodden with erotic video links and dirty advertisements, all clearly made by men who knew nothing about women. You tutted to yourself, flicking down through the pages and pages until something towards the bottom left caught your eye.

‘Naughty kitten punished.’

With eyebrows knotted you turned to Doyoung. ‘Is this really a thing? Dressing up like a cat, I mean, I know I’ve done it for Halloween but for, fucking?’

‘Of course, it is. If you can think of it, there’s probably porn made of it.’ He retorted with a smirk wiped across his lips.

‘I don’t like that sentiment.’

‘So, that’s a no?’ Doyoung peered, careening his head to stare his umber orbs into yours. His grip around your side tightened a little, allowing you to feel the warmth emanating from beneath his black t-shirt. From habit, you closed your eyes, enjoying the small circles he drew into your hip.

‘Well?’

‘I, I mean, it’s weird, right? Dressing up like an animal?’ You said sceptically.

‘Obviously, but it’s not out of the league of what we’ve done before.’ Doyoung added.

‘I guess.’

‘It’s your call, princess.’

‘Uh, I mean, I have the costume… maybe it’d be nice to get some use out of it?’ You felt yourself defending your ideas, ideas that you knew deep down Doyoung would never judge. And yet, the shame of desire was so engrained in you, that you could not help it.

‘Let’s go get you dressed then.’ Doyoung smiled, standing from the couch, his stature above you like a skyscraper. You fought back the urge to reach out for his jean button right then and instead smiled to yourself with sparks alight in your mind.

‘Maybe I should go alone, if you come, we’ll never get back out the bedroom.’ You taunted standing up beside Doyoung. His smile lowered as yours grew ten-fold. You found your hands resting on Doyoung’s wide shoulders, pushing him back slightly until he sat back against the sofa. His legs widened, back slumping, as though inviting you to sit atop him, instead, you began walking to the bedroom, a chuckle leaving your mouth.

After sulking into the bedroom, you shared with your boyfriend, you began the hunt for the outfit you’d worn once and long forgotten. While it was true that Doyoung accompanying you would’ve lead to something before you’d be able to grasp the costume, you also needed to root through your messy wardrobe for it. Which was, undoubtedly, a mood killer. Through grumbles and profanities, your hands dived through piles of clothes, each pile loosely organised by occasion. Dating Doyoung meant that the fancy dress pile was rather large and took some time to sift through. Until, almost at the bottom of the pile, two clip on ears poked out. As you grasped them, the soft fur tickled your palm, their deep brown nearly matching Doyoung’s eyes. Beneath the ears was a pink, leather collar that Doyoung had gifted you separate from the costume and to match, you pulled a set of pink, lacy lingerie from another messy pile.

You tugged down your sweatpants and removed the hoodie you’d stolen from Doyoung earlier in the day and pulled the pink lace over your head. The soft material felt like warm honey on your skin, and perfectly covered your body enough that you felt like the woman in that magazine. After slithering the undies up your bare legs, you grappled the ears once more. With fur between your fingers, you attached them high on your head, staring in the mirror at how sweet the clips looked. You smiled strangely excited for what you had been a little weirded out at first.

Staring down at your collar, a thought came to you, bringing warmth to your loin. You wandered over to a set of draws by the bed, heaved open the bottom section and pulled out a chain leash, the metal clasps jingling as you did so. Your smile grew as you flattened your hair and prepared yourself.

Timidly, you tiptoed back into the living room, head low as you approached where Doyoung still sat. With open palms, you knelt before your boyfriend, raising the items that sat atop your hands. After a few moments of silence, you peered up gently, looking over his face for any kind of emotion.

‘Look down.’ He muttered sullenly.

You followed his order immediately, keeping your palms up but eyes toward the hardwood floor. After another moment, the weight of the chain and collar disappeared and Doyoung’s feet came into your view and moved behind you. Though a cautious wave of anxiety rolled through your stomach, you still remained staring at the floor in silence. A sigh passed through your lips as cold fingers brushed your hair aside and cool leather pressed against your throat. Doyoung’s cold digits appeared again as he buckled up the collar and latched on the chain leash to hold you in place.

His hand remained low of the chain, gripping it so tight that it choked you slightly but still, you stared at the ground, motionless. A low snicker came from behind you, making your stomach swirl and tighten as moisture moved toward your heat. It was torture not to turn and look at him but following his orders was more important. You waited for what felt like forever until a palm mellowed over the top of your head, soothing over your hair, and following over the ears. Doyoung’s frame moved around you, allowing for you to see his lower legs once more and just knowing he was there, that he was the one touching you made it harder not to look up.

‘Look up at me baby.’ Doyoung finally said.

Your head snapped up immediately, big eyes staring desperately toward Doyoung and the grin smeared across his face. The confidence clearing instilled in him was terrifying and so, so arousing. You mewled, Doyoung raising his eyebrows as he smoothed over your head once more. From instinct you pushed your head up into his palm, nuzzling close to feel warmth from him.

‘My good kitten.’

A warmth filled your lower region, burning with every moment Doyoung touched you in any way. Until suddenly, a large heave bevelled through your body, the chain rattling as you were forced to push into Doyoung’s legs. Your hands leant atop his feet, wide eyes begging him to do something, anything. Doyoung merely grinned, tugging on the chain once more as he sat back on the couch and pulled you between his legs. Your features faced his crotch, mouth only a few inches from his covered length that tented his tight jeans. Just seeing you knelt before him, perky ears and collar and pink lace made him unimaginably hard and Doyoung struggled to compose himself. One more tug on your leash and your chin came to sit above his thigh. Doyoung released the chain, sitting it beside himself as he moved his fingers to his jeans.

You felt yourself smile, knowing what was to come. Pushing your face against his thigh, you purred, nose nuzzling into his clothed muscles. Doyoung let out a splintered moan, coaxing you to continue. As you did, you heard the undoing of a zip and rustling of thick material. The silence that settled in after is what made you look up, your eyes widening as you saw Doyoung holding his member tightly, slowly moving his hand up and down. He kept his darkened gaze locked upon you. Moving his other hand, Doyoung cupped your cheeks, soothing his thumb over the blush that painted your skin. His fingers moved slowly until he danced them to the back of your neck, his grip tightening and forcing your face forward. He pulled violently until you were face to face with his length.

‘Go on, kitten.’ Doyoung whispered.

He pushed his length toward you slightly, allowing your lips to engulf the tip and sink down the shaft. Doyoung let his head fall back against the sofa pillow and a low growl fall from his mouth. His noises only propelled you to continue, head bobbing up and down quickly as his member began to hit the back of your throat. It burnt, a kind of burning that travelled all the way down to your core, that was beginning to drip with desire. You lifted your hands and placed them atop Doyoung’s thighs for stability. Doyoung gripped your hair, twisting it into a makeshift ponytail and using it to control your pace. The tightness spread all over your body and ached in your loin. A need for Doyoung to be buried deep within you exploded.

The speed became relentless as you peered upward, staring at Doyoung’s scrunched up features; small, rhythmic groans pouring from his lips. You longed to kiss him, to nuzzle your fuzzy ears into the crook of his neck. You wished to be his pet forever.

‘Baby, stop, stop.’ Doyoung repeated frantically, pulling your mouth off his length by your hair. You understood why he stopped, for he wanted to be within you just as much as you wanted him inside you, but the loss of contact hurt, nonetheless. Spit dribbled from your lips, lining from Doyoung’s member to your mouth. He groaned low once more as you mewled, staring up at him with pleading eyes.

Watching from the ground, Doyoung pushed his hard member back in his jeans, sat up straight and patted his lap. You nearly leap up, pouncing onto Doyoung like the kitten you were pretending to be. With legs either side of him and arms slung over his shoulders, you waited. His expression twisted into a smirk, a devilish thought swirling around his mind.

‘Lie down on me, ass up.’ He muttered sternly. You watched his eyes for a further moment before Doyoung raised his eyebrows and nodded downward at his lap. You lifted yourself slightly and flipped over, placing your waist in Doyoung’s lap. Your face burrowed into the couch, feet kicking the edge of the seat and heat pressing directly onto Doyoung’s still stiff length. After a second, you felt as your boyfriend pulled your lace underwear down your thighs, cold fingers dragging over your skin. He lingered them back up to your ass, spreading his palm wide over the flesh. Doyoung kept it there for a moment, still and gentle, your stomach settling before suddenly, his touch disappeared and reappeared with a sharp, jolting sting.

A yelp came spurting out your lips, a chuckling emanating from Doyoung as again, his touch left and smacked back down. You mewled helplessly, another slap.

‘Count for me, okay kitten, five more.’ He said softly, swaying his hand over your red, hot skin before once more, lifting it and slapping it back down. A gasp escaped your throat.

‘One.’

Doyoung chuckled again, forcing down a particularly devilish spank.

‘Two.’

Your ass burnt painfully, the side that Doyoung had been slapping beginning to feel bruised and swollen. It was beautiful, and as another hit pummelled down upon you, a wave of pleasure rippled through you.

‘Three.’

Another.

‘Four.’

Doyoung soothed over your skin one more time as he lifted his hand and brought it down mercilessly. You yelped once more, feeling the other side burn just as the first. A small tear spat from your eye, trickling down your cheek and dripping onto the couch below.

‘Five.’ You croaked.

You lay down for a moment, air aggressively attacking your bruised ass as Doyoung removed his hand and placed into on the back of your thigh. He gently stroked the skin, giving you a few moments to catch your breath and recuperate.

Doyoung held onto your upper arm, pulling you up to kneel beside him. A finger coming up to swipe away a stray tear.

‘Do you wanna stop? We can?’ He enquired softly; eyes tender as his hand careened your jaw.

‘Fuck no.’ You said, leaping over once more to sit back in Doyoung’s lap, legs either side of his and lips reaching forward to kiss the man beneath you. With mouths collided, you wrangled your arms around Doyoung’s shoulders, his tongue darting between your lips and exploring your mouth. Instinctively, you began playing with the hair on the back of his neck, pulling slightly so Doyoung tilted his head back. You took advantage of the position, dragging your lips down to kiss and nibble at his slender neck. Doyoung groaned, his hands wandering to the underwear that still sat at your thighs, pulling them lower until they could no longer move. You felt the material dig into your flesh, stuck in their current position. While you wanted your bare heat to sit against Doyoung, you dreaded the idea of moving. He tugged again, helpless.

‘Rip them, rip them please, please.’ You begged, merely wanting to feel him beneath you, desperate for any pressure or friction against your heat.

‘Sure?’

‘Do it.’

Doyoung wrapped his fingers around one side of the fragile, lacy material and heaved it apart. The sound of ripping filled the room as Doyoung groaned, moving the material away as finally, he had access to your core. You felt the bulge in his jeans harden once more, pressed tight to the wetness that was pooling from within you. It burnt to be so close but separated by the already unzipped jeans. Doyoung held your hips, pushing you down to tease. A whimper fell from your lips.

‘Aw, is my kitten desperate? What does she want?’

‘You, please, I want you.’ You mumbled, unable to speak properly from sheer desperation.

‘Want me? To do what?’

‘I want you to fuck me! Please, fuck me!’ You almost screamed helplessly, Doyoung merely grinning, proud he had made you so desperate.

With his hands on your hips, Doyoung pushed you backwards further down his thighs. Giving him enough room to pull his jeans below his waist, allowing his hard member to spring gently from the material. It clung, pressed between his groin and your heat, that had, by now, created a wet patch on Doyoung’s trousers. You pushed upward, kneeling as you moved back up the thighs below you. Doyoung held your waist with one hand and with the other, moved his member to the entrance of your core. He was moving slow, but you wanted him, wanted him buried within you. And so, you pushed downward, feeling as you sunk onto Doyoung and he disappeared within you.

Doyoung let out a moan as you whimpered. The feeling of him inside you, putting pressure against you was intoxicating, so intoxicating that you could not move for a moment. As you began moving, slowly up and down Doyoung’s length, every inch of him burnt against every inch of you. The man below held desperately onto your hips, pulling you up and down to take complete control of the pace. The rhythmic tempo made a coil of pleasure begin to spin in your stomach, the grip upon you tight and almost painful. Another whimper fell from your lips as Doyoung let his head tilt back in pleasure. You shook, placing your hands upon his shoulders for stability, body nearly slumping against him.

His fingers began to trail up your body, tracing the pink, sheer lace that covered your breasts, swirling past and up your throat. His journey stopped, fingers halting and spreading up against your skin as he grappled the chain that attached to the collar. You let a loud moan explode into the atmosphere as you lifted yourself up and down Doyoung’s member, the pleasure in your loin beginning to burn. Low growls fell from Doyoung’s mouth, filling your ears like music as his grip upon you, both on your waist and collar, tightened. Air tightly passed through your windpipe, head spinning as you arched yourself quicker upon Doyoung. He growled loudly, his face scrunching up in pleasure as you felt him release inside of you, the warm liquid applying even more pressure inside your heat. The hot, wet feeling made you complete, and you felt yourself tighten and spasm on his member.

A last, prolonged mewl fell from your lips as you ceased your movements, still sat upon Doyoung’s member. His tempered sighs filled the room, grip on your collar loosening and hand falling back to your waist. You fell into Doyoung. Chests pressed together as sweat mixed like a cocktail of pleasure and sleepiness. Doyoung wrapped his arms around your waist, holding you close, your cheek pressed flush against the crook of his neck. While holding you, Doyoung lifted slightly, giving him enough room to remove himself from your heat. A stifled moan fell from both of you, heat swelling around the room. You sighed, sleepy upon your equally tired boyfriend.

‘That was nice.’ You whimpered in a hushed tone.

‘It was, wasn’t it?’ Doyoung agreed, your head tilting upward to stare into his big, doe eyes. ‘C’mon kitten, let’s go and get you cleaned up and in bed.’ He soothed, fingers weaving through your hair as you purred once more against his chest. Nuzzling into him as your ears nudged his chin.

[sailorshadzter]

a stranger’s eyes that somehow look familiar. chapter 4.

The Vale is utterly transformed.

Halls gleam with light- hanging lanterns are strung up through every corridor, blazing silver and gold from the high ceilings. It would seem that Baelish and Lord Manderly spared no expense for this wedding. There are people everywhere, guests upon guests in clusters around the main floor of the palace and from the great hall comes music played upon the harps and strings.

She stands at the top of the stairs, waiting for Lord Baelish to appear, for it is only appropriate for her to walk into the hall on the arm of her father. He's there a few moments later, coming from the eastern staircase, approaching her with a smile. "You look beautiful, the gown is most becoming." His stare is not only for her face and she colors, enduring his stare as she always has. It leaves her with a sick feeling in her stomach, but she only smiles her thanks for his compliments, taking his arm when he offers it. "If you were truly peasant born, you could make a fortune from your dress making." This is perhaps the first compliment he's given her that does not leave a foul taste in her mouth and she smiles again, thanking him for the fabric he had provided her with to make it at all.

For the wedding feast, she had chosen to use the yellow silk, pulling together a gown she was truly proud of. The skirts were long, bustled in the back at her waist, a fashionable trend she had gathered from her time in the South. She had embroidered a white floral pattern along the gown's long, sweeping sleeves, doing the same along the trailing hem of the skirts. The bodice fit snugly, the cut not nearly as deep as Margaery might have worn, but deeper than any of her other gowns might have had. Her hair was a pulled back into a coil of curls, pinned into place with jeweled pins she had brought with her from King's Landing. Around her neck hangs a simple gold pendant, something her mother had given to her many years ago. "I still wonder what your plan is," she says, rather than respond to his previous comments. The look Baelish shoots her is one of surprise, a brow raised. "With the Manderly girl, I mean. This wedding was made in such haste. Surely, there is motive behind your arranging this whole thing."

continue on ao3

or keep reading below :)

Once again, he's struck by her understanding.

"She is quite the wealthy heiress," he says by way of explanation, but from the look she gives him, Baelish can tell she hasn't accepted that answer. He should have known she wouldn't. "And her father, though young enough, surely will have no sons follow him." He goes on, patting her arm tenderly as if they are sharing a sweet moment between father and daughter, their quietly spoken words unheard by those around them. They both know how to play this game.

"So it is power in White Harbor you're after," she replies with a slight shrug, eyes staring ahead as they make their way down the hall, passing by dozens of guests who smile and nod as they go by. When Lord Manderly dies, power will pass to his oldest daughter who has only just hours ago married Robin. Together, they will have a claim over quite an expanse of territory, and considering young Robin's mental capacity... It means Baelish will have true control. "You should watch your step," she speaks quietly as they approach the doors that will lead them into the main hall. Baelish cannot help but to smirk at her warning, though she's not wrong to give it; but he knows the risks, he knows them well.

He does not reply as they step through the doorway and into the hall, it is not a conversation to be had among so many people. Instead, he watches as she transforms into someone else entirely, her smile bright as she allows him to lead her up to the head table, where Robin and his Manderly bride already sit in the spots of honor at the center.

From where he stands in the back of the room, Jon watches her come in, a radiant dream in yellow silk. She's smiling, her cheeks fulls of color as she sinks into the chair beside the young bride, pouring the pale faced girl a goblet of spiced wine. Her dark hair is twisted back in the most elegant of ways and the pendant at her throat catches the light as she moves. He's mesmerized by the sight of her and it isn't until he overhears hushed whispers to his side that his trance is broken.

"... Quite like the Tully's, wouldn't you say?"

It's two men, well dressed lords from various houses, tucked into the corner near where Jon still stands. "Aye, there is a look of Lady Arryn," the second man agrees, casting a glance to where Alayne sits at the head table. "Though more like a young Cat Tully, you remember her as a girl, down in Riverrun, with hair so red it was like fire."

"If not for the hair, I would take her for a Tully bastard. You think she was Lysa's?" The first man says as the call for dinner comes, the pair making their way towards the tables so they might find their place to sit. Jon follows, his place just a little further down from where they sit, though he lingers as long as he dares, hoping to catch even just a moment more of their conversation. But he's ushered into his place by palace staff and so he must settle into his chair that's opposite of a man he knows to be called Royce. Alayne has yet to mention her mother to him so he wonders if she, like himself, does not know even just her mother's name. He looks up to where she sits and he realizes she's already looking his way; their eyes meet and she smiles, causing Jon's pulse to quicken it's pace. He thinks back to what the men had been saying, about her having the look of a Tully, known for having hair like golden fire and that's when it hits him... Her hair color. He had thought it strangely unfitting for her, though when he pictures her with auburn locks, it's perfect... He can see her with fire kissed hair and those big blue eyes, a combination of beauty that would bring any man to his knees. And more than anything else...

It's the girl from his dreams.

Red hair bathed in moonlight, blue eyes a reflection of the stars... It's all coming back to him, the memory of the dream, of a soft snow falling around them as they meet in the frozen gardens. I'm waiting, she had whispered to him this time, I know you'll come for me. A strange feeling is welling up within him, as if he knows things are going to change, as if fate is giving him an advantage of knowing that somehow, someway, things were never going to be the same again.

[ x x x ]

The music begins when the tables have been cleared away, leaving space for dancing.

