#(no one has ever loved me in the exact same fashion as him. i owe him so much)

[piss-stained-jorts]

"if you point a gun at a nihilist's head, they'll beg for their life, proving it has meaning." haha yeah man cool. so like while you go to the gun store to buy the bullets I'll stay here with them. nooooo haha i'm not gonna sneak out the door with them in toe and go feed the ducks. you can totally trust me to stay here so you can Own Them and Prove Your Point lol i won't take their hand gently and let them say the darkest thoughts kept away in their heart as we look at a sunset together and contemplate why it doesn't seem to make us as happy as it makes other people. yeah we'll be here waiting while you load the gun bro we aren't planning on spilling our hearts to each other on the soft green grass as the clouds roll by. yes the gun is what will prove life has meaning that's how we will go about it and not warm grilled cheese sandwiches over coffee at a coffee shop. dude you're so wicked smart man no no don't worry about the sound of laughter in the garden

[izurou]

every morning, and often throughout the night, you’ll stretch a foot over to satoru’s side of the bed and make contact with him.

what comes across as a simple desire for physical touch, is actually a habit of yours—one born from both fear and experience. it’d be far from the first time you woke up and he wasn’t there, but things are different now, and you need him to be there.

but this morning, all you feel is cold sheets.

you sit up and rub at your eyes before looking out the window—finding your usual view blurred with rain. you shiver a little at the sight, or maybe—at the foreign emptiness of the room.

and that’s when you realize that, not only is satoru missing from your bed—the small white crib off to your right is also missing your daughter.

you think the worst on instinct. irrational, you’re well aware—there’s no reason for such thoughts anymore, but they still manage to penetrate your freshly conscious mind nonetheless.

that is, until a pair of giggles sneak past the little crack in your bedroom door, acting as the perfect antidote to your conclusion jumping.

now, you find yourself getting out of bed just a bit too eagerly for a gloomy sunday morning—sliding into your slippers before shuffling towards the door and down the hallway. you wrap your arms around yourself as you walk, both hoping for and needing a little extra love from at least one, but preferably both of your babies.

satoru’s voice becomes clearer as you near, and you’re just around the corner when you hear him ask your daughter, who can’t talk yet, a question.

“yeah? you like the rain?”

an odd thing to ask a seven month old, though it makes a little more sense when you actually see them.

the two are in the kitchen, and your daughter—strapped into her high chair, is staring out the large window with her big blue eyes, completely mesmerized. satoru sits hunched over in a dining room chair, watching her with the exact same expression while he holds a plastic green spoon up to her mouth, like he’s interviewing her.

“satoru?” in unison, the duo turn their heads at the sound of your voice. “what are you doing?”

“killing time,” he smiles at you before turning to your baby, who now has her chubby little hands wrapped around a couple of his fingers. “we were starting to think you’d never come to. isn’t that right sweetheart?”

she babbles excitedly in response, seemingly agreeing.

the transition from bassinet to crib hasn’t been an easy one, and last night was probably one of her worst so far. you’ll always rock her, and while she falls asleep easy enough—the second she’s put down, she’ll wake up and cry.

“sorry,” you sigh, padding over to the two. “she was up most of the night, i—”

“needed the rest,” he finishes for you—wiggling his fingers around and earning himself a few more precious baby giggles. “we know.”

you give him a smile, and he returns it in a much more devious fashion—as if he’s saying you owe me for this. on any other day, you’d roll your eyes at something like that, but it’s almost nine am, and you crawled out of bed just moments ago—there isn’t much you wouldn’t do for him at this point.

satoru wraps an arm around one of your thighs as you stand next to him, and he pockets your grin—knowing it holds all the gratitude in the world, and a little something more.

though, you just end up batting him away when you notice the empty bowl sitting on the tray of your daughter’s high chair.

“she ate all her breakfast?” you ask, peering over to see if he hid any of her yogurt in the pouch of her silicone bib. “why don’t you ever do that for me?”

you lean down to boop a finger on her nose, and she kicks her feet in excitement—letting out something between a squeal and a laugh.

“‘cause you like me better, right?” satoru chimes in, holding his makeshift microphone in front of her with a toothy grin—which gets her to babble, for some reason. “oh? what’s that? i’m the best? your favourite?”

you bring a hand up to flick the back of his head—even though sometimes you think he’s right with the way she’s always smiling at him, but you just chalk it up to his high contrast, baby friendly look instead.

“think you misheard,” you point out, “sounded like ew dad, you stink to me.”

your husband—dramatic, and a sucker for your baby girl, flops down onto her little plastic tray in defeat.

“say it’s not true,” he whines, sneakily tickling one of her feet to get her to laugh but, consequently causing her to smack her hands on his head. “hey, hey!”

“that’s my girl,” you snort, and she babbles some more—loving the attention she’s getting from the two of you.

“hmm?” satoru leans in closer to her, as if she’s about to tell him a secret, and then he shields his mouth with his hand to respond. “yeah i know, i think that smell’s coming from over there too.”

the two smile at each other, and while it might be at your expense, you find yourself smiling too.

because you can see it now—satoru picking your daughter up from her first day of kindergarten, begging for the scoop on all her new classmates. he’d listen attentively, and pry just a little further every time she mentions a more masculine name—selfishly wanting to ensure that he’s still her favourite boy.

it’s just a thought of course, but you’ll definitely be holding him a little closer tonight.

“look, she’s doing it!” satoru pulls you back to the present moment, nudging your leg with his elbow. he’s given your baby her little silicone cup—the one she’s learning to drink from. she has it tilted back, spilling milk half into her mouth, and half into her bib. “kind of.”

once she’s quenched her thirst, she haphazardly tosses the cup onto her tray, and you note the white residue that sits on her top lip.

“well, satoru?” you grin at him, grabbing the long forgotten plastic green spoon—microphone, and holding it up to your husband’s mouth.

he furrows his brows and opens his mouth to speak, but you cut him off.

“how does it feel knowing your daughter has more of a stache right now than you ever will?”

he grins, at you and then her. “that’s my girl.”

[always-andromeda]

hi meda!

i’m so sorry it’s been so long since i’ve popped into your inbox! ❤️‍🩹 life’s been kinda wild for the past while, but i always keep up with your blog and hope you’re doing well (also i always gotta check in when i see you’ve done a theme change bc your themes are always so gorgeous!! 😍)

but i just wanted to say that i really appreciated your election post about having hope ❤️ i have been so wracked with anxiety (as i know many are) and it was just such a nice breath of fresh air to read ☺️ i know there will still be anxiety-filled hours and days ahead, but i also am trying to follow your example and feel hopeful! 💕

again, i’m so sorry i haven’t checked in for a while, but i’ll just close by saying that you are such a lovely and wonderful person and i wish you nothing but the absolute best! 🥰🥰

with lots of hugs and mugs of yummy warm beverages,

charlotte 🩵

Charlotte, my dear friend!! No need to apologize whatsoever!! I'm so glad to hear from you whenever I do, no matter how much time it's been. If anything, I think I owe you an apology for not letting you know sooner that I loved the Halloween brackets polls you were doing on @historical-fashion-polls!! I've been quietly following and participating in all the different polls because I have a bit of a passing interest in historical fashion. And I can confidently say that your blog has increased that interest tenfold. It just makes me so happy for you when I see your posts and the sort of discussions you create through them. Your blogs are the kind that make me go yes!