From where she stands, she watches Robin and his bride awkwardly meet in the center of the room, to share a first dance together as the room around them erupts in cheers and claps. When they have begun, other couples begin to pair up and soon, the room is full of dancing and laughter, a true celebration in full swing.

To her surprise, it takes only a few moments for Jon to find her.

"My lady," he greets before she can speak, bowing to her as if were queen and he just a simple lord. "Dance with me, won't you?" He asks when he straightens his spine, his smile quick as he holds out her hand for him to take. Slipping her hand into his, she nods, allowing him to lead her out onto the floor, joining the other couples who dance around them.

"I didn't know the King of the Free Folk would know how to dance," she teases as they fall into perfect step, his grace surprising her. "But you do it well."

Jon grins as he swings her out and back in, unsurprised by his partner's nimble feet, rather he's more focused on the way her yellow gown clings to her lithe frame, wondering for the briefest of moments what it might look like on the floor of his chamber instead. "Thank you," he forces himself away from such thoughts, though there's something about the way she looks at him that tells Jon she might wonder the same thing. "Your dress is lovely, your father mentioned you're a talented dressmaker." It's her turn to grin as she twirls away and back again, yellow skirts swirling with her movements. When she's back in his arms, they both feel it, the warm spark of contact as his hand falls back into place at her waist, as their other hands meet, skin to skin. "Alayne..." Her name is a whisper on his lips, suddenly, he's quite forgotten that they're in a room full of people.

But she hasn't.

"Your grace..." She prompts softly and Jon jumps, returning to the present as the music slows, the dance ending as people around them erupt in cheers. "Thank you for the dance," she says before she dips him a curtsy and hurries off, well aware of both her beating heart and the intense heat of his gaze upon her retreating back.

From where he stands across the room, Lord Baelish watches, a grin toying with his lips.

[ x x x ]

He's drunk.

For the better part of three hours, he's done little else but drink. He watches her most of the night- he watches when Ramsay Bolton offers her a dance, his cold eyes hungry when they fall upon her. As if she's little more than a horse he's selecting for his stable. He watches as she dances with her father, with the young groom, with several other men throughout the night. She doesn't seek him out again, though their eyes meet throughout the evening. Every time her eyes catch his, Jon feels his heart skip a beat.

Now, he finds himself in his chambers, shed of his outer layers of clothes, left behind just his breeches and undershirt. The fire burns in his hearth, casting the room into a hazy glow; he knows he should sleep, but something compels him to remain where he was.

Knock, knock, knock.

It's a soft knock, perhaps somewhat hesitant, but it catches his attention all the same. At once, he springs across the room, somehow knowing who it is that stands at his door. It's her, it's Alayne, looking timid in her yellow gown. Her dark hair is free from its pins and braids, left long and loose down her back, enticing him where he stands, wishing to slide his hands into it, to feel the softness of the strands between his fingers. "I'm sorry, it's late but I..." She's wringing her hands, looking down at her feet as if she's embarrassed by being there at his door. But Jon shakes his head, stepping aside to allow her the space to step inside. When the door falls closed behind them, he leads her towards the hearth, where he had only just been standing. "I had to see you." She's thinking about what Baelish had told her that night, just after the feast, about the choosing of her husband. "I...-"

She's cut off by his kiss, slow and warm. It's a kiss that spreads warmth through her entire being. A kiss that weakens her knees, that steals the breath from her very lungs. "I've wanted to do that from the moment I met you," he whispers when he pulls his lips from hers, if only to catch his breath. Her lips curve with a smile; he can feel it. "It's like I've known you all my life," he goes on, a hand slides into her hair. It is as soft as he had thought it would be. "Like I've been waiting for you all my life." Alcohol gives him the courage to speak the truth of his heart.

"I feel it, too," she murmurs back, finger tips tracing the curve of his jaw, stubble rough against the soft skin of her hand. There's so many things she wants to tell him, so many things there on the tip of her tongue. But she kisses him instead, knowing if nothing else, she would have this one single night.

When Jon takes her by the hand and leads her towards his bed, she does not hesitate.

[ x x x ]

In the morning, she wakes just before the morning call.

Jon snores in the bed beside her, one of his arms still draped protectively over her hips. Smiling, she leans over him and presses a kiss against his temple, wishing with all of her heart that she could stay there with him forever. But fate has sent her in another direction now, one that will allow her to reclaim not just her home, but her family. And so she carefully, quietly, slides out from beneath his touch and shimmies back into her discarded yellow gown. She pauses for only a moment more, at the door, to turn back and cast him one last glance. Thinking back to their night together, she smiles and tip toes back towards the bed, pulling from around her neck the pendant she had been wearing, the one from her mother. It's a simple pendant- wrought in gold and set with a single gleaming stone, something her mother had given her the morning she left for King's Landing so long ago. She swallows and sets the pendant down on the table at his bedside, leaving it behind for him, hoping he might keep it and think of her, think of Alayne. And then she is gone, slipping into the darkened hall and disappearing around the corner.

Reaching her own rooms, she slips inside, naturally greeted by Shae.

"I was worried!" Her handmaiden admonishes, though her tone is harsh, her eyes are soft and thankful when they meet. Shae takes in the sight of her then; rumpled gown, half hanging from her, laces loose at her back. Hair wild, as if hands had been tangled in its length for most of the night. No, Shae isn't ignorant, she knows where her charge has been and she can't say that she blames her. "It was him, wasn't it? The King Beyond the Wall." When her young lady blushes, Shae smiles. "Did you tell him?" The young woman sobers and heaves a sigh, shaking her head.

"I couldn't," she admits, slipping past Shae towards the hearth, stepping out of the yellow gown and laying it across the back of the nearest chair. Shae has already brought her robe, helping her arms into the sleeves before she ties the sash at her waist, though she's told her dozens of times she need not dress her as she used to in King's Landing. Anytime she brought it up, Shae would just smile and nod, but would appear again to help her dress and was, without a single doubt, the only person she knew she could fully trust in the world. "Besides, it's not as if I'll see him again... Not once I'm back at Winterfell, that is."

Though everything in her screamed that this was a mistake, she's going to marry Ramsay Bolton in less than a fortnight. She would return home, back to Winterfell, back to her little brothers that the Bolton's hold in their keep. Ramsay and his father promised to help her find Arya as well and that Winterfell would still be hers, always hers. Though she knew not if she could trust them on any of their promises, she has try, she has to find her family again. And so she agreed to the marriage and on this very day, her real name would be revealed to the world.

"I must wash," she says, turning back to face Shae; finally she would wash Alayne Stone away.

[ x x x ]

When Jon wakes, he finds himself alone.

Not that he blames her for leaving without waking him- he knows there was danger in what they did the night before for her. In his world among the Free Folk, there was no distaste for casual relationships as there was in Westeros, especially among the nobility. If she had been found in his bed by anyone... It would have been a scandal. And so, her being gone before the morning call doesn't really surprise him.

Slipping from the bed, he means to reach for his discarded breeches, but realizes only then that there is something on his bedside table that wasn't there before. Reaching for it, he realizes it was the pendant necklace Alayne had been wearing the night before. Something odd strikes him about that realization, so he hangs it around his own neck, tucking it carefully beneath his shirt, intent on returning it to her later that day.

Jon dresses then and leaves his rooms, heading down towards the great hall where the morning meal would begin in just a few minutes. The room is as full as always, though Jon notices the tell tale signs of men who had drank far too much the night before. At the head table, Jon notices Lord Baelish sits, the chair beside him empty, indicating that Alayne had not yet arrived downstairs for the meal. As the last of the guests trickle in from the hall, Baelish stands up, that sick grin on his face once more. "Thank you, my lords, my ladies, for joining us again this morning." He stares out at the many faces, catching eyes with Lord Bolton for a moment before he continues on. "I have something of an announcement to make to you all, the great families of the North that sit here in my hall." A murmur ripples along the room and Baelish waits until silence falls again to continue speaking. "It was not that long ago that our liege lord Ned Stark was taken so violently from us." Another ripple and Jon knows at once who Lord Baelish speaks of, the old Warden of the North, Ned Stark had been executed by Cersei and Joffrey Lannister, the rest of his family dead or disappeared. "The roots of his family... His beloved children... All dead or assumed so..." Baelish says and Jon can see the sadness on many faces in the room. "Until now." Dark eyes dart across the room, reading the faces, knowing this was going exactly how he had hoped it with. "Sansa Stark is alive." Outright shouts erupt now, shocked cries from many in the room as this news settles upon them. Jon has heard that name mentioned before, even just during his stay in the Vale. Sansa Stark had been the oldest daughter of Ned Stark who disappeared after Joffrey's death, supposedly she was even the murderer. "I brought her from King's Landing the day Joffrey Lannister was poisoned and I have hid her here, among you, all this time." He turns back and knocks on the door behind him, alerting whoever is on the other side.

A collective gasp goes up as the opens and a young woman steps out.

Jon knows her, without a doubt, he knows it's her. She comes to stand beside Baelish, her long red hair a stark contrast to the black gown she wears, a nervous smile on her rosy lips. Even from where he sits in the crowd, Jon knows that it's the maiden from his dreams, the one he's known for his whole life. And what's more than that... She's Alayne. All this time, she's been right there under his nose, he'd just been too thick to see it. His heart hammers hard in his chest and beneath the table, a hand curls into a fist. Something inside of him already knows he won't like whatever comes next.

"Lady Stark is to return home," Baelish is grinning once more, turning to face someone among those who look up at him. "She has agreed to marry the son of our new Warden in the North, Roose Bolton." Some in the room clap and cheer for the man as he rises up to his feet to acknowledge their praise, though Jon notices there are many dark faces at the mention of this Roose Bolton. "Ramsay, if you would." The man rises up, acknowledging not the crowd, but Sansa where she stands, by approaching the table and reaching for her hand, leaning over to kiss it as a courtier might. Though she smiles, Jon can see it does not reach her eyes, and something cold twists in his heart. Reaching for his goblet of ale, Baelish holds it into the air and smiles. "A toast, to our future Warden in the North and his bride."

As the crowd cheers, Sansa finds Jon's eyes; she hopes he forgives her for this. She had used him, mostly for her own selfish desires, to know what it would be like to be loved by a man that loved her and not her name nor her title. For just one night of her life, she wanted to be loved for her and nothing else. Truth be told, she found herself to be falling in love with the King Beyond the Wall, but it didn't matter now. This was her new path, whether she wanted it to be or not. This was so she could go home, this was so she could see Bran and Rickon. Nothing mattered more than them.

Not even her own happiness.

[brideylee]

Anti- Fan Fiction: James Woods and Robert Blake at Dan Tana’s

           The air inside is hot, full of dust, and too many rotting mouths had ordered the lasagna. James Woods sits in his corner booth at Dan Tana’s in the main room with his eyes on the bar full of shouting men in suits. Some are West Hollywood slick fratties  and others more smelly and introspective in itchy tweed from the land of 70s character actor city. Squeezed in between these men taking up more space than needed with either their narcissistic sadness or their loud, cologned  bravado are some young women desperately trying to enjoy a martini at the historic restaurant, but instead are resigned to hear a bald someones life story and feeling many passing hands needlessly touch their bare backs as men hover and spill around them.

          Woods watches disgustedly, he watches everything disgustedly: babies being born, the sunrise, an elderly woman saying “Hello, Deary”. It all makes him sick. His belly protrudes forward as he holds back a sudden burp and he releases some air through his famously skeezy lips as though exhaling cigarette smoke. He is repulsively sexy in his stony confidence. He checks his watch and decides to complain about something. Dead eyed with his arm stretched out, he points at a maitre de who is pushing 90 and is only meant to be looked at by tourists as a part of the ambiance. The command of Woods pointing hypnotizes the ancient man and he walks over in submission thinking this could hopefully be death itself beckoning him home. 

            Woods gives him his iconic half smile, where one side of his mouth stays in place while the other curls up his cheek as though being lifted by a fish hook, his head tips forward and his round dark eyes look up at him like an alcoholic father who “doesn’t want to have to discipline.” “Hey sarge, the bread is a little chewy, mind popping it in the microwave or something. I could break my teeth on it. And heat the butter up. It’s fresh, its just not soft.” Woods gets bored with himself half way through his criticism and winks at a woman at the bar whose glance regrettably fell on him. The maitre de with no capacity left to hear, nods and takes the bread away, disappointed to still be breathing. 

Woods spots Tim Allen alone in a four person booth holding up a plate to his face, licking it feverishly. They lock eyes and give each other big, knowing smirks, like two people who both know where the body is.  Allen gleefully goes back to lapping up the rest of the marinara, grease all over his chin, his napkin bib coming into good use. “Funniest man in America” Woods thinks to himself before being distracted by some plastic cleavage walking by.

           Suddenly, the air in the restaurant cools as the door wafts open and a small shadowy figure enters with the silhouette of a miniature cowboy.  “Finally.” James Woods says as Robert Blake plops down across from him “Are we angry?” Blake says defiantly with his headed tilted back, his lids hanging low and heavy across his beetle eyes. “There is this thing called time, Robert. I’ve been waiting here an hour.” Blake laughs with a childish grin crossing his face, and somehow in the smooth red lighting of Tana's, he looks twenty years younger, though still disturbingly gaunt, and getting more pale by the minute like a man whose only sustenance is the unease he inspires. He’s wearing a black velvet cowboy hat that looks too big for him, making him along with his small stature appear like an elderly child. “Time!” Blake regales with impish laughter as though hearing an old joke he hasn’t heard out loud in years. Woods stews, his eye twitches and he chews on the inside of his mouth.  Blake’s laugher continues, even Tim Allen interrupts his slurping to peak at where this sinister chortling is coming from. 

              After a few minutes, Blake calms down and stares at Woods lovingly. “You were always funnier than me, Woods. Never give that up, you can fall back on it.” Blake was full of these little jabs, always insinuating that Woods acting career never amounted to anything. Rehearsing a hurtful father son dynamic was one of the only ways these men could show their love. “How’s the old lady?” Blake is referring to Woods’ twenty-two year old girlfriend. “Driving me nuts,” says Woods gazing off, then he leans in towards Robert. “In all the right ways.” He winks at Robert. “Pet a pussy cat on the head too much, and they go bald.” Blake warns. Woods blinks, confused. He had a love-hate relationship with Blakes morsels of wisdom. On one hand it’s why he enjoyed his company so much, on the other hand, Blake had a way of making him question everything, particularly Blake’s sanity.  Woods decides to change the subject. 

“Some shrimp cocktail I ordered us an hour ago. They might be too dead to eat.” He slides an ornate glass rimmed with withered shrimp in front of Blake. All the ice inside the glass is melted and the shrimp look like they know how pathetic their fate is. Blake knocks all the shrimp off the edge of the glass towards the center and gulps them down like he’s taking a shot of vodka before going bear hunting. 

“So, what do you make of this 'Covid 19'” Woods puts Covid 19 in air quotes and his head bobbles with cocky indifference. “It’ll go away.” Blake states between sips of the shrimp water. “Everything goes away, James.” Blake studies the menu. “Not quite Vitello's…” James didn’t want to get into a Dan Tana's versus Vitellos fight tonight. For one, Blake hadn’t been there in decades since he took his wife there before having her killed and more than that Blake was just biased because Dan Tana's never named a pasta after him. Woods lets it slide, he understands the irrelevancy Blake feels to the modern world and the pain of being pushed farther and father back inside Hollywoods skeleton closet. 

         Yet, although Woods sees Blake as an oracle, his secret virus fears remain. There is a social distancing trend hyped in the media and a possible impending lock down for Los Angeles; a city full of the most insecure egos on the planet. A city that needed to love, use, and discard people so regularly that the notion of a lockdown seemed to go against its code of conduct. Furthermore,  Woods cant stand being in his house with his girlfriend for more than three hours, two if there was no oral sex involved, but even worse is the idea of being alone.

His anxiety is spiking as Blake with half glasses on seemed completely engrossed in the menu, ignoring him just like his old man. Woods dips into the pocket of his blazer and dabs his pinkie into a tiny bag of coke, neatly putting it away and rubbing the gums of his front teeth expertly discreet. Blake raises his eye brows. “They’ve got a chicken named after Sidney Beckerman. Did you know him?” Woods shakes his head, and gestures to a waiter to bring more water with an agro snottiness only he could pull off. “He produced Kelly’s Heroes. Good guy, but I never liked him.” Blake starts singing “Que Sera Sera” by Doris Day under his breath, while perusing the menu like it’s a gun catalogue.

Woods patience runs out, he blows a  long grey hair out of his eyes and grabs the menu from Blake. He smacks a passing waiter on the back with the menu. “We’re  gonna split a plain cheese pizza with a side of spaghetti, and two Roy Rogers. And lots of grenadine for this one right here.” Blake smiles like a school boy brat, pleased.

            “So listen, have you been following it at all?” “Following what?” Blake says with a gentle, Warhol deadpan. “The virus horse shit… Robert, they’re saying that we all need to go into isolation. That it’s airborne.” Blake whips the red napkin into his lap. “Get a hold of yourself. Will you? Fear is airborne. Do you know how many motherfuckers, here, still believe in Lincoln?” Blakes shifts were dramatic. Sometimes, he felt like you were talking to a screwy relative of Yoda and other times he had the grit of a  dried up cowboy that had made love with Joe Pesci. 

“FUCK YOU! NO!” The volume of Tim Allen shouting into his Motorolla razor silenced the place for a good twenty-seconds.  “500 million dollars in CASH or you can take your Santa Clause 6 and…make Santa Clause piss!!” The manager started a clap to diffuse any tension. After a smattering of applause, the place went back to normal. “Can I get a big brownie?” Tim Allen screams towards the kitchen like a kid at his grandparents house.

         Their Roy Rogers are placed on the table. Woods is sweating as the coke is hitting, and he can feel his phone vibrate with texts from his often pilled out girlfriend. Texts like “Can you remind me where the refrigerator is?”

  Blake raises his glass, admiring the red flesh of the maraschino cherry and the slow dance of the grenadine syrup descending towards the bottom, surrendering to him like a wounded lover. “Cheers! May we remember to lock the doors and make the baby swallow the key.” They clink glasses. Blake does a long exaggerated gasp of refreshment, his tongue  wagging out of his mouth for a long time. 

            “Woods, what do you think it was that got in the way of your success?” Triggered and high, Woods replies, coke speed with spit collecting at the corners of his mouth.  “Well, I think it was a lot of things. Particularly, that I am a man who values his freedom of speech and I don’t like my rights trampled on by so called “progressives” and  you know I thought I was pretty good in Ray Donovan, but I really wasn’t given much of a script, but, ah, fuck.” He wipes his forehead and collects himself. “Blake. I have a serious question.” They stare at each other. Blake has a gravelly distance between his soul and his eyes, but something in Woods reaches him. Their cheese pizza and spaghetti ruptures the eye contact, but Woods can’t give up.

“Say there is a lock down, and this virus is serious. I can’t be alone with the kiddo for that long, you know what I mean? I need a friend. Someone I can pal around with. Someone that gets it. Man to man. Blake, do you think we can live together? Either at the Ranch in Burbank or my place, wherever you feel the most like you can be you.” Woods heart is racing, this is the most vulnerable he’s felt since since the scene in The Virgin Suicides after his daughters die. 

         Blake stares at him coldly and takes a bite of pizza. “This virus frightens you.” Woods frustratedly digs into the pizza, his heart; a little more vacant, and confused. “Don’t worry.” Blake reaches into his pocket and takes out a vile of clear liquid and places it next to the spaghetti. “I got a cure for that.” Woods examines it. “Is this-“ “A vaccine” Blake says satisfied. “One sip and everything goes away.” 

       “CHANGE OF PANTS? PLEASE, CAN I GET A CHANGE OF PANTS” Tim Allen roars with a lap full of chocolate brownie. His face and khaki pants are covered in chocolate.  But Woods stays transfixed on the vile. “Where the hell did you?…” “We had to make vaccines during breaks on Little Rascals. Bastards always put us to work any way they could. Learned a thing or two though and this one is special… everything goes away. “Have you used it?” Woods asks, his head cocked to the side, watching the liquid float like the clear lip gloss his girlfriend….Kelly? Katy? wears.  “Used it plenty of times. Plenty of times.” Says Blake with the resigned faith of a Southern preacher.

          “Well, even so, if there’s a lock down, can I bunk with you? Forgive me, you’re single now, right?” “I’m dating,  but nothing to write home about," the eighty-six year old answers. Woods looks up from the vile, expectantly. “Listen, kid. My space is sacred. It’s between me and God. I don’t know if you think I can get you a bit part in something or…” “No, I just would like your company that’s all.” Woods assures him. “A man who can’t sleep alone, sleeps while awake. Take the vaccine. You’ll be free.” Woods leans back. Blake  always cuts him open and leaves him smelling like the chicken broth that seemed to emanate from Blakes pores. But that’s often the medicine Woods needs. He uncorks the vile, holds it up dramatically,“Salud!”

            Allen is standing in his boxers by his booth with his arms crossed waiting for the waiters to bring him pants while Woods finishes the last drop. The blood red walls moist from poor insulation seem to pulse around Woods as Blake stares at him. “Hows it feel?” “Like…uh..like nothing. I mean… like it was water, a placebo?” Blake giggles shaking his head. 

           Pants-less Tim Allen walks over to their table. “Hey Robert! I haven’t seen you in ages!” They high five. “You know me, keepin’ busy back at home.” Allen turns to Woods, “How ya doing, bud?” and then turn backs to Blake. “You know you’d be perfect for the next Santa Clause movie. You haven’t been in any of them yet, right? “Not yet!” “Well, right on,Cowboy!” Allen and Blake high five again. Woods gets dizzy and starts blinking slowly trying to steady himself. Perhaps taking a vaccine manufactured by Robert Blake was not smart, he didn’t know for sure. He barely knew anything. “Woods, isn’t it time we scroll through our imdb pages?” Blake baits him with their tradition. Woods nods and types his name into his phone. “I love this game! Can I play?” Tim sits down. 

           Woods can’t focus his eyes very well, but he has typed his name into imdb four times and nothing is coming up. Tim Allen can’t help  himself “Ok, so this is a show I was on where I played like a handy man…” His mouth hangs open as he excitedly awaits  the men to guess what show. “Garfield.” answers Blake without sarcasm. “It’s not working….” Woods interrupts. “Whats with your friend?” Tim Allen asks annoyed. Blakes eyes don’t leave Woods who is squinting at his phone. “Ok, I’m a dad and a handyman…” “My credits are all gone.” James’s voice seems to morph an octave lower the walls seem to run into the leather booths and booths seem to melt  into the floors and drip into the basement where a drunk couple are fucking among cans of tomato sauce.

Woods psyche seeps further into the earths crust, mantle and then core where he watches his entire identity burned in the furnace of mother earths blazing kiln. Alone with himself. To Allen and Blake, his body sitting at the booth looks like a prosthetic suite empty of an actor inside. “The vaccine works.” Blake thinks to himself sipping his pink drink through a straw. Allen whips his head from Woods to Blake and in his classic broad Tim Allen way says “Uhh, am I missing something???”

[erintoknow]

this is nothing new

Spiraling - A Fallen Hero: Rebirth Fan-fiction

[Read here on AO3!]

Chapter: this is nothing new tw: death

[Same Old Blues]

You wake with a scream, tumbling off the couch, cracking your head against the edge of the coffee table with a ‘Thump!’ on your way down. Flashes of green before your eyes. Distantly aware of your heart pounding in your chest.

“Alex? Lord , Alex, are you okay?” The light flickers on as woman steps out of the bedroom, one hand shading her eyes as she winces against the light. Brushing back dirty blond hair, Chelsea tsks as she navigates the pile of clothes and library books that mark the corner of the apartment you’ve taken over.

Clutching your head, you pull yourself in. Try to make yourself as small as you can. Something… remembered something but what? It’s already gone. Doesn’t feel real, none of this does – already slipping out of your grasp, faster as you try to take hold. Why is Chelsea in Ortega’s apartment? Red and silver threads, something at your throat.

Hands find you and you strike out. Someone yells, “Ow!” the noise unheeded as panic renews; why did you do that? What are you thinking? You’re really in for it now – should know better. How many times do the same lessons need to be learned?

“Alex, Alex, it’s okay.” You tense, can feel the intention to touch incoming but it doesn’t – no hands come near you. “You’re safe. I promise you.” Notes of worry, directed towards – not you, can’t be you, has to be something else.

It’s a lie. One they love to tell. You’ll never be safe.

Have to… have to get out of here. Have to do something. Have to move. Get out. Escape. But there are hands, holding you down under white fluorescent lights, burning spots into your vision that cast of the crowd of onlookers in silhouette. Something is strapped over your head, while she looks down at you. Disappointment naked on her face, speaking with another woman’s voice. “Next time, I expect results forty-two.”

It’s the strobing flashes of red and blue that pull you out of it – a shot of adrenaline sets your hands shaking as you pull yourself out of the position you’d fallen into, laying half out of your bed.

You’re not back there , and you aren’t anywhere but here. Not Ortega’s, not Chelsea’s, not – not there. You’re in your own place. You have one of those now. An apartment. Remember?

Maybe not for long. Police lights? You clutch a hand to your aching head as you stretch out your awareness, take stock of the local minds, pick up the interlopers. Police. And… EMTs? Why? Dig deeper and your hands twist the bed sheet. Death. Someone’s dead. Footsteps in the hallway and nausea washes over you. It takes the sheer desperation of not wanting to spend a day cleaning out bedsheets, yet again , to tamper it down. Clothes stick to your skin in a cold sweat.

The apartment next door. On the left. Young man, lived with his girlfriend – her thoughts stand out, a barbed wire coil of grief. Was paying child support. Managed a convenience store. Didn’t smoke. Didn’t drink. Now he’s dead.

How? Why?

Try to press harder for the details only to immediately snap back. Shouldn’t have asked. Shouldn’t have wondered. You’ve never been good at learning that lesson, no matter how many times, you come to regret it.

Holding into the bedside table for balance, you push yourself up, vision briefly blacking out before filling back in as you stand. Give yourself a moment to adjust. To think.

The door. Check the door.

Navigating the gloom you step around the traps and check the door lock, the chain, bolt, and bar. Everything is in place. You’re still safe. Moving to the window you check that next. Shatter-resistant glass, threaded with a steel wire reinforcement. Not much for looking, but no one’s getting through it any time soon. Not without making a lot of noise.

You brush your mind against the police again. No thoughts to you. Or your apartment.

You’re not in any immediate danger.

Stomach prods you with pangs of pain. What time is it? Too early to be awake. It’s – it’s absurd, right? To think it’s your fault. His death. You weren’t even awake to do anything .

Wait–

Shit!

Jane! You were Jane and you were doing something – what? What were you doing?

“Are you sure you are alright to be out today, mon amie?” Dr. Mortum eyes Jane worriedly from the other end of the booth, fiddling with the glass of sherry in her hands. New glasses? The gold of her frames stands out against the dark tone of her skin.

“Doc, please.” Jane sighs, slumping back in her chair. No fancy looks today. Whatever is going on between Jane and Dr. Mortum now, that particular game is over. Your puppet, your mirror image, is wearing slacks and a cardigan. Plain and unfashionable. But you don’t need her to perform today. Not like that. Faded bruises still peeking out from under her shirt collar. Memory of stiffness. “It’s been weeks, I’ll be fine.”

“If you say so.” The good doctor takes a sip of her drink, one hand on the table between them. Her expression grows darker, and Jane leans in too. Nerves on edge. “So it looks like your employer made quite the splash.”

“All thanks to your hard work.”

Mortum’s expression only darkens. Her eyes darting towards the side, down at Jane’s wrist. Eyes tracing something. Jane shifts her hand away, under the table. “I suppose there is a truth to that.” She sighs, looks up again to catch Jane’s eyes. “Have you… thought any more, about what I said?”

Oh. This again. Dr. Mortum’s always been happy to just take the money without questions before. Where is this sudden attack of conscience coming from?

“I can handle myself.” Jane’s smile gains an edge. “As I’m sure you remember.”

Mortum’s smile is polite, but her eyes betray amusement. “In vivid technicolor, mon amie.”

“Hah.” Jane snickers, “Don’t be such a nerd.”

Mortum keeps smiling. “Ah, but you recognized the reference. So who is the bigger nerd here?”

“Smart-ass.”

Can’t remember past that. But you just woke up so… you fell asleep, clearly. Did you fall asleep as Jane? Biting your lip you force yourself to lay down in bed, sheets still hanging half off. Close your eyes. Have to make sure you didn’t do anything stupid.

Finding Jane is getting easier and easier these days. Like there’s a cord strung between you – follow the thread and you’ll find her at the end of it.

Sink in, and it’s always touch that comes first, after that everything else fills from the outside in. As if you’re water pouring into an empty vessel. Jane sits up, blinking with bleary eyes. Only the briefest sense of vertigo before her stomach settles.

The dull soreness of healing bruises floats into awareness. It’s dark, with warm fabric drawn over her lower body… She’s home at her apartment. Safe. Everything’s fine. You worried for nothing. Jane glances at the alarm clock. 4 AM. Now that the possibility of danger is brushed aside, you’re free to be frustrated at this whole situation.

Nothing for it now. You’re not going back to sleep if you can help it. Jane’s hand finds her cellphone, checking for any messages. Nothing new; just her last exchange with Ortega, asking about when they can meet up again.

Just thinking about it is enough to make Jane smile, a lightness in her chest, even as it leaves a bitter sting in your heart. Jane is dating Ortega. Not you. That’s the way things have to be. It’s for the best. For everyone.

Ortega…

She hasn’t even been released from the hospital yet and already she’s raring to get back into the thick of things. The fool idiot never knows when to slow down. Or when to quit. She’s taking the Ranger’s defeat at your debut more personally than you had anticipated.

Honestly, you went into that night fully expecting Ortega to kill you, instead she just… slowed you down at best. A wave breaking itself against a boulder, shattering to pieces. She’s losing her touch in her middle age. She’s only to get herself hurt even worse next time. Maybe you can get Jane to talk some sense into her? Just… at least slow down for a little bit? Take better care of herself.

Somehow has to do it.

It sure isn’t going to be you.

Can still see it in your head… standing in the floodlights, a bruised and bleeding Ortega laying prone below you…

Fuck.

fucking hell

piss

Jane staggers, fighting down the wave of revulsion, swallows the bile in the back of her throat. Shit. She’s usually better insulated from your attacks then that.

Well… don’t think you’re getting back to bed any time soon. If you’re going to be up this early you might as well do something productive with all that time.

“So now, I’m the one stuck sorting out this mess.” Spinning stories about how terrible your villain alter ego is as a boss has fast become your favorite way to bond with people as Jane. There’s something liberating in being able to just go to town on her and have people actually nod in agreement.

Jane sighs, staring down at the water bottle in her hand, sloshing the contents in a slow circle. “Honestly, it’s not my fault the last deal fell through like that.” She tugs at her jacket. Should enjoy the chill while you can. Once the sun’s up, the summer heat will be back in full force.

Jane’s companion, a latina woman who has clearly never skipped leg or arm day, takes a long drag from her cigarette, her back to Jane, against the tree. The two of them have stepped off the park path for privacy.

Honestly didn’t expect Rosie to answer Jane’s call. There’s been less and less time to be able to shoot the shit with her lately. A trend you expect to continue.

Even now Jane is technically doing business. Managing your villain career, building loyalty. But Rosie has been Jane’s oldest friend – or as close to it as she can have, and you’re finding it harder for Jane to let go of her than you’d expected.

“Sounds like a capital-class serving of BS to me, yeah.” Rosie stares off into the open field, chewing on thoughts your puppet isn’t privy to. “You tried looking into some of those old buildings up in the industrial park?”

Jane blinks, staring up at the tree branches above them both. “The… industrial park, huh. Hrm.”

“Yeah, like, I know you’re hoping to get somewhere more, like, central and shit, but there’s a lot of places that cleared out when the smog started getting bad. Bet you two-to-one you can find somewhere real cheap up that way.” She goes quiet then suddenly breaks into laughter. “And hey! That boss of yours is so paranoid anyway, right? Should be happy he gets somewhere no one in their right mind is going to go.”

Jane doesn’t respond right away. It could work. A cheaper asking price means more money free to invest back into gadgets, supplies, bribes. “Yeah, okay.” Jane “I’ll give it a look around. Thanks for the tip.”

Rosie winks, thumbs up. “Hey Janey, what are friends for?”

Jane finds herself returning the thumbs up. “Nothing legal, apparently.” That gets the barking laugh you were hoping for. Rosie slaps her leg. Jane clears her throat, gives Rosie a chance to compose herself. “Speaking of friends… You ready for another job yet?”

“You know me, I can always use more sin money.” She shuffles out another cigarette from her pack, eyes shifting between Jane and the lighter. “So… suppose I am. What'd ya got?”

Jane smiles. “I think you’ll find this one interesting.”

[charmingcentry]

Lie Detector

Entry for Day 3 - 20 Questions

AO3

-

It was a trend spreading across the internet, famous celebrities are taking lie detector tests and this certainly caught Chloe’s attention.

Maybe it’s because of her new life in LA with roommate bedmate Beca Mitchell, a multi-Grammy award-winning musician and herself, a high school teacher for music theory. Surely those professions aren’t exactly on the same ranking but, it couldn’t hurt to take that lie detector test, Chloe is just fairly curious. Sometimes her curiosity breaks through people’s limits.

Taking the lie detector test was an idea suggested by her seniors, nosy ones as a matter of fact - they Facebook stalked Chloe’s college years for goodness sake. When the news spread within the redhead’s music theory classroom that she personally knew Beca Mitchell and that their teacher roomed with her, Instagram stalking came next, Chloe couldn’t do anything to can her student’s loudmouths.

“How did you two meet?”

“Did she always wanted to be a musician?”

“Is that acapella group still running?”

“Are you two in love or dating?”

“Is she always busy?”

Wait, go back.

“Are you two in love or dating?”

It was a question frequently asked by Chloe’s friends, her relatives, and even her colleagues. The redhead would always have to answer dejectedly, no; they are not dating. They do the activities that people in a relationship do, other than the sex and mouth-on-mouth kissing, but they weren’t dating. Yet, there is one part of that question Chloe is quick to respond too. She is in love with Beca Mitchell and she can’t deny any part of it.

Maybe it’s because of how blunt and straightforward the brunette is or how compassionate Beca is. Her maturity level and the brunette’s witty sense of humor is what infatuated the redhead… the little bit of cleavage when the two first met also attracted Chloe. It has been over seven years since the redhead first fell for Beca, and she probably can never get over her. -

Beca’s home, for now, taking a small hiatus from her music career after arriving home from a five-month-long tour. Chloe took Beca’s break as a chance to not only spend more time with her best friend but to take that lie detector test.

Let’s just say after a classroom full of 17 and 18-year-olds pleading for their teacher to take the test with her roommate, Chloe finally gave in.

“So Beca…” The brunette perks her head up, shoveling chocolate ice cream into her mouth, Chloe laughs at the little ice cream trickling out of the corner of her mouth. “Jeez… anyway, my students have been… inquiring some sort of, offer that you may or may not be interested in doing.” The redhead utters, wiping off the ice cream with a napkin

Beca raises an eyebrow. “That’s a weird way to put it… what is it?”

“So uh, you know those lie detector test things?” Beca nods once, stealing a spoonful of Chloe’s strawberry ice cream. “Hey!” Chloe swats Beca’s hand with her own spoon, the brunette managing to steal a spoonful, sticking her tongue out playfully. “Anyway… do you maybe like, wanna take one of those? Just for fun or something.”

“Your idea of fun is being hooked up to a machine?” Beca teases, waggling her spoon around. She immediately notices her friend’s dejected face. “Hey hey, I’m kidding, I’m kidding.” She reaches to touch Chloe’s hand. “Actually sounds pretty sweet, I’m down.”

The redhead lights up, a Cheshire Cat-like grin spreading across her face. “Awes!”

A similar smile slips onto Beca’s face, a blush spreading as well. “Yeah, awes.” Chloe scoops her spoon into Beca’s cup. “Aw come on!”

“It’s payback babe.” Chloe winks, causing the brunette to immediately shut up

“Oh, whatever… where’s are we doing that… lie detector thing?” Beca asks, finishing off her ice cream

“I asked Aubrey if she knows anyone and her cousin's wife actually does those tests (“Wait were you already planning this?”). We can do it for free it’ll be fun!” Beca nods along with Chloe’s statement. “We also get to see Aubrey~ she’ll be tagging along.”

“Yay the dictator is going see me sweating my ass off,” Beca remarks sarcastically, throwing her cup in a trash can behind her.

“Oh please, as long as you answer the questions properly you’ll be fine. And Aubrey won’t be asking anything, just watching.” Beca lets out a monotone cheer. “I know you love her.”

“I do, she just… scares me.” Chloe drops her jaw. “Tell her I swear to god Beale I’ll still tell people you sleep with a nightlight.”

“Touche… anyway come on, let’s go before paparazzi ruin our hangout.” Chloe adds as she walks out the door, Beca still inside the ice cream shop.

“Yeah… hangout.”

The brunette follows Chloe down the street as they make their way to a nearby shopping mall to look for a wedding gift for Amy - she and Bumper somehow reconnected and got back together and are now marrying. Beca feels Chloe’s arm link around hers and finds herself more enlightened when making physical contact with her friend.

“Better tell the truth when the day comes Bec.” Chloe teases as the two strolls into a jewelry store. Beca rolls her eyes.

“Same thing for you Chlo… same thing for you.”

--

“Beca come on we don’t want to be late! Aubrey is already downstairs waiting.” Chloe yells, tapping her foot impatiently. She hears a thud come from the bedroom she shares with Beca and hears footsteps rapidly sprinting down the hall. She arrives at the door, breathing heavily as she stores a paper in her back pocket. “What is that?”

The brunette pushes Chloe out the door slightly and locks their apartment unit. “Questions I’ll be asking you. I thought I lost it.” The redhead slowly peers over Beca’s shoulder and the brunette begins to speed walk. “Nuh-uh Beale, gotta wait!”

Chloe lets out a frustrated groan as she puts her own list of questions into her purse. She calls the elevator to go downstairs to the condo building’s main lobby, Aubrey has been waiting for the two of them for about half an hour. The minute the elevator lands, the redhead squeals of excitement when she notices her blonde friend sitting on one of the chairs in front of the desk. The two share a tight embrace, swaying back and forth dramatically while a smile washes over Beca’s face. Aubrey notices the shorter girl and wraps her in a hug as well, the two are good friends after all.

“Let me guess… Beca was the one not ready?” Before Beca could intervene, Chloe nods enthusiastically as they all walk to Aubrey’s car. “Expected… you were late to nearly every Bellas practice.”

“Hey! My dorm building is across the campus from where we held rehearsals… and you're lucky I even went.” The blonde rolls her eyes with her smile widening as she starts the car. “But, glad to see you, Posen, it’s been a hella long time.”

“You too Beca. Now come on, I wanna see you two try to lie to one another.” The three pull out of the condo’s parking lot building as Aubrey inserts the directions to her cousin’s wife’s clinic, starting the route once the car has merged onto the main road. Although the passenger seat was empty, with the exception of notebooks and binders containing financial information about Aubrey’s lodge, Chloe sat in the backseat with the brunette, keeping her best friend company.

“How’s the lodge doin’ Posen? Last time we went was that retreat.” Beca asks, admiring the views from the moving car.

“Pretty good, it’s fun to yell at people every day other than the sore throat. How was the tour? Sorry I couldn’t make it to any of them…” Beca waves her hand dismissively

“All’s good, Chloe told me when she came to like… five of my shows was it?” Beca questions, turning her head towards Chloe who is fighting back a smile.

“Amy bought all those tickets! But yeah… I missed you! It’s lonely at home without you…”

Aubrey lets out a laugh. “The way you two talk, it’s like an old married couple.” The blonde raises an eyebrow at Chloe through the rearview mirror, merging the car onto the freeway. The redhead blushes and laughs nervously

“You’re not wrong… we had an argument about who was cooking dinner one time.” Beca adds, looking back and forth at Chloe and Aubrey through the rearview mirror. “Even though I burn everything except for Mac N Cheese.”

“Except that one time back in Brooklyn… you made Amy and me some dinner and we came home to the fire alarm blaring. We could hear it from down the hall!”

Beca and Chloe harmlessly bicker and tease one another back and forth throughout the entire car drive with Aubrey laughing along with every remark said. The two really did argue like an old married couple, the result of avoiding to tell each other about their major crushes on one another.

-

“Nice to meet you two, and Aubrey, lovely to see you again. My name is Madelaine and I will help conduct the lie detector test between you two.” The auburn-haired colored lady leads the group into a room where the polygraph is waiting. “I will be reading any sort of microscopic changes to your breathing patterns, sweat, and also blood.” Beca gulps loudly at the last word, she wasn’t very fond of blood - she once fainted after scraping her knee badly as a teenager. “Who will be going first?”

Chloe raises her hand up slightly. “I will.” Madelaine smiles at sits Beca and Chloe down on two chairs, the auburn lady grabbing the equipment for the polygraph examiner. “I will be placing these rubber tubes around your chest and abdomen, these will read your breathing patterns.” Chloe lifts her arms up as Madelaine wraps the air-filled tubes around her body. “Next up is the blood pressure cuff and, of course, will be reading your blood.” She wraps the cuff around Chloe’s upper arm. “And finally, this is the galvanic skin resistance, it will be reading the sweat emitting off of your fingertips.” After Chloe was finished being equipped in the lie detector gear, Madelaine takes a seat at the other end of the table. “Let’s start off with some basics… is your hair color really red?”

“Yes.”

Madelaine gives a thumbs-up. “Is your name really Chloe Beale?”

“Yes.”

The auburn lady smiles at signals Beca to start. Even if the brunette isn’t the one being tested, she is still sweating crazily from nervousness. She turns to Aubrey who is watching the whole event from the corner of the room, smiling at the brunette. Beca turns back to Chloe and pulls out her list of 10 questions.

“Do you enjoy living with me?” Beca asks lowly, looking at her friend straight in the eye.

“Yes.” Madelaine puts a thumbs-up after a moment of silence.

Beca moves down her list. “Have you ever held a party at our place without me knowing?”

The redhead tugs at her bottom lip and the corners of her mouth perked up. “Yes.” Madelaine gives another thumbs-up. “Just the Bellas, nothing too big.” Beca lets out a sigh of relief.

“Do you wish I was home more often?”

Without skipping a beat, Chloe responds. “Yes.” A thumbs-up comes from the polygraph examiner. Beca frowns a bit.

“Aw… I’m sorry. I’ll try to be home more.” The redhead smiles brightly at Beca. “Alright, number four… did you actually like me when you first met me?” The polygraph examiner pen frantically moves. “Friend-wise.” The pen slows back down to its regular pace.

“Yes, yes I did.” Beca turns to Madelaine and is given a thumb-up.

“Aw, see Aubrey I wasn’t that hateable.” The brunette says, turning to her friend who is watching from afar. Aubrey rolls her eyes and shoos Beca away with her hand.

Beca focuses her gaze back on Chloe. “Do you like my puns?”

The redhead mouths ‘sorry.’ “No.” An astonished brunette snaps her head towards Madelaine who gives a thumbs-up. “Your puns are just so bad sweetie.” Beca rolls her eyes as she moves further down the list.

“Oh, whatever… I know you love them… they’re punderful.” Chloe shoots a glare at her friend. “Hehe, sorry. Okay, do you really believe Lilly was possessed by Satan?” Beca notices the horrified expression that developed on Madelaine’s face. “Long story…”

Chloe slightly laughed and cleared her throat. “Oh definitely. Yes.” Madelaine narrows her eyes at the two and slowly raises a thumbs-up.

“Alright, number 7. Were you jealous of how much time I spent with Jesse back in Barden?” The brunette inquiries.

Chloe is taken aback by the sudden change of questions but remains calm. She knows she can’t lie, so she doesn’t. “Yes.” Madelaine gives Beca a thumbs-up.

“To be fair… I did want to spend more time with you…” That washes a smile over the two’s faces. “Anyway, you’re almost done uh. Okay, did you really fail Russian Lit three times just to be a Bella?”

Beca notices Aubrey break out into a coughing fit when the question was asked and Chloe goes pale. The brunette turns back around from a somewhat choking Aubrey and sees the redhead, hesitant to answer as the pens frantically move across the paper. “I… no.” The redhead says. Madelaine gives a thumbs-up.

Beca tugs at her bottom lip before reading the next one. “Did you ever date Chicago?”

“No.” It was true, the two never dated even after that passionate kiss.

“Final question then. Are you in love with someone right now?” Beca notices the polygraph pens rapidly write against the paper and then resume to its regular pattern. Chloe takes a deep breath and looks Beca straight in the eye.

“Yes.”

“Who i-

“Those were all true, good job, Chloe,” Madelaine says, as she detaches the equipment from Chloe’s body, the redhead lets out a gigantic sigh of relief of the test being over and done with. She develops an evil smile as Beca is hooked up to the machine. She looks over at Aubrey who nods her head in the general direction of Beca. Chloe’s smile only grows wider. After the test questions with Beca were over, the redhead pulls her own list out.

“Did you really want to become a Bella at first?”

Beca’s face scrunches. “No… but I don’t regret it, it was the best thing that ever happened to me.” Chloe laughs at how panicked the last part sounded as Madelaine gives a thumbs-up.

“Don’t worry Beca, that’s all good. Alright, do you enjoy the fame?”

“Yes… actually… no.” Madelaine says to say it once more clearly. “No.” Madelaine gives a thumbs-up. “Takes up too much of my time and it’s exhausting. But the fans are worth it.”

Chloe smiles gently at her friend. “Do you like sharing a bed with me?” She notices how red Beca’s face turns as Aubrey opens her mouth in surprise.

“N-no,” Beca utters, Chloe already knowing it was a lie. Madelaine gives a thumbs-down. “Fine, I do…”

“Aw, Bec~” The redhead clears her throat after Beca shoots her a glare. “Okay okay… do you miss your ‘ear monstrosities?’” Chloe asks air quoting the last words that were said.

“No.” Madelaine gives a thumbs-up. “It was a lot of weight on my ears actually.”

“Did you change at all when you dated Jesse?”

“I- yes I did.” Chloe frowns a bit. “It’s fine really…” Madelaine gives Chloe a thumbs-up.

“Do I ever make you uncomfortable?”

Beca furrows her eyebrows a bit. “No.” Chloe feels relieved and quite surprised to see Madelaine give Chloe another thumbs-up… she really thought the brunette would lie more.

“Number seven… do you enjoy it when I hug you?”

The tips of Beca’s ears go red as the polygraph examiner pens start writing rapidly. “Yes…” Madelaine gives an amused thumbs-up, laughing slightly at how flustered Beca was by the question.

“Good to know… did Jesse really break up because of the long-distance?”

Beca gulps as she looks anywhere else except for Chloe’s eyes, she knows she can’t lie at this point. “No.” The redhead glances over at Aubrey who is smirking. “Do you love someone at the moment Beca.”

There was a moment of silence. “Yes.”

There’s no going back. “Is that someone me Beca?”

Beca looks over at Chloe for one moment then back to the floor. “Yes. Yes, it is.”

Madelaine detaches Beca from the machine, saying she passed all the questions except for the one. The auburn lady waves goodbye to the three, giving Aubrey a hug. Beca and Chloe remain silent for a bit until the blonde leaves to go to the bathroom. Chloe turns to face Beca, but the brunette is the first one to open her mouth.

“For my last question… is that someone me? Only fair for you to answer since I did…”

Chloe smiles gently at the brunette before taking her hand. “Yes, it is you. For so many years, it’s always been you.” The brunette tugs Chloe closer and wraps her arms around her neck, pulling in her crush for a tight embrace. “I love you so much Beca…”

“I- I love you too Chlo.”

Beca looks up at the redhead and smiles. Chloe is the one to close the aching gap between the two’s faces, planting her lips onto Beca’s. Her lips are soft against Chloe’s and are kissing back with the same amount of passion as the redhead. Chloe could feel as if she could cry because she’s finally gotten the girl she’s been head over heels for. They pull away hesitantly and slowly when they hear Aubrey’s heels come back from down the hall. After seeing the two pressing foreheads with one another, the blonde knew what was happening.

A lie detector test wasn’t so bad after all.

[danfanciesphil]

L’Histoire Française (Five Years Later) (NSFW)

Happy Nearly-New Year! This is a gift that I know a lot of you have been waiting for, I really hope it lives up to your expectations. Those of you that read and loved this fic mean a great deal to me, as this one is particularly close to my heart. You deserve a treat, and here it is! 

I love you all very much, and here’s to a fab 2019. 

Ellen xx

(L’Histoire Française Masterlist)

(TRANSLATION OF THE FRENCH IN THIS CHAPTER)

(Ao3 LINK)

Not Quite The Louvre

June 2022

The restaurant is one Dan has never set foot in, but admired from afar, the way he might admire one of Tyler’s designer suits, or Louise’s newborn - intensely, but with an awareness that it’s very much Not For Him. He walks through the large doors that sit beneath a calligraphic sign reading ‘Gilted’, already deeply concerned about what lies beyond them. From the name, this place promises extravagance, and from the moment Dan steps inside, this is just what it delivers. A wiry, angular woman at a small desk greets him, and immediately summons a young man to take his coat. The young man is wearing a pale green suit jacket, as are all of the other wait staff, which Dan admires for its quirkiness, but is also unnerved by. Is this some new, hipster trend that he’s unaware of? Is he outdated in his plain black suit? Or is it just the restaurant trying to distinguish themselves in some way? As his coat is being dealt with, Dan peers into the dining area, noting a lot of green decoration to match the waiters, including masses of tropical plants spreading their enormous leaves and vines throughout the tables. The walls are a distressed emerald, and plastered in enormous mirrors, which also cover much of the ceiling. Instantly, Dan is gobsmacked by the opulence, and fears for his wallet, which is about to get a pummelling, he can tell.

“Do you have a reservation, Sir?” the angular lady asks, one thin eyebrow arched. Dan tugs on his own boring suit jacket; he gets the distinct impression that she can smell inferiority on him.

“Yes,” Dan replies, cheeks warm. “I think it’s under Lester?”

The woman nods stiffly, then gazes down at her iPad, which has its own pale green cover, and the word ‘Gilted’ etched on in swirly gold. A nice touch, Dan can’t help but think. The woman pauses, then taps the screen, and locks it. She nods to Dan, marginally more amiable now that she knows he’s not some imposter.

“Right this way, Sir.”

She leads him through the maze of tables, of which there seem to be hundreds, scattered across a huge ballroom with vaulted ceilings, and a mezzanine balcony, accessible via an enormous spiralling staircase. Dan swallows, thinking again of his poor bank account, which has no idea of the violent assault headed its way. The woman takes him to a four person table in the centre of the room, underneath a chandelier so large Dan is astounded it can be safe, suspended as it is above his head.

“Enjoy your meal, gentlemen,” the woman says, and Dan nods awkwardly, mumbles a thank you, and sits down.

“Hi,” Dan says as he slides into his seat, and meets the gaze of the person opposite him. “Phil’s going to be late.”

Tyler’s mouth falls open, gasping dramatically. “The scoundrel.” 

“He already texted to tell us,” Teddy says, and Dan relaxes a bit. It’s warm in here, not unpleasantly so, but as Dan is already uncomfortable, it feels stifling. He can’t help but think that it would be far easier to relax if Phil were beside him. “So,” Teddy continues, his fingers lacing together on the table in front of him. “Shall we get straight to it?”

Dan freezes, hackles immediately up, sniffing danger misting off of Teddy’s words. He looks between his two friends, trying and failing, as he always does, to decipher the mischievous look in their eyes. 

“What?” he asks carefully.

“Well Dan,” Tyler jumps in, suspiciously keen to answer. “I know you’re not one for deep thought, but what do you think the reason might be that your other half might have summoned us here tonight?”

“I hardly think Phil suggesting we all go for dinner counts as a summons,” Dan says, though truthfully, Tyler’s implication stirs the butterflies that have already begun awakening in Dan’s belly. 

Teddy’s left hand spreads itself atop Tyler’s, rather obviously. Dan tries not to roll his eyes as Teddy’s fingers waggle, making the large, princess cut diamond on his ring finger sparkle under the chandelier lights.

“Guys,” Dan says in his warning tone, which, granted, is about as terrifying as a guinea pig squeaking. “It’s just a catch-up dinner because you guys are gonna be on your cruise over my birthday next week.”

“Mmhmm,” Teddy says, sipping from his water glass. “In a restaurant expensive enough to bankrupt all four of us with the tasting menu.”

“It’s funny isn’t it,” Tyler muses to the general vicinity, leaning back in his chair. “That what with your parents being on the other side of the world, there’s nobody whose approval Phil could seek if he were inclined to, say... pop the question.”

“Oh, no, Ty,” Teddy says before Dan can object to that loaded statement, patting Tyler’s hand. They share an amused smile. “I’m not sure about that.”

“Oh no?” Tyler asks, theatrically.

“I think if I were Phil,” Teddy says. “In place of his actual guardians, I’d turn to Dan’s closest pals. The people he’s been closest to for most of his adult life, his mentors, his confidantes-”

Dan snorts loudly, and a nearby waiter shoots him a disapproving glare. “Kim and Kanye couldn’t make it, unfortunately.”

“D-list imitations compared to us, darling,” Tyler says, grinning. He’s wearing an irritatingly smug, patronising expression that Dan is very familiar with. “Come on, Dan. The set up is so obvious even you shouldn’t be able to miss it. He’s probably pacing the pavement outside right now, rehearsing his proposal speech.”

“He’s late because he had to supervise detention today,” Dan mutters, though beneath the table, his hands wring the cloth napkin.

Luckily, a waiter approaches then, and Tyler is distracted, demanding the wine list, and a round of nibbles and G & T’s to start them off. Dan turns his attention to his phone while the waiter reels off the various gins available.

From: Dan To: Phil omg please hurry up im about to commit a double homicide x

Ten seconds later, he gets a response.

From: Phil To: Dan no fair. you promised if you ever murdered them that i could help :( im four mins away. steer clear of the silverware. xx

From: Dan To: Phil no promises x

“Darling, I know the etiquette expected from this sort of establishment is a little beyond you, but texting at the dinner table really is terribly rude,” Tyler says, giving him a level glare.

“Sorry,” Dan mutters, though he doesn’t mean it. He pockets his phone reluctantly, noting that the waiter has once again disappeared. “This place is too fancy for me.”

“I must say,” Teddy says, thoughtfully. He’s gazing around at the other patrons, clinking silver cutlery against china dishes, their bleached white teeth clacking against crystal glasses of Merlot. “I was a little surprised at the venue Phil chose to to do this.”

“To do what? Teddy, Phil is not going to-”

“Yes, I thought the same,” Tyler says animatedly, turning to his husband. “That man’s so off-the-wall in every other respect, you’d think he’d have conjured up some extravagant, personalised proposal scene in a lego version of the Eiffel Tower or something ridiculous. Not a restaurant so posh it almost makes me feel uneasy.” He sips water again. “Almost.”

“For God’s sake,” Dan near-snaps, nails pushing into his palms. “Will you stop? It’s just dinner, for God’s sake.”

Something over Dan’s shoulder catches Tyler’s eye, and the smile that spreads over his mouth is somehow both smug and excited. He leans back in his chair, and exchanges a glance with Teddy.

“Uh huh,” Tyler says.

“Sorry, sorry, I’m stupidly late I know,” Phil’s voice says at Dan’s ear. Seconds later, lips are pressed, fleeting and damp, against Dan’s cheek. “Have you already ordered?”

“Just the wine-” Dan starts to say, and then stops short as Phil slips into the chair beside his.

His boyfriend is wearing a suit that Dan has never seen him in before. The jacket is black velvet, with thin, undulating gold thread woven into swirling patterns across the expanse. It’s fitted to his long, lithe body, and hugs his broad shoulders perfectly. Phil’s hair has been trimmed, jaw closely shaven, and a haze of expensive-smelling cologne floats in the air around him. In short, he looks more delicious than anything on the menu, and Dan hasn’t even read it yet.

“Phil, darling, you look so scrumptious that it’s going to be a struggle not to leap across the table and devour you,” Tyler says with a gleeful grin.

Phil laughs politely, scooting his chair in. “Hey, Ty. Teddy. How are you guys?”

Dumbed by the appearance of his boyfriend, who earlier this morning had had to run out of the house without showering to get to work on time, Dan can only stare. He feels underdressed beside this deity. A pale, unworthy companion for someone so beautiful, in a place so beautiful to match. Dan is wearing a suit as well, sure, but it’s just the same one he always wears, black and tight-fitting, possibly a little on the small side, especially noticeable from how it exposes his ankles.

“We’re wonderful, my dear,” Tyler answers for both of them.

“I’ve been trying to get around to finally divorcing him, but he keeps distracting me with blowjobs,” Teddy says in a sigh.

At that moment, a slightly flustered waiter coughs from the end of the table, holding a bottle of expensive-looking red wine. “Y-your Rijoca, gentlemen.”

Tyler claps his hands excitedly. “I’ll do the tasting, garcçon.” He pushes his glass towards the waiter, who pours a drop in.

Whilst Tyler sniffs and sips pretentiously, Dan leans towards Phil as discreetly as he can. “You look absolutely amazing,” Dan says, still dazed. “Should I have dressed up more?”

Phil gives him a warm, fond smile which spreads, like treacle, through Dan’s entire body, until he can feel it in his toes. “Dan, tu es toujours la plus belle personne dans la pièce.”

A bunch of pink, sun-warmed flowers bloom in Dan’s cheeks. “Merci,” he mumbles. “But seriously-”

“The bouquet is divine Phil,” Tyler announces, gesturing for the waiter to fill everyone’s glasses. “Try, try. Is that not simply magnifique?”

Phil takes his glass, thanking the waiter, and sips politely. “Yeah, it’s delicious,” he says. “Well picked.” He turns his attention back to the waiter. “Um, excusé-moi monsieur, nous voudrons un boutéille de champagne aussi, s’il vous plaît.”

“Assurément, monsieur.”

“Oh? Are we celebrating?” Teddy asks in a knowing voice, chin resting atop his interlaced fingers. His eyes glimmer, though it could be the reflection on his superfluous, hipster spectacles.

“We are,” Phil confirms once the waiter has disappeared off. The three of them wait for Phil to continue, but he simply sips Rijoca, and pretends to be intrigued by the décor. Just as Tyler’s big mouth opens, clearly intent on prompting a further explanation, Phil clears his throat loudly, and opens his menu with a flourish. “So! What are we having? French cuisine can be a somewhat hit and miss. Do you think you’ll be alright finding something you like?”

Reluctantly, Dan turns his attention to his own menu, though his heart has started to thump distractingly beneath his shirt. He feels as if he might need to remove his suit jacket soon, or else rivers of sweat will begin pouring out of his sleeves. That might put Phil off whatever it is he has planned. Not that Phil is necessarily planning anything. This could, still, just be a normal, catch-up meal between friends. Where everyone is dressed to the nines for no reason, and champagne is being placed on standby, and the very air itself tastes decadent.

The menu is entirely in French, and despite the lessons he’s been taking for the past three years, and despite Phil’s steady stream of dirty talk and sweet nothings in the language, Dan cannot understand a word in front of him. Then again, even if the menu was in layman’s English, Dan doubts very much that the words would seep into his mushy brain.

“Hmm, what’s cuisses de grenouilles?” Tyler asks, peering at his own menu.

Phil hides a smile behind his wine glass. “Frog’s legs.”

Tyler shuts the menu sharply. “Right, think I’ll stick to the salade.”

“I can never resist a French Onion Soup,” Teddy says with a conspiratorial smile. “Just don’t tell my health-freak husband how much oil and cheese they pour in.”

Tyler immediately begins Googling this on his phone, which starts a quiet, whispered argument on the other side of the table. Phil turns to Dan; there’s no mistaking the hidden twinkle in his eye, unsuccessfully being held back, perhaps until the champagne arrives. 

Phil’s eyebrow lifts. “Dan?”

“Y-yes?”

His heart is pounding against his chest, as if it wants to break free and launch itself onto Phil’s plate.

“What are you going to have?” Phil asks, nodding towards his menu. God, he looks phenomenal, Dan can’t help but think. In the low, warm lighting, surrounded by pastel green, Phil is a waterlily in bloom. He puts Monet’s Nympheas to shame, and Dan saw those right up close, too. “Do you need me to translate anything?”

“N-no,” Dan says, mesmerised. He swallows, quietly, and tears his gaze away. Oh, God. Is his entire life about to turn upside down at the sight of one fold of a bended knee? “I’ll just have the, uh,” he casts about the thick ivory page for something vaguely recognisable. “The ratatouille.”

“Are you sure?” Phil asks, frowning. “I think they have galettes. They’re like savoury pancakes. You like pancakes.”

“No, really,” Dan assures him, stomach roiling at the idea of attempting to digest a flappy, doughy pancake right now. He lifts his glass of wine to his lips and pours about half of it down his throat. “I’m in a, uh, tomatoey mood.”

“What a romantic sentiment,” Tyler mutters to Teddy. 

“He can treasure it forever,” Teddy replies, luckily too low to be overheard by Phil. Even so, Dan kicks both of them in the shin.

The waiter returns with an ice bucket and champagne, and Phil orders for everyone in his fluent, silken French. Dan is on edge, certain now that he is about to be jumped with some monumental romantic gesture that he is entirely unprepared to deal with. It all feels overwhelming - the glitz, the alcohol, the unrecognisable, expensive food -  but he tries to cling to the presence of Phil beside him, safe and comforting even gussied up as he is.

Is this how it always is? Is the proposer supposed to fire the question out of the blue, giving the proposee no time at all to rehearse or prepare? He supposes in all the films he’s seen, the woman is always totally caught off-guard by the sight of her man kneeling before her. Dan’s always been pretty cynical about this however, thinking she must have had some sort of inclination. 

Before he can dwell any further, the food arrives amidst casual chatter about jobs and grievances, and Teddy and Tyler’s usual guilt tripping about Dan having “abandoned them to go and live in sin with his French lover.”

“It was three years ago,” Dan says to Teddy. “I think possibly it’s time to forgive me.”

“We should really be angry at Frenchie, of course, for snatching you away,” Tyler says, studying a tomato on his fork with scrutiny. “But who could stay mad at those chiselled features?”

“You do know I’m not actually French, don’t you?” Phil asks, though he’s laughing good-naturedly, playing with the stuffed aubergine on his plate. “And hey, without Dan there I bet it was great that you could have sex in any room of the house, before you moved into your new place, obviously.”

“Never stopped us before,” Teddy mutters and Dan throws a napkin at him.

By the time dessert is over with, the red wine has been drained, and the champagne is finally lifted from the ice bucket, Dan has almost forgotten what he’d been worried about. The wine in Dan’s bloodstream is creating a pleasant, blurred hum around their table. It even makes Tyler’s loud, boisterous chatter just the right side of tolerable.

“So,” Phil says in a louder voice than he has been speaking, and reaches to pluck the unopened champagne from Teddy’s hands. “I have something I’d like to announce.”

Instantly Dan’s heart leaps into his throat. Tyler and Teddy exchange a look loaded with something like ‘here it comes’. Phil turns to Dan, and reaches for his hand. Dan lets him take it, limply, and tries to focus on the words about to come from his boyfriend’s mouth; in the thousand ways he’d imagined Phil might do this, he always knew he’d need to remember everything he said. Phil’s always been a master of language, wielding it like a sword in the hands of a medieval Knight.

“Dan,” Phil says. “There’s a reason I wanted us all to be here tonight.”

Dan takes a deep breath. “O-oh, okay.”

“I don’t want to give you the wrong idea,” Phil says, unexpectedly. “There are things I want to ask you, in the future, but that’s not what this is. You should know, by now, that I love you more than anything. I see a future for us, a long and happy future, and that’s why I think we don’t need to be swearing it to one another with rings just yet.”

“I…” Dan frowns, looking towards Teddy and Tyler. Their expressions are unreadable; they look excited, brimming with some secret thing Dan is perplexed by. “Wait, so you’re... not proposing?”

Phil smiles sweetly, and squeezes Dan’s hand. “No.” He reaches into his jacket, pulling out a key. There’s a keyring attached, in the shape of the Eiffel Tower. On it, Dan can see silver lettering, though he can’t read what it says. “I thought about it. I’m always thinking about it, honestly. Of course I want to be married to you. But before we splash out on a big wedding, I think it’s important for us to get to a place, individually, where we’re happy in ourselves.”

Dan’s heart squeezes. He knows that somewhere in that speech Phil said he loves him. That he wants to be married to him someday, even. But all Dan hones in on is the word ‘individually’. He and Phil have tried individually. It had been, and remains to this day, the worst period of Dan’s life, trying to extricate himself from Phil, after he’d known the touch of him, the closeness. Surely Phil cannot be suggesting they do that again - try some new-age method of spending some time apart to ‘find themselves’ before committing? Phil turns Dan’s hand over then, distracting him, so his palm faces up, and drops the key into it. Bemused, Dan brings it to his face, squinting at the words written on it.

La Cerise Galerie, 234 Lipton Avenue

He recognises the name. It’s a gallery Dan used to like visiting from time to time, smallish, and independent, run by a French couple with a passion for the romantics and the impressionists. Unfortunately, the couple, Madame and Monsieur Cerise, decided to put the gallery on the market a few months ago to go and travel the world on an extended retirement trip. They were clearly wealthy from some unknown source, the gallery just being something they did on the side. Sadly, the pretty mansionette that the gallery was in, with its white, modern, square exterior, and neat gardens, has since remained empty. 

“I don’t understand,” Dan says, feeling as if he’s stood on the edge of some tall, sheer cliff in high winds.

“He never was the brightest bulb, Phil,” Tyler says in a stage whisper. “You may need to spell it out for the poor dear.”

“It’s yours, Dan,” Phil says, inexplicably. “I bought it. Well, almost. I’ve had a a little help.” Phil shoots a meaningful look towards Tyler, who lifts his glass, smiling. “You need to sign the deed for it, and I have to finalise some stuff. But it’s yours if you agree, Dan. I picked the key up on my way here. And now I’m giving it to you.”

Dan stands from his chair, making it screech across the wooden floor. He can barely breathe; he knew this suit jacket was too small for him. The key sits weightily in his palm, loaded with all that it represents.

“Phil” Dan says, shaking his head. He wants to hurl the keys across the room. “You can’t do this. This is... mad.” He looks at Tyler, who is wearing a fascinated expression, as if Dan’s reaction is a scene in a teledrama. “Ty... you knew about this?”

The room is rocking violently, side to side beneath Dan’s feet. Tyler nods, sipping wine. “Of course. Phil and I have been in the process of purchasing the place for weeks.”

“But earlier... you were hinting he was gonna propose!” 

Teddy laughs then, clearly thoroughly enjoying this crazy scene as much as Tyler. “We had to throw you off the scent, obviously.”

Well, Dan thinks, they sure managed that. Dan feels utterly blindsided by this, can’t even wrap his head around something so absurd. The keys in his hand are dragging him to the floor as the responsibility they drip with mounts. Being a property owner of any description at his age is something far out of Dan’s expectation, let alone the owner of his own gallery. Carefully, as if he’s approaching a wild, skittish deer, Phil places his napkin on the table, and stands too. He holds his hands out to Dan, wary of spooking him.

“Let me explain,” Phil says, or Dan thinks that’s what he says; his heart is pounding so loudly it’s nearly drowning out the words. He takes Phil’s hands anyway, if only to ensure he doesn’t topple over. A few heads have turned towards them from nearby tables, presumably because Dan standing up and clearly on the verge of a panic attack is not the usual spectacle for a place like this. “I want you to be happy, Dan,” Phil is saying, somewhere on the horizon. “I want to see you flourish, and grow. I’m so, so grateful you decided to apply for a TA position five years ago, I truly am. But I know it’s not the path you’d have chosen, if you could.” He pats the keys in Dan’s hand. “This, right here, is what you want. I’m lucky enough to love what I do. All I want is for you to feel the way I do each morning, when you get in to work.”

Glassy-eyed, Dan just stares at Phil. He looks down at the keys in his hand again, and slowly curls his fingers around them, just to feel the cold, slim weight of them, and test out the idea that they belong to him.

“It’s too much,” Dan whispers, trying to remember the asking price painted onto the sun-faded For Sale sign in the front lawn of the gallery. Even with Phil’s additional new research-job at the University in the next town over, he’s can’t be earning enough to afford this. “We can’t afford it.”

“I loaned Phil what he couldn’t reasonably stretch to,” Tyler says then, dropping this snippet of information with far too much nonchalance. “My promotion has given me a salacious new salary. Teddy and I already bought the dream home last year, and had the big wedding. We thought about getting one of those abandoned infants from China shipped over, but on balance, this seemed more of a priority.”

“Tyler, no,” Dan says, coldly. “I don’t want a handout. I’m working full time, and I’m doing the teacher-training course. In a few years I’ll be a qualified English teacher, I don’t need-”

“Your dreams are always worth a shot,” Teddy interrupts, then reaches out, and pops the champagne. “Even if it’s just one shot, with everything you have. Besides, you’ll never persuade Ty out of it. He’s a regular sugar daddy now. Buys his way out of everything. Cooking dinner, doing the dishes, return blowjobs-”

As if to prove this point, Tyler whips out a few banknotes from some pocket in his immaculate suit and throws them into Teddy’s face. “Twenty pounds to shut your cute trap, darling.”

Suddenly exhausted from the overwhelm, Dan sits back down, heavily. Phil follows suit, watching Dan with scrutiny.

“I know it seems like a lot,” Phil says softly, one hand on Dan’s shoulder. “But it seemed… right. I was on my way to the jewellery store to get you some fancy ring, and I drove past the gallery on my way. And I got this feeling in my gut, a familiar feeling that I couldn’t quite place. So I drove on, and then I realised - it’s the same feeling I had when you walked into my classroom that first day. A kind of static buzz, exciting and hopeful. Like all the atoms around me just aligned.”

A lump, huge and insistent, aches in Dan’s throat, making his eyes water. “I won’t be able to repay you. Not for years.”

“I think I speak for Phil and myself when I say that the only repayment we need right now, is for you to give it your best shot,” Tyler says, making Teddy smile at him in that rare, fond, proud way. “Well,” Tyler corrects. “I’m sure Phil wouldn’t mind a grateful blowjob or two as well-”

“He’s right,” Phil interrupts, and Dan raises an eyebrow. “About you not needing to worry about repaying us,” Phil adds quickly, though a smirk has crept onto his face. “You don’t need to decide right now. But I thought we could go and see it after dinner, take a look at least.”

“See it tonight?” Dan asks. His full stomach squeezes and contracts uncomfortably, the ratatouille threatening to make a second appearance. “Um, w-well...”

He looks at Teddy and Tyler, now kissing on the other side of the table. He’s not sure he can take a visit to the potential property of his dreams with them in tow. Phil follows his gaze, then leans towards Dan, smiling.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I’ll tell them seulement nous.”

*

They walk to the restaurant, floaty and slightly swaying from the champagne Dan had forced himself to knock back in celebration. He’s still incredibly unsure about this whole thing, and feels as if either accepting or rejecting the offer would have equally disastrous consequences. Not even taking into consideration how it would disappoint Phil to refuse the gallery, Dan can barely stand to imagine how, in the weeks and possibly years that followed that refusal, he’d slowly be consumed with regret. Phil had been right, earlier - Dan had never wanted this career path, and has only really stayed on it to be near him. But Phil’s career prospects are changing; he’s spending more and more time at the University, and Dan knows it won’t be long until he goes from Assistant History Researcher, to PhD student, to full-fledged History Professor. And then what will Dan’s excuse be for working in a job he has no passion for, with children that are more inclined to fondly mock him than listen to him as an authoritative figure?

Working as a teacher has always been a horrifying thought for Dan, if he’s honest. The only thing that makes it tolerable is knowing that he’ll be able to snatch time with Phil, before class and in class and a bunch of times between. The idea of patrolling the school halls without this prospect is not a fun one. 

And... he has always wanted this. The cute, perfectly situated, small-town gallery. It’s a dream he’s only told a select few about, not even his parents, who would dismiss it as unrealistic. Perhaps their influence was stronger than Dan thought it had been, because never did he expect to actually get his dream, especially not like this, when he’s so young, and only because Phil’s willing to place so much faith in him.

All of this bubbles around with the champagne in Dan’s tipsy brain, until they’re at the door of the gallery, and Dan realises he hasn’t spoken a word to Phil all the way here. Their hands are joined, swinging gently between them. Now, Dan breaks the hold, reaching into his trouser pocket for the key. He looks at Phil before he inserts it into the lock.

“If I decide I can’t do it,” Dan says in a rush, because Phil has to hear it. “If it’s all too much right now, and I’m not ready… I just want to tell you,” he swallows, determined to find the right words, “nobody has ever done anything like this for me. Nobody has ever even listened to me long enough to understand that I dream about this all the time. I don’t think I really understood how much you must love me until now,” Dan confesses, feeling his eyes sting. “I don’t know if I’m quite able to accept something so…” he flaps his hands at the pale grey door of the gallery, with its frosted windows, and neat, quiet sign. “You know. But oh my God. Thank you for this. That doesn’t even begin to cover it. But thank you.”

“That’s okay,” Phil says with a small, pleased smile. “I know it’s big. And maybe I’m doing everything wrong. Maybe I should have proposed first, I don’t know.” He shrugs, eyes travelling to to the sign on the door. “But I know one day, maybe way in the future, but one day, I’ll look over and see a ring on your finger. I know it would make you happy, if I asked you. But I don’t want that to be... what defines you. I don’t want you to just be my partner, who hates his job. I want you to be your best self, and to commit to me knowing you’ll never yearn for more. No pressure, Dan, really. It’s all reversible. But let’s have one teensy, decadent little explore, try out picking which room you’d display what in. It can just be pretend, for now.”

Dan smiles, marvelling as always at Phil knowing just what to say. “Okay,” he agrees, and opens the door.

*

September 2022

“What are you doing here?”

Phil laughs, thankfully, and walks over to kiss him. “Nice to see you too, stranger.’

“Sorry,” Dan says against Phil’s mouth, sagging into his embrace. “My nerves are fraught.”

“Good thing I brought this then,” Phil says, leaning back and pulling out a bottle of cold champagne from the large bag in his hand. “To celebrate your Grande Ouverture, Monsieur.”

Dan smiles weakly, though the phrase makes his heart speed up. “God, don’t call it that. It’s just a small party to let people know I’m here.”

Phil nods seriously, but there’s a glinting smile in the depths of his eyes. That smile hasn’t faded for one moment since Dan announced, after just one tour of the gallery’s rooms, empty of everything but promise, that he’s going to do this. Since that night, Dan has thrown himself into getting it ready, procuring artworks, establishing a name for himself as a young curator with a new space, and it’s all led up to this. Tomorrow night, the Cerise Galerie officially opens, under new ownership. It’s currently eleven o’clock, and Dan’s been working tirelessly since 7am. He’s barely been home all week, in fact. Buffy probably doesn’t even recognise him anymore.

“Sure,” Phil says, then pushes the bottle into Dan’s hands. “Open this will you? I’ve got some plastic glasses in here somewhere.”

Dan watches as Phil sets the bag down, pulls out his zig-zag blanket and spreads it over the floor of the main gallery room. It’s a strange thing to do, probably, but Dan is rarely surprised by Phil’s peculiarities anymore. Phil finds glasses, and then produces a few cartons of Chinese food, and Dan falls in love with him all over again. They eat and drink sat on the blanket together, shoes kicked off, shirts unbuttoned, until Dan feels vaguely normal again, and much less like he’s about to burst into a million shards of stress and worry.

“It looks awesome in here,” Phil says, leant back on his hands as he surveys the walls. The frames are all simple wood, so as not to detract from the paintings within. This room shows the work of three artists, all Ethiopian by birth, who paint about their culture, their current lives in England, and their families, respectively. Dan found each artist separately, and has placed their work in one room, to see how their combined cultural experience compliments each other’s work. “You’re really good at this.” Phil lowers his eyes to meet Dan’s, still glinting. “I knew you would be.”

“Thank you,” Dan says, as sincerely as he can manage. He must have thanked Phil a thousand times by now, a hundred thousand, possibly, both verbally and… non-verbally, but he still feels he needs to stress it again. “Most people wouldn’t get an opportunity to even try. Let’s hope I don’t fuck it up.”

Phil frowns. “I don’t think you could, Dan. But you know if it doesn’t work out, it’s not your fault. This is hardly the best economy to be opening an independent gallery in. If it doesn’t take off like we hope…” Phil shrugs. “Then we’ll chalk it up to experience, and a fun adventure, and try again somewhere down the line.”

Dan nods, grateful for his optimistic practicality. Those two things shouldn’t fit together, but somehow Phil makes it work. Just then, Dan’s elbows give out, shoulders and back screaming at him to release the tension, and he flops back onto the blanket, groaning.

“You alright?” Phil asks around a chuckle, nudging Dan with his knee. “Getting old?”

“Everything aches,” Dan complains, eyes falling shut. “The stress of running my own business has aged me before my time.”

“And you haven’t even opened yet,” Phil teases, but starts to gather up the empty Chinese boxes, moving them into an empty carrier bag. “Turn over, Grandad.”

One of Dan’s eyes opens. “What?”

Phil laughs, eyes crinkling around the edges. This is a rather wonderful vantage point, Dan muses to himself. Phil is knelt up, in just black jeans and his white shirt rolled up at each sleeve. His jet black hair is starting to pepper grey at the shaved sides, which Dan adores, and tells him so frequently. He looks like a man, strong and lean, with the piercing blue eyes of a mythical sea creature, and the mischievous smile of an eighteen year old.

“I said, turn over,” Phil repeats, but this time he winks. Dan thinks about refusing, but that’s never normally a good idea if he wants to get through the night un-spanked. And yes, the idea of being bent over Phil’s knee is tempting, but as he’s got to run around an opening-party tomorrow, he probably needs to not be in pain every time he takes a step. So, Dan turns onto his stomach, intrigued already by what Phil has in mind. Phil crawls over to him then, and straddles Dan, sitting on his bum. He smooths his big hands across Dan’s shoulders and begins to squeeze and knead them; Dan is so caught off-guard by the massage that he sinks heavily into the floor, and groans, making Phil laugh again. “Good?”

“So good,” Dan says, practically drooling. “Your fingers are like wonderful knives.”

“Hmm,” Phil says. “I’m hoping that’s a positive thing.”

“Oh, it is.”

Phil keeps kneading him, knuckles working the knots out one by one, then carving pathways either side of his spine. He works Dan’s hips, the dip of his lower back, slots his fingers between Dan’s ribs and rakes over them. It’s sinfully good, and by the time Phil’s hips grind into his bum for the first time, Dan is so hard he can barely think straight.

Phil climbs off of him, and pulls Dan’s shoulder, encouraging him to turn over until he’s laid on his back again. Dan moves fluidly, easily, perfectly happy to be led by Phil’s desire. He learned long ago to trust that despite the teasing and playful build-up, Phil will always get him there in the end. Phil unbuttons Dan’s shirt, then trails his tongue up the exposed strip of skin between the lapels. He pulls the material aside, revealing a nipple, and closes his lips over it, first softly, and then biting down, hard.

Dan gasps, the sting of pain giving way to the instant tingle of blissful relief that follows it. At first, Dan had been more reluctant to experiment with the duality of pleasure and pain that Phil had slowly revealed he enjoyed. But over time, Dan has dipped his toe deeper and deeper into the waters, and discovered, to his shock, that he actually likes it a lot. Now, five years into their sexual relationship, Dan is no longer shy about his desire, and readily admits to Phil, as he found it so hard to do once, that he wants Phil to hurt him, and then kiss him. To tie him up with ropes that chafe, and then lick soft, warm lines up his neck. To bite his thighs hard enough to mark the skin, and then push slick fingers inside of him so gentle and slow that it takes hours to open him up enough.

Phil has removed Dan’s shirt entirely now, and is currently working his trousers off too. Once they’re thrown aside, he settles between Dan’s thighs, hands roaming over the bare skin on show. His fingers pinch Dan’s nipples, coaxing them into taut pebbles. His nails drag down Dan’s sides, leaving thin white lines across the skin in their wake. Dan just breathes shallowly, trying not to wriggle too much, or gasp too loudly, as he’s not been expressly permitted to do anything except lie here, on his back, and let Phil do as he wants.

“Do you know,” Phil says conversationally, as he runs a teasing, light hand over Dan’s erection, concealed beneath his black briefs. “You’re just as gorgeous as the day I met you.”

“Less cocky, I expect,” Dan replies, and Phil slaps him in the thigh for answering, then strokes the spot.

“A bit, perhaps.”

“You’re more gorgeous,” Dan blurts, at which point two spots of pink burst into each of his cheeks. “Maybe it’s the salt and pepper hair. Or just… happiness. You look magnificent, every day.”

Phil’s hands pause for a moment, and he gives Dan a fond, loving smile. “No more talking now,” he says after a moment, and Dan is sort of glad. Who knows what other schmaltzy nonsense might have seeped out if he were allowed to continue. He tips his head back, and sinks into the sensation of Phil’s hands on him again, and then his mouth, against his briefs, light and teasing with his flicking tongue.

“Lift,” Phil instructs, tapping Dan’s hip.

As he raises his bum from the floor, Phil tugs the briefs down, and then all the way off. He trails one finger along the slightly curved line of Dan’s cock, then scoops the pearl of precome on his fingertip, and deposits it into his mouth. He takes Dan’s thighs in each hand then, and pushes them upwards, until Dan’s near bent in half. Practiced at this by now, Dan knows to wrap his own hands around them, and hold himself like this, so he does.

“Bon,” Phil whispers, offhandedly, and presses a kiss to Dan’s left foot.

There’s a pause before anything else happens, and staring up at the ceiling as he is, Dan can’t tell why. If he had to guess, however, he’d say that Phil was in the process of removing his own clothes, and the thought of it makes Dan ache, in the centre of his chest. It’s a struggle not to lift his head, and see the slow reveal of Phil’s naked body with his own two eyes. Eventually, Phil is back, and Dan feels lips against the backs of his thighs, making his cock twitch in anticipation.

“Ne jouir pas,” Phil says, firmly, shortly before taking one of Dan’s balls into his mouth.

He does the same to the other, and right away Dan is not convinced he will be able to follow Phil’s instruction. Phil’s tongue trails down, not going the way Dan expected, and he groans, deep and long, sensing the impending development before it happens. His cock remains untouched and flushed a deep pink, Phil’s mouth moving to areas further south. He licks between Dan’s cheeks in one unbroken line, then places a hand on each, and begins to swirl the tip of that tongue around Dan’s rim.

Dan’s face is hot, and probably bright red. Each movement of Phil’s tongue against him sparks a dozen electric pulses through his whole body, along with that delicious, hot sluice of shame that comes from being so vulnerable, from doing something ‘taboo’. If Dan turns his head to the left, he can see a painting he loved from the moment he set eyes on it, of a wild desert, over which a string of bunting hangs, displaying the Ethiopian flag, and beside it, the Pride flag.

“Fuck,” Dan lets slip as Phil’s tongue inches its way inside him.

He’s relentless at this, and saves it for special occasions because he knows Dan goes mad for it. When he does press his tongue there, he is slow and teasing, and can spend hours at it, driving Dan to the brink of ecstasy, and sometimes over the brink, if Dan is out of practice at staying in control. He highly suspects this might be one of those times.

His hips dance and shift, pushing into the feel of Phil against him, all warm wet mouth, and insistent, flicking tongue. “Fuck, Phil,” Dan moans, breathless. “Y-you’ll have to stop if you don’t want me to-”

Phil’s hand draws back and then lands with a slap on Dan’s right cheek, loud enough that it echoes around the room. He draws back to look at Dan between his thighs, lips slick, cheeks flushed. “Ne jouir pas,” he repeats. “And no talking, either.”

Then he dives back in, leaving Dan struggling and gasping, eyes fixed to the ceiling, trying desperately to think of the most non-arousing objects he can conjure up. A teapot. A wheelbarrow. Phil’s socks on the table. Phil’s tongue against his ass-

“Unngh, God,” Dan groans, and then, miraculously, and awfully, Phil moves away. There’s a smirk twisting his lips, and he reaches for the champagne bottle, taking a cheeky swig. Dan lifts an eyebrow, but dares say nothing.

“Très bon,” Phil says approvingly, then offers him the bottle. Dan shakes his head carefully, sensing a trap, and Phil laughs. “Hey, I brought it for us to share, no tricks.” Still, Dan refuses, too aroused to contemplate trying something as mundane as drinking, and Phil shrugs, setting it down. He’s in only his pants now, Dan notes, which are doing a poor job of concealing how hard he is beneath them. He climbs back on top of Dan, takes both of his wrists in either hand, and pins them above his head, smiling. “If I told you to keep your hands here, would you?”

At once, Dan nods, eagerly.

“Alright,” Phil says, leaning down to give him a slow, explorative kiss. When it’s over, he releases Dan’s wrists, and tilts his hips forwards, pressing their groins together. Even through the fabric of Phil’s underwear, Dan’s eyes roll back at how good it feels, to have some friction against his tortured erection at last. “I’m going to let you fuck me,” Phil says, as if he’s telling Dan he’s bought Buffy more dog food. “And you’re not to move your hands.”

Dan’s eyes widen. There’s absolutely no doubt in his mind that he is not strong enough to achieve this feat, but to say so might mean it won’t happen, so he stays silent. His heart races, watching as Phil finds his suit jacket a few feet away, and rummages in the pocket for a hidden bottle of lubricant. Dan wonders if he’s got any other exciting objects in there, but doesn’t dare ask.

So Dan is forced to watch, silent and unmoving, as Phil tilts up onto his knees above Dan, shucks off his underwear, and reaches between his legs to insert two lube-slicked fingers inside himself. It’s utter torture, and Dan’s eyes sting from how badly he wishes he could reach up and touch, bite, kiss, claim him. But he does none of this, just watching, mind blurred from lust, as the Adonis above him prepares himself for Dan.

“D’accord,” Phil says after what seems like centuries. “Je suis prêt. Ne bougez pas.”

Don’t move. As if that’s even a possibility, Dan thinks as Phil adjusts their positions, and then carefully sinks down onto Dan’s cock. It’s blinding, and consuming, like a meteor dazzling across his vision, obscuring everything else. Burrowing into Phil’s tight, warm body is akin to no other sensation. Dan feels sounds slipping from his mouth, feels tremors undulating through him, and still Phil engulfs him in a slow, steady swallow, until Dan has bottomed out entirely, and Phil is speared on his cock.

“Oh, for the love of fuck, please move,” Dan begs. Maybe it’s because Dan’s been so stressed, or because despite talking aloud, and making demands no less, he hasn’t actually moved his hands from where Phil pinned them. Whatever the reason, Phil does start to move his hips, in small increments at first, shifting up and down, and then gradually increasing the speed. “Oh, fuck. Oh, God.”

It’s when Phil shifts his angle, and then tips his head back to gasp, that Dan can’t help himself. His hands fly out to grab at Phil’s thighs, to feel his hips shift as he moves them. Seconds later, he remembers that this is not allowed. Despite his own flush, and the glassiness of his eyes, Phil is coherent enough to recognise that Dan has broken the rules, and grabs him by the hands, pinning them up above his head again. This time, he holds them there as his hips work, pulling Dan to the precipice of a cliff with each thrust downwards, grinding himself onto Dan’s cock. It’s Phil’s moans that throw him over the edge. It’s the flutter of his eyes, the slackening of his mouth as the tip of Dan’s erection grazes his prostate. He is a corrupted angel, fallen into iniquity, and Dan cannot bear the sight of it. He cries out as he comes, hips pushing himself as far into Phil as he can manage.

As his body slackens, the tremors slowing and stilling, Dan relaxes into the blanket beneath them, shuddering as the aftershocks ebb through him. He looks down; Phil hasn’t come - looks as if he intended to resist all along - and extricates himself from Dan carefully.

“You broke the rules,” Phil says, making Dan’s spent cock twitch again. “You moved your hands.”

Dan’s mouth is dry, but he manages, “I’m sorry.”

“Tu veux me faire jouir?” Phil asks, and Dan’s heart skips a beat, as it always does when Phil talks to him this way. Filthy and unabashed, not even a light flush against his pale skin. Dan nods, emphatically, and Phil’s smile grows wide. “Trente secondes.”

At once, Dan jumps to attention, leaping for Phil’s lap with such enthusiasm that Phil can’t help but laugh. It’s a kind punishment, really, as Phil is well aware by now how much Dan absolutely loves sucking him off. Before Phil, he’d never have dreamed he’d find it so pleasurable, but now he can’t get enough of it. Phil jokes, from time to time, that he’s more at home at floor level than Buffy is.

In the many, many opportunities Phil readily gives him to indulge himself in his favourite activity, Dan has gotten… pretty fucking good at it, if he does say so himself. He knows Phil’s tells, can switch techniques expertly just by listening to the shift in Phil’s breathing. But thirty seconds to make him come is a tall order, particularly as Dan prefers to draw it out.

Nevertheless, he does his best, head bobbing, keeping a tight seal around the girth of him, using one hand to meet his lips as he sinks down. Before he knows it though, Phil is tapping him on the back of the head.

“T-time’s up,” he says, sounding a little breathless himself. In the second that follows, Dan makes a snap decision. He continues sucking, tongue laving at him as he goes. He doesn’t bother wiping the spit that drips from his lips, and doesn’t respond when Phil taps him again, and says, “Dan. That’s thirty seconds- oh, oh merde.”

Dan can feel the give in him, can sense when he decides to just abandon that incredible willpower he has and let Dan pull him off the cliff as well. Phil plummets down into the ocean of bliss beneath, flooding Dan’s mouth with his release, and groaning loudly, his hands tangling in Dan’s hair. He swears several times in French, and then releases Dan, letting him slide off.

Dan sends him a sheepish, but pleased, look as he wipes his chin. “Sorry,” Dan says, and doesn’t mean it for a moment. “Couldn’t help myself.”

“Bitte salope,” Phil says, but fondly, teasingly, and reaches his arms out wide, so Dan tackles him to the floor. “I’ll have to punish you again,” Phil says, trailing his fingers through Dan’s curls. “But I guess it can wait until after your big fancy opening.”

“Very gracious of you,” Dan says, laughing, then sighs happily, pressing lips to Phil’s chest. “I needed that. Thank you.”

“Anytime,” Phil replies with a giggle. “It’s very taxing for me, obviously. But for you, anything.”

Dan swats him gently. “If you weren’t so hot and great in bed, you’d probably be a right pain.”

“Je t’aime aussi, chaton.”

*

In the middle of the party, just as Dan is about to grab one of the wait staff he hired and ask him why he’s been having to top up his own wine glass all night, a familiar, loud and obnoxious voice booms out from nearby.

“Mr Howell!”

Even the sound of that name is enough to make Dan shudder. In this environment, he’s simply Dan. He only TA’s at school a few days a week now thanks to PJ’s unwavering support and understanding, so most of the time Dan can forget he’s got an awkward, stern twin personality, charged with looking after a bunch of teenagers. He looks around, trying to place the voice in his mind, and failing.

Then, in the centre of the room, a young man stands between a few curious patrons, their heads turned to find out who is shouting in the midst of all the quiet, appreciative murmuring. Even staring him full in the face, it takes Dan a while to figure out who this person is, familiar though he seems. Then, his brain helpfully removes the heavy beard from the man’s chin, shrinks him down a few feet, and strips away the pyjama-like clothing, dressing him in a school blazer instead.

“Jonah,” Dan breathes, astounded. Before he can think anything more, Jonah Frank is storming over to him, a grin peering out from within the thick, unruly beard. Two impossibly strong arms wrap around him, thumping him on the back. “Oh my God,” Dan says, “what on earth are you doing here?”

“Came to support you, teach!” He releases Dan, jostling him by the arm.

“I hardly recognised you,” Dan admits, still baffled that the brawny but short kid he once chaperoned to Paris and back has somehow morphed into this stoner-dude, with long hair and a full beard. “You look, uh... nice tunic.”

Jonah laughs heartily, plucking a canapé of some kind off a nearby tray and seeming to swallow it whole. “Thanks,” he says, still grinning. “I’m at uni now, innit. Decided to reinvent myself.”

Dan chuckles, but then re-examines what Jonah just said. “Wait, you’re at uni?”

“Don’t sound so shocked, Sir!”

“Dan,” Dan says, blushing. “Call me Dan, we’re not in school now.”

“Oh yeah, guess you’re right! Weird.” Jonah is looking around, nodding as if impressed, as he takes in each artwork. “This is pretty decent if you ask me, Sir. I mean, Dan.”

Dan smiles at him. “Thanks, Jonah. It was really sweet of you to come.”

“Aw, don’t be a nonce,” Jonah responds, batting Dan in the shoulder. “You’re the reason I got into uni at all! Well, you and Mr Lester, obviously.”

It’s an absurd thing to say, and Dan has no idea where to begin responding to it, so he catches a waiter’s eye and waggles his glass, indicating he needs more alcohol, stat. “What are you studying?”

Jonah grins, then clears his throat. He pinches his thumb and forefinger together, accenting himself as he says, “L’histoire Francaise!”

Dan’s eyes bulge, and he almost drops his glass when a waiter, appearing at his shoulder, begins to fill it. “Is that… are you actually?”

“I swear,” Jonah says, readily accepting a second glass of wine from the waiter. Instinctively, Dan reaches to pluck it from him again, but Jonah pulls it out of reach. “Oi, I’m eighteen! I just told you I’m at uni, remember? Keep up, Sir.”

“Oh right,” Dan says, shaking his head. “Sorry.”

“No worries,” Jonah says. “So, where’s Mr Lester these days, then? I heard he’s not teachin’ at school anymore. Did he come to his senses in the end? Or did you scare ‘im off?”

The lack of tact in that question is so blunt that Dan sincerely hopes Jonah knows this is not the case and is just teasing him. He opens his mouth to respond, but before he does, a voice at his side butts in.

“If Mr Howell and I can survive your meddling Jonah, I think we’ll make it.”

“Ah, there he is!” Jonah cries out, arms thrown around Phil before Dan can blink. “Missed you, Sir. Uni’s got some well shit professors. When you gonna come and teach in the big leagues, eh?”

“Give it a year or two,” Dan says, aiming a loaded look at Jonah. Phil nudges him in the side, but doesn’t contradict the statement.

“Oo-er,” Jonah says, stepping back and draining his wine. “And here I was worryin’ that without me you two’d be lost!”

“Oh we are,” Phil says, smiling. “In an emotional sense.”

Dan nods in agreement, and feels Phil’s arm wind around his waist. “Classroom Nine echoes with Jonah Frank’s timeless words of wisdom… ‘when’s lunch, Sir?’, ‘how come they didn’t just wash a bit in the Middle Ages, Sir?’...”

“‘Stop flirtin’ with your TA, Sir…’” Phil adds, then winks at Dan.

Jonah laughs good-naturedly, and they chat a bit more about his Uni, what he’s studying, how it’s all going. He seems to be enjoying his first year, and not just the partying side of it, either. Dan still doesn’t believe that Jonah is there because of him - for some reason, in his last two years at secondary school, Jonah knuckled down and actually left with a decent set of GCSE’s and an acceptance to a nearby college - but he’s immensely glad that he was there to see it all happen, and in some small way, to help.

“At least now you can say it wasn’t all a huge waste of time,” Phil says once Jonah has excused himself to go and wander round the few other rooms.

Dan looks puzzled. “What wasn’t?”

“Doing the TA thing,” Phil says, nodding in the direction Jonah disappeared. “You successfully transformed the school’s most troubled student into a typical, bong-smoking uni fresher.”

Dan snorts, rolling his eyes. “Wow, I’m truly a marvel at my unwanted profession.”

“It’s not your profession anymore,” Phil says; he’s got a stupidly lit-up expression on his face, like he’s bursting with something Dan suspects might be akin to pride. “This is what you do. It’s what you’ve always been meant to do.”

“Well, don’t jump the gun just yet,” Dan says, mind back on how many tickets are left at the door, and if he’s going to be able to pay the caterers and still make a profit. “It’s only the first night.”

“Dan, look around,” Phil says gently, and Dan surveys the room he’s stood in, which is crammed with people, all admiring the art, talking and laughing, the wine in their hands flushing their cheeks. “This is a huge success. It’s a fantastic start to a promising career. You’ve done it.”

Dan opens his mouth to argue, but the sight of Teddy and Tyler in the corner, bickering over the meaning of the abstract sculpture Dan had fought some collector for, he closes it again. They’re arguing over what they deem is art. They’re arguing because they see different things within it, and interpret it in separate, personal ways, in just the way art is supposed to prompt people to do. And Dan’s responsible for that argument, he’s responsible for their individual reactions that caused it. He placed that art in front of everyone here, for those reactions to spill out of people’s mouths, even in the form of a snappy retort.

“You know,” Dan says in a low murmur. “I think you might be right.”

Phil leans in and kisses him, excitable and without finesse. “Je t’aime, mon petit propriétaire de la galerie.”

Dan laughs, softly, against him, drawing back just enough to dive into deep, brilliant pools of pure blue. “Moi aussi, mon amour.”

Fin.

[lashtoncurls]

Hungry Eyes(AI)

Summary: Ashton is the new performing arts instructor at the country club Izzy and her family attend every year during summer. And the unexpected happens when they fall in love while he teaches her to play drums and dance.

Words: 2K

Warnings: curse words, other parts will contain smut

A/N: @myloverboyash and I talk a lot about how Ash looks a lot like Johnny Castle and when it was suggested that I do an AU, I couldn’t say no. This will be a mini series, three parts most. Hope y’all like it.

It was finally summer break, and the Sanders family was getting ready to take the yearly trip down to the country club in New Jersey. They looked forward to it most of the time, and this year she was excited because she would finally be away from college and all that it brought. Her intentions were good when she thought she could take summer courses her freshman year, but learned that a little time away from it all was good.

“I’m so glad you decided to come with us, sweetheart.” Her dad hugged her as she climbed into the back of the range rover with her sister.

“Me too, daddy.” She smiled at him as he noticed from the rearview mirror. The drive was long, so she immersed herself in the world of Elizabeth and Mr Darcy. She wondered what it was like to have someone so fascinated with you that they would act that way. She agreed that Mr Darcy was an asshole, but he loved her. And she somehow understood that.

The car came to a halt as she got off and stretched, the fresh air hitting her face and a smile on her lips as she recalled all the past summers she had spent here.

“Last one to the lake is a rotten egg!” Lily yelled as they both sped down the trail, ignoring their parents pleads about their bags. But as they reached the lake, Izzy heard loud music and what seemed like someone singing. She walked slowly towards the cabin where it came from, remembering that that was the performing arts room. The window gave view inside, a young man with red hair sitting on a drum kit as he hit the drums and moved his body to the beat. There were three other men in the room with him, playing instruments as well. She watched for a couple minutes, entranced in the one behind he drums. She had never seen someone put so much passion into what they were doing, even though her father was a very dedicated surgeon he wasn't that passionate.

“Hey, what are you looking at?” Lily asked as she went back to find her sister stuck to the window.

“Uh, nothing.” She turned around and pushed lily towards the lake again, making jokes. They stayed at the lake until the sun began to set and they had to go meet their parents for dinner.

“Are you really going to wear that? It’s so ugly.” She shrugged her shoulders as she slipped on her shoes and examined herself in the mirror one more time. The outfit wasn't bad, it was just a little more old school than her sister would ever wear.

“I like it.” They looked at each other before they all walked down to the restaurant. The sun had now set, but the afterglow gave the clouds a pink and purple hue. It was beautiful, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the head of red hair that she noticed. He was sitting on the bridge as he too looked out at the water where the sun set. There was something about him, but she couldn’t quite tell what it was, it wasn't just his passion for drumming and his stunning looks.

“Come on!” Her sister pulled her away towards the dining hall and to their table with their parents.

Dinner was uneventful, her parents only asking about school and how they were excited be spending the next two months with her. She was gushing about her classes when she heard a voice coming from the stage at the front.

“Hey everybody, we’re 5 Seconds of Summer. We’ll be your entertainment for the evening and part of the summer. So hope you like us!” It was the blonde who spoke, she had noticed him playing the guitar earlier by the lake. He too was pretty, but not like the drummer. She noticed him as he began to play. They had some pretty good music and she could tell they were having fun as they played.

“They’re pretty good, huh?” She asked with a smile.

“I’ve heard better.” Her dad shrugged her off and pulled his phone out, not being able to leave his work fully. She watched until they ended their set and the restaurant began to clear.

It was now midnight and she couldn’t fall asleep, her school routine catching up to her. She would usually study until two or three in the morning. She groaned and watched her sister peacefully sleep before she got up and slipped out the door, lightly closing it as she saw her parents door was closed. She walked down to the performing arts room she had seen earlier, hoping that they would be there still, but much to her disappointment the room was empty and dark.

As she walked back to her cabin, she heard the music amongst the night and noticed a light further into the forest. She followed the sound and was met with a bond fire, all the people there she recognized as the ones that she had seen as waiters at the restaurant and some others by the lake. They were the people that worked here, and they all looked to be around her age. They chatted as the blonde boy sat by the fire with a guitar in his hands, the other two also with their instruments. She leaned on the tree and watched as they sang and drank. She’d never had many friends and wasn’t used to these settings, but she now she wanted to.

“Hey loner, don’t just stand there. Come on.” The blonde approached her and pulled her towards the people there, handing her a beer.

“Oh, I-I don’t drink.” She returned the beer and shook her head.

“Of course she doesn’t.” There was a scoff from next to her, the boy with the red hair laughed and walked away from them as he chugged his own beer.

“I’m Luke. That’s Ashton, he’s bit of an asshole.” “Izzy.” She nodded and looked away as he plugged his phone into a speaker, the music coming loudly from them. Luke pushed her further into the people, introducing her to the ones that were his friends.

“Guys this is Izzy.” She smiled as they went around and said their names.

“Calum.” His hair was silver, something that she’d seen only on women or older men before, but he managed to make it look good. The smile that adorned his lips showed off his slight dimples and she could tell that he was nice.

“Michael.” The colored hair seemed like a trend in this friend group, she noticed. But this boys hair was only blonde. The scruff that covered his face made him look very manly, and she noticed how pretty his eyes were.

“Ash.” Ashton spoke as he reached them, his tone uninterested. She noticed the color of his eyes and was taken back by the features of his face. His jaw structure was something she’d only seen on sculptures. The man that stood before was the most handsome one she’d ever seen. They went into conversation as she watched them, her eyes never leaving Ashton. She liked the red hair, even though she couldn’t help but wonder what his natural hair color was. She liked the way the one small strand of hair would fall into his forehead, and the clothes he wore, it was as if he’d come out of an 80’s romantic novel. He wore a black tee with the sleeves rolled up and black skinny jeans with black Doc Martens.

“Show off!” Someone yelled as he began to dance, pulling a girl up from where she sat. Luke had changed the music to a song that she’d never heard before. It was in Spanish from what she could tell, and the moves he was doing were something she’d never seen before. His hips moved in sync with the music as his hands were on the girls waist and she moved with him. Their bodies molding togethers while one of her legs was between his.

“He’s the performing arts instructor for the summer. A fucking show off if you ask me, but he’s good at what he does.” Luke said softly and laughed as he watched her watch Ash dance.

“What are ya looking at?! Fucking dance!” Ashton laughed as he made everyone move from their spots and move to the music, the girl leaving his arms and pulling Luke with her. Izzy found herself leaning against a tree again, the fire roaring in the middle of her and Ashton as he grabbed another drink and looked straight at her. He had been watching her since he noticed her staring through the window earlier. The way her eyes lit up with excitement as she watched them perform both times was something he had not seen in a long time. She was interested in their craft, and that made him interested in her. Besides the fact that she was pretty, he liked the way she dressed and the innocence in her stare. He had many women before, but they weren’t what he was looking for.

“Dance with me.” He made his way to her and grabbed her hand, pulling her in his arms. Her hands landed on his chest as she looked up and he began to move, the music still unknown to her.

“Let loose, and move your hips a little more. Like this, see?” He removed one hand from her waist as he moved his hips in circles and his feet followed. A low laugh escaped his lips as she tried but tripped on her own two feet, her cheeks blushing deeply.

“You’ll get the hang of it. Watch me.” Ashton continued his movements until loud yelling interrupted him and he ran towards the commotion. A circle of people had formed where Calum and someone else were fighting on the ground, punches being thrown at each other.

“Get off him, you fucking moron!” Ashton yelled as he pulled the other guy off Calum “He’s a guest!” But before they let go of each other, Calum punched the other boy in the face, a loud cracking noise making them cringe.

“My hand! My fucking hand!” Calum pushed Ashton off him and walked towards the rocks to sit with his right cradled to his chest. “I think it’s broken.” A small tear escaped as Izzy ran to sit by him, pulling his hand from his chest to examine it.

“I can have my daddy look at it, he’s a doctor.” She looked at the boy as his face scrunched up in pain while he nodded.

“Of course, she would be the one to offer fucking help right away. Her rich doctor daddy to the rescue.” Ashton sarcastically laughed as he looked at both of them and groaned. “Better get back to your cabins and make sure your hand is better for the competition or I’ll fucking kill you, Hood.”

Izzy helped him get up and walked with him, as he explained that he was a guest and he had become friends with Ashton last summer.

“He doesn’t look that old.” Izzy mused as they walked.

“He’s not. He’s only a couple years older than me. But he’s had much more exposure to music than I’ve had so he’s pretty fucking talented.” Calum stopped walking when they reached his cabin.

“I’ll go get my dad, don’t wanna let it sit too long.” He nodded as she went and woke up her dad, making up an excuse. He fixed up Calum’s hand and told him to be careful, confirming that his index and middle fingers were broken at the knuckles.

“You’ll need to go down to the hospital so they can take an x-ray and put a cast on.” Calum nodded and thanked him before they walked away.

“I hope you’re not associating yourself with delinquents. His hand was broken because of a fight, not a slip.” Her father dropped his bag on the table as he went to sleep and left her alone to her thoughts.

Tags: @slimthicccal @haveiquitefinished @lashtonchesthair @myloverboyash @dweebluke @calumhampton @24kcalum @angelbbycal @heaven-high-water @toofadedtofight @irwinkitten @calthesensation @lukesflaredpants @uncrownedqueeen

[imaginarydaydreams]

Another Autumn, New Beginnings

Fandom: Mystic Messenger Pairing: Saeran x MC - Autumn Date Written: 10/3/18 Thoughts: For the @2019loveforallseasons Mysme Calendar! Not gonna lie, I had a hard time writing this due to personal and health reasons, but I hope you guys enjoy the taste of the changing seasons! Also thank you so much to my collab partner, @heyasa17, for their beautiful art that gave me the motivation to revisit this piece ;u; You’re the best; thank you so much and it was such a pleasure working with you!

Autumn. The time of year in which the seasons begin to shift from the hot summer days to the snowy chill of winter. When the leaves, once lush green, exchange their hues for the warm and vibrant reds, oranges, and yellows that flutter to the ground. It is said that autumn often brings forth welcomed changes. The color shifts in the trees as they prepare for their slumber during the winter is often celebrated, people from all over coming to watch this fantastical event. And in preparation for the incoming holidays, there are special events or signature items that trend. All for the sake of basking in the chilling of the weather for colder days to come. However, to Saeran, autumn represented a completely different change. One that is far from what is typically thought. 

Both he and his beloved MC were strolling through the park, side by side, arms littered with various shopping bags from their date in town. Holding a steaming cup between her hands, her eyes darted back and forth between the tall trees that surrounded them, watching as the breeze carried warm hues through the wind before gently drifting them down upon the soft ground.  His gaze was trained on her, love and adoration shining in his eyes as he reached an arm over to pull her closer and wrapped their shared scarf slightly tighter to protect against the drafts. She simply smiled at the gesture and snuggled into his side, careful not to spill her drink. "Another season has passed, my love," he said, leaning down to press a kiss to her temple as they continued to walk, bundled next to each other as the leaves crunched under their feet. "So many things have happened in these last few months...and with the leaves changing color, it only serves as a reminder of how lucky I am to have you in my life."  She merely hummed, taking another sip from her cup before looking up at him. "Oh? And what are those things?"  "Well, for starters," he said, shifting some of the bags in his arms and reaching a finger over to tap against her cup, "I now know what the famed 'Pumpkin Spice Latte' is, thanks to you."  She giggled and playfully batted his hand away, turning away from him to take another sip. "Hey, don't you dare go making fun of my favorite drink," she said through her laughter, "It's really good, I swear!" She tilted her cup towards him, almost inviting him to taste the rich flavors of her fall-festive drink. He leaned towards the cup, accepting the invitation. But right as she was about to hand it to him, he tilted his head up towards hers, their lips meeting in a chaste kiss that only served to tint her cheeks the same shade as the crimson leaves. When he pulled away, there was a mischievous grin plastered on his face, running his tongue over his lips to taste the lingering sweetness.  “Hmm, you’re right. It does taste good.” “That’s not what I meant and you know it!” She playfully shoved his shoulder, the sounds of their laughter echoing in the space between them. The trees carried their laughter on the winds, filling the air with joy appropriate for the season.  Autumn truly was a time of change, but it was in that moment that Saeran realized just how much his life had changed upon meeting her.  After all, it wasn’t long ago that he sat in front of a myriad of computers, letting his hatred fester and fuel him to work beyond what any normal person should endure. It was all for their Paradise, he had told himself as his fingers danced across the keyboard. And the harder he worked, the faster his Savior’s goals would be achieved. But it was only after she had come to Mint Eye that his life turned upside down.  Before, the world had seemed cold, stained in only monotones—greys, blacks, and whites were what composed Saeran’s little world and he was content in living as such. Just content that he was able to be useful to those closest to him.  But she had managed to bring with her the colors of spring, summer, autumn, and fall—the swirls of seasons that he never thought would be so rich and beautiful. Their whirlwind romance over the course of those eleven days painted the world in such a new light; he never wanted to let go of the colors, chasing after her light as she guided him away from the darkness. And now, months later, he felt like he was staring at a completely different future from what he imagined. His hair, once a pure snowy white, was back to its original fiery red while minty eyes shone like the sun with their honey golden hues.  He never thought that he would receive the love and affection he craved for so long. Hell, he didn’t even think—after abandoning his old identity of the weak boy who loved the sky and flowers—that he would return to such a state.  He wasn’t lying when he had called her his angel. Having her by his side was a blessing, in all sense of the word. He wouldn’t have it any other way. Speaking of having her by his side… When he was finally pulled out of his reveries, he noticed the lack of presence next to him. The scarf felt colder, as did his hand, almost as if something, or someone, was missing. Saeran panicked, looking around rapidly for his missing love. He only zoned out for a few seconds--at least that’s what he thought--so she shouldn’t have been able to get far?  Right?  A tight feeling in his chest began to constrict his breathing, his anxiety starting to get the better of him, when the clear sound of her joyous laughter rang through the silence. His eyes quickly traced the sound, feet seeming to move on their own, as he followed the sound of her voice. Past the colorful trees, to the left of the benches, and in a...pile of leaves? Sure enough, he found her resting in a large pile of fallen leaves. The bags she had been carrying, along with her drink, had been carefully set on the ground next to her. But there she lay, hair spread out in a halo decorated with scattered oranges and yellows. A serene, closed-eyed smile graced her features as sweet giggles left her mouth, almost as if she, too, was amused by the childish antics that she had just done. And with the light of the sunset softly illuminating her facial features, she seemed to absolutely radiate with youthful warmth. She looked absolutely happy, at peace. A true angel come from heaven that somehow graced him with her presence every day. A slow blush rose to his cheeks as he basked in her beauty. The look on her face practically screamed adorable that he just...couldn’t help himself. She was just too beautiful for this world. Quietly, he set his bags down next to hers and pulled out his phone as to not disturb her. He brought up his camera and quickly snapped a picture, desperate to not miss this moment. However, much to his chagrin, the sound of the shutter cut through the tranquility and her eyes snapped open, meeting his wide gaze with an equally confused look. “Did you just...take a picture of me?” She questioned, lips pursed and eyebrows slightly furrowed. She shifted to sit up from her position, gazing up at him as he stood speechless, silently gawking at her and trying to grasp for an answer. Welp, he was a dead man. He didn’t know exactly how to cover what he was doing, nor did he really want to lie to her. But what was he supposed to say? “I...couldn’t help myself,” he mumbled, sticking his phone back in pocket. A hand reached behind his head, nervously pulling at the baby hairs and rubbing his neck. “You just looked so adorable that I just really wanted a picture to capture the moment. I’m sorry.” Wait. Shoot, he said that out loud, didn’t he? His eyes darted back to meet hers, his blush growing rosier as he just stared at her. A soft shade of pink began to tint her cheeks, a shy smile spreading across her features. He sputtered, trying to clarify that he wasn’t trying to be weird--“Anything but that, MC, I swear!”--and tripping over his own embarrassment that he didn’t notice her slowly standing and reaching out to take his hands into hers. It wasn’t until he felt her breath tickling his ears, the sweet sound of her laughter ringing through the air, as he was being pulled forward. He barely had enough time to register that the two of them were falling--her pulling him with her as she leaned back--until the soft poof of leaves flew around them into the open air, drifting down to scatter across their figures. He didn’t realize his eyes were closed. But when he opened them, he saw that she was still clinging to his arm, her body nuzzled up against his side as that silly smile was still plastered across her face. She was staring intently at him, mischief dancing behind her eyes as she reached over to press a kiss to the underside of his jaw. “You dork,” she murmured, snuggling closer to him, “if you wanted a picture, you should have just said so. After all, you still owe me a selfie together.” She wiggled around, moving this way and that, as she dug around her pockets before pulling out her phone. Her smile brightened as she scooted closer to him. With one hand holding the phone raised above the both of them, slowly positioning them into frame, her other hand reached for his. She rested her head against his shoulder, her pinky finger reaching out to wrap around his own, as she grinned, clearly happy with the image. “Alright, ready? In three, two...one!”  As the shutter of the camera clicked, their pinkies intertwined in a silent promise, the both of them beamed.  Like this moment, now preserved within their shared memories, the renewed promise of their love for each other would forever remain constant against the changing seasons.

[mercuryeet]

The Lie, Love You Till I Die

Welcome to the chronological series. New episodes every Friday 🚀

Episode IV, Sweet Home Alabama

The wheels of the plane touched down and Miranda turned her eyes to me with a flash of a smile. My girl was both happy and nervous to be home again. I was just excited to see the place she came from, and uncover new parts of her I hadn’t seen before.

“You ready to meet everyone, Bri?” She tucked the magazine she was reading back where she got it and reached for my hand. Her palms were clammy and hot.

I nodded my head and brought her hand to my lips. “It’ll be a fun trip, love. Stop worrying.”

“Just know that they’re gonna have questions about you and I. And even about Freddie.” She squeezed my palm in her hand three times. Something we used to do as kids to say ‘I love you’. I’m not sure if it means something different now.

“Let them ask away, love. You don’t have to answer anything you don’t want to.” I squeezed her hand back four times. ‘I love you too’.

“I guess you’re right.” She smiled and leaned over me to look out the window. “Welcome to Alabama, Dumplin.”

Outside were fields and fields of cotton and wheat and corn. Miranda’s face lit up and she admired the scenery. I wanted so badly to kiss her right then and there. The gleam in her eyes reminded me of how fast I really fell for her when we first met as teenagers. Her long unruly hair dangled over her shoulders and her big pretty eyes were always wild and amused. I’ll always remember the first time I met her, sitting on the stoop of the library steps with an iced lolly that had stained her lips and tongue bright pink. She looked as wild then as she does right now, staring out the airplane window.

Miranda turned her face back towards mine with a smile. “Ceils should be at the gate waiting for us. She’s excited to see you again.”

I took my chance to kiss her now while her attention was on me. Her lips curled against mine with a breathy giggle. “You’re absolutely adorable Bri. You know that?”

“Only because you tell me all the time.”

She playfully smacked my arm.

The stewardesses began to let everyone off the plane and into the terminal. Luggage claim was a wreck as usual and I was grabbing Miranda’s bag when a tall leggy red head comes running towards us. Her yellow tee shirt had a grass stain on the left shoulder and her shorts were most definitely pants that had been worn out at the thighs and been cut into daisy dukes.

“Miranda!” It was Ceilia, flinging herself into Miranda’s arms.

“Ceils!” The two of them hugged and jumped around before pulling back to do that thing where they talk over each other really fast but can still somehow completely understand what was said.

“I’ve missed you so much Mandy!” Ceilia had such a thick southern accent, if Miranda hadn’t had one when I first met her I doubt I’d be able to understand what she was saying now.

“I missed you too Ceils. It’s nice to be back in Huntsville.” Miranda’s expression was more relaxed than it had been on the plane. She looked comfortable again.

Ceilia slowly let her arms down Miranda’s shoulders before finally looking in my direction.

I forgot how much of a hugger Ceilia was and couldn’t get my hands out of my pockets fast enough to avoid the most awkward hug I’ve ever had.

“Brian! It’s so good to see you. When Mandy told me all about how you were coming with her instead I just couldn’t believe it! Last time I saw you you had hair ABOVE your shoulders!” Ceilia playfully smacked my arm before picking up Miranda’s bags.

“It’s good to see you too Ceils. Congratulations on the engagement and the wedding and all.” I reached out to take the bags from her hands and she patted my hand away.

“It’s alright Bri Bri, I’ve been tendin my Uncles farm for years. Im probably stronger than you are Sweet Cheeks.” Ceilia turned around and waved for us to follow her. Miranda smiled and hooked her arm around mine as I carried my own luggage.

“She’s probably got a point you know. Ceils holds the Mugs N Jugs record for bull riding.”

I smiled and pecked the top of her head as we followed behind her cousin. Ceilia parked her white Chevy pick up right out front, which I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to do.

“Load her up baby.” Ceilia smacked the tailgate of her truck before flinging herself up into the bed with what looked like little to no effort at all. I handed her our bags and she lined them up carefully and secured them with a bungee cord.

“You ready to meet Ma and the rest of the family?”

-

The driveway to Miranda’s mothers house was one of those things that you can’t actually find on a map. You have to rely on directions like ‘take a right at the chicken farm but if you pass the cotton field and the donkeys you’ve gone too far’. The driveway was a plain red dirt road, the stone mailbox that marked the driveway was probably about a mile back now. I knew her family had land but not this much. Miranda and Ceilia did most of the talking. I just sat back and enjoyed the ride. I also enjoyed holding her hand for a good thirty minutes. She made me feel like a teenager again. I’ve never been so giddy and excited to just hold a girls hand before.

The lights on the outside of Miranda’s home began to shine through the trees surrounding the property. The faint sound of people laughing and talking in the distance came through the open windows.

Miranda turned to me, breaking my focus on the tree line.

“So Brian. Welcome to the Anderson Farm.”

In just seconds her home was fully in view. It was beautiful and rustic. It was a lovely white wash home with a porch that wraps all the way around on both the upper and lower decks. The front porch had a hanging swing and several wooden barrels for seating. There were three trucks parked out in the lawn, all Chevrolet.

“I guess the Chevy thing is a trend?” I leaned into Miranda’s ear, making her giggle.

“Daddy would flip his lid if we drove anything else.” She leaned in even closer and whispered “So don’t tell him I drive a Volkswagen.”

She let go of my hand as Ceilia parked the truck alongside another white Chevy. The truck sort of jolted as she put it in park.

“Get ready to be bombarded Brian. Watch out for Victor and Vann. They’re dumb AND nosy. And don’t let Uncle Curtis scare you too much. He’s all bark and no bite.”

Confused about how to even respond to Ceilia I just nodded my head and gave my best attempt at a smile. Honestly my heart was flopping around like a fish in my chest. I was about to meet Miranda’s entire family. Including her father, which would be a first. I met her mother in London a few months after I met Miranda. She’s an incredibly sweet woman. Mrs. Anderson is very down to earth, but still knows how to make someone laugh. Her father is who I assume to be the very formidable man lingering on the porch with a pistol strapped to his hip, but I’ll hope for the best.

“You’re going to do great sweetheart.” Miranda pecked me on the cheek and practically dragged me out of the car. If she hadn’t I’m not sure I would have gotten out. I felt glued down by the fear of completely bombing this meeting with her family.

“Oh my!” As soon as the car doors shut a small plump woman came rushing through the storm door of the house. “My Mandy Pandy is home!” It was Miranda’s mother. The two of them ran to each other, almost like you see in the movies. They looked so alike. Both had dark hair and green eyes and very Italian features.

Ceilia had left my side to go hug the big, slightly terrifying, man on the porch, leaving me on my own with my hands shoved in my pockets like an idiot.

“And of course Brian!” Mrs. Anderson waved me in to get in on the hug as well. “I’m so happy to see you both again. Especially you know,” she lowered her voice to whisper “together.”

My eyes darted to Miranda to look for a little guidance. I wasn’t sure what all she’d told her family about us but by the nervous smile she gave me and the way Mrs. Anderson whispered I’m convinced her mother knows a little something.

Mrs. Anderson let go of us and pulled back to look us over with a toothy grin. “London is starvin’ y’all but we’ll get to fixin’ that while you’re here.”

“Aw, Mom don’t say that.” Miranda said awkwardly.

“It’s alright.” I smiled back at her mother, trying to seem more comfortable than I really was “I’ve never had southern comfort food, I’m excited to try it.”

With a quick glance upwards I locked eyes with the scary man on the porch. He had been watching me.

“Well you came to the right place Brian.” Mrs. Anderson patted my arm before turning around to call into the house “Victor! Vann! Come get the luggage out the truck for Mandy and Brian!”

“Oh it’s okay I can get our-“ I was interrupted by Mrs. Anderson.

“Nonsense these two can get it.”

Two tall lanky boys in oil stained tee shirts and blue jeans came wrestling out of the house. Both had long hair and the same facial features but one had a scar on his left cheek bone where he clearly had stitches in the past.

“Woah there Mandy you didn’t tell us you were bringing the worlds best guitarist to Ceils wedding.” The boy with the scar on his cheek came barreling down the steps, his brother in tow behind him.

“Victor mind your manners.” Miranda punched his shoulder as he and his brother stopped right in front of me. Almost examining me you could say.

I smiled and held out my hand “It’s nice to meet you both.” Victor completely ignored my hand and pulled me right in for a hug, patting my back pretty rough.

“Nah dude. It’s a freakin honor to meet THE Brian May.”

“Enough boys.” The big man on the porch finally spoke.

Ceilia had joined Miranda’s mother back in the house and the twins were behind us in no time grabbing the luggage from the truck.

“Hey Daddy.” Miranda gave the man a soft doe eyed smile. “I missed you.”

I was right. The man was her father. I thought knowing that for sure would make me less intimidated but I couldn’t have been more wrong.

She took my hand and brought me up to the porch where her father stood and waited for us. I followed just behind her. Staying just one step behind her, taking her lead in the conversation.

“I missed you too Mandy. Is this the Brian fella you were telling me about?”

Miranda nodded and Mr. Anderson held out his hand for me to shake.

“It’s nice to meet you Sir.” Miranda told me to mind my manners and make sure I address her parents as Ma’am and Sir as much as I could remember.

“It’s nice to meet you too Mr. May. I like your music but you need a haircut son.” Mr. Anderson smiled and opened the door behind him for us to come in. “Come inside and get settled y’all. I’m sure you’re tired.”

-

Miranda nuzzled her head under my chin as I held her close. We were listening to the sound of the crickets outside. Miranda had one twin sized bed that sat directly underneath a window. The moonlight lit up her face enough for me to admire her while she slept in my arms. She was so pretty. Even when she wasn’t trying to be. She looked like an angel in the veil of the moonlight. The light bounced and danced off her cheeks. I ran my fingers up and down her back as she drifted off. I could do this with her forever. I could wake up next to her forever. The image of her big green eyes and her disheveled hair strewn across the pillows is something I’ve always wanted to have the privilege to see.

“Goodnight Miranda.” I whispered “I love you.”

[them-stony-boys]

“How should we tell them?”

Hey so I’m peeved about not being clever and coming up with anything good for my baby boy’s birthday (Tony if you live under a rock and didn’t know) but for the glorious occasion of June descending upon us I thought a good old fashioned gay fic is in order.  First one I’m posting of stony ever so please be gentle. (Also I’m going to my first Pride this year so I have no idea how they work so I’m sorry) This is crack I finished this in like three hours (a sporadic three hours) and the end is super rushed and I’m sorry for this. I swear I have better stuff line up.

“How should we tell them?”  

Steve stops smearing pink, purple, and blue face paint down his cheek. “What?”

“I’ve been thinking about it a lot and I think we should come clean and tell the team about, you know, us.”  

Steve let’s his hand finish its trek down his face before wiping his hand on a rag.  “What do you mean?”

“Like, they’re our friends, our family, so I think we should come clean.”  

Steve pulls a dark blue muscle tee over his head, letting Tony continue to talk. 

“And since it’s me and this is kind of a big deal I thought why not do something extravagant.”   

Steve raised an eyebrow as he sat in front of Tony, bringing his little face paint pallet with him.  He started on the rainbow across Tony’s cheek as he continues to ramble.

“Maybe go to Paris and send them a picture of us kissing at the top of the Eiffel Tower.”  

“Tony.” 

“Or we should get a cake a huge cake a three tier one, the top one would be frosted blue.”

“Tony.”

“The middle one would be rainbow and the bottom one would be blue.  And I’m sure you get what I’m saying.  It’d be hallowed out maybe, if we wanted to be really extra-”

“Tony.” 

Steve swiped the last purple stripe across his cheek. He then leveled Tony with The Look.  

“Hm?”  Was Tony’s responded as he looked at his boyfriend, trying and failing to match his gaze.  

“We could just tell them.  You know, with our words.” 

Tony’s mouth twisted.  “You’re no fun.” 

“Come on,” Steve said as he stood, running his hand through Tony’s hair, smearing it with purple and blue and green, “we’re going to be late.”  

“Yeah yeah.” Tony stood and stretched and Steve couldn’t help but look him over appreciatively.  Tony wore a white tank with “Love Wins” written in rainbow font across the front and booty jean shorts barley an inch below the perfect curves of his ass.  Rainbow face paint was smeared horizontally across his left cheek, bi colors on his right.  Tony looked over his shoulder and Steve tried to look elsewhere before Tony could say anything.  But Tony noticed.  Tony smiled as he swayed his hips.  “You like what you see?”  

Steve rolled his eyes.  “Oh shush, you.”  

Tony pulled Steve up and raked his eyes over Steve.  He was wearing a dark blue muscle tank with his shield on it, the red white and blue pattern replaced with the bisexual flag colors, and cargo shorts. Tony wanted him to wear something a little...shorter, but Steve refused. 

“Are you ready to go?”  Steve asked as his hands settled on Tony’s hips.

“Yeah yeah let’s go.”  Tony said as he pressed a gentle kiss on his lips before pulling away,  walking toward the elevator, Steve in tow, headed for the garage.

---------------------------(Watch for the cut)----------------------------

Steve and tony’s relationship may be a secret but Tony Stark’s sexuality isn’t.  Tony decided to tell the world after driving by a gathering of homophobic protesters, Tony breaking out his phone and leaning out the window screaming “I love sucking (insert profane genitalia)!” 

It trended for a month.

 Of course there was backlash but the avengers defended Tony tooth and nail, as did half the internet.  

But when Tony asked Steve to pride Steve had no idea what to expect, he’s never even heard of it before.  

“Oh it’s just a gathering of people celebrating who they are.  Real fun time.” That was Tony’s explanation of it.  A very understated truth Steve realized upon arriving.  There were people and rainbows everywhere, people were smiling and laughing as Tony pulled Steve through the crowd. 

Every so often Steve would hear whispers of ‘is that Tony Stark?!’ ‘dude that’s Captain America!’  Sometimes he would feel someone touch his bicep or tug his shirt, occasionally he’d hear a squeal after. 

They’d walk through the parade, something swelling in his chest as he looked around him and took everything in.

It was going so smoothly that Tony half expected some alien to come along and destroy it.  But no the only hiccup was Steve forgot what Tony told him on the way there, ‘don’t interact with the protesters.’   

Steve had somehow slipped away from Tony when he noticed a protester in the corner with a poster with him on it.  Steve moved through the crowd as he picked up on their conversation. 

“-and what makes you think Steve Motherfuken Rogers is homophobic?” 

“Dude was born and raised in the forties, he’s got values and he’s Captain America-!”

“Do you not watch press conferences?” A girl asks, “Did you not see him defend the ever living hell out of Tony Stark?” 

“He probably does it because the man pays for everything and doesn’t wanna get cut off for speaking his mind.  A damn shame if you ask me.” 

“Yeah well nobody asked you-”

“I mean Stark is a pussy ass fairy like you all, dude shouldn’t even be an avenger.”

By this point Steve has managed to push his way through the crowd, stopping on the edge of the little circle surrounding the protestor.  Steve towered over the teens in front of him, raising an eyebrow as he looked at the poster with his image on it. It was light blue with him standing at attention with the phrase ‘CAPTAIN AMERICA IS NOT OK WITH YOUR SIN’ in big block letters.  

“I’m sorry what were you saying about Tony Stark?” 

The man scanned Steve, his eyes falling to the symbol on his chest.  Steve took a step closer and the man swallowed.  He tried to gather himself. “You can’t be serious.”

Steve clenched his jaw and looked down at the man in question.   “Take it down and leave these people alone.”

The man scoffed, “Or what?”  

Steve moved to take a step forward with his fists clenched, “Do you want to find-”

“Woah there big guy.” Tony said as he grabbed Steve’s elbow, “let’s not get arrested.” 

“How about you come back when you haven’t been corrupted by a fag like Tony Stark.”  

“Who in the hell-!?” 

“Steve don’t!”  Tony pulled him back, Steve needing to remember his own strength.  

Tony had managed to pull him away, promising the protester that there’d be lawsuits if he didn’t take down the poster (”you can’t do that!” “The image of Captain America is owned by the avengers, which is funded by Stark Industries, aka me.”) The group perviously surrounding the poster asked for pictures, which they gladly gave.  

They continue on their way, the incident nearly forgotten about.  At some point as they walk through the crowd that was the Pride Parade, they ended up walking along side of a float with people on it yelling various phrases and riling up the crowd.  Apparently someone on the float recognized them.

“Mr. Stark?  Mr. Stark!”  Tony looked up, a smile quickly growing on his face.  

“Yeah?!”  He yells over the noise. 

“Mr. Stark will you join us up on here, say a few words?”  The crowd cheered in response.

“How could I say no?” 

Tony, with the help of the people on the float, climbed up on the float, taking the microphone.  It was hard to hear what he was saying as every other word was drowned out by cheers, something about pushing through and showing the world that it’s ok to be who you are, etc.

At the end of it Tony had coached down and grabbed Steve’s bicep and started to pull on it.  “-and,” he said as Steve climbed up, “I just want you to know,” he looped his arm with Steve’s, that the avengers are on your side.  Be Proud and stay Proud!” He finished as he turned to Steve, wrapping his arms around his neck and dipping them both as he kissed Steve.  Steve was quick to respond, settling his hands on Tony’s hips. 

Best Pride ever.

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

Steve and Tony stepped out of the elevator the next morning late for breakfast.  Last night they discussed how they would tell the team about their relationship, Steve’s method winning out.  Everyone was gathered around the table, about a dozen different conversations going on at once.  Steve cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention.  They all quieted down, looking over at the two.

“Tony and I have something we need to tell you all.” They exchange a glance before they look back at the group, everyone looking at them expectantly.  

“Tony and I...” Steve grabs Tony’s hand, “are in a relationship. Romantically.”  

Everyone looked at them, then at each other.  “Yeah we know.”  Was Natasha’s response.  

“What how?”  Tony asked.

Clint, who’d gone back to looking at his phone, grabbed a remote and flicked on the tv without looking up from his screen.  He flipped it to a random news channel and the first thing that appeared was a picture of the two kissing on top of a pride parade float.  Clint flipped to another channel, the same picture was situated behind a panel of people talking.  Clint repeated this process several times and finished with “It was all over the internet yesterday, all over the news this morning.”

Natasha looked over her shoulder, “Bruce you owe me money!”   

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose.  He should’ve gone with the cake.

Hi yea I know it’s rushed I have way better stuff lined up this was just that gay thing I wanted to put out for June so here it is. (Sorry for this rushed thing I don’t know why this happened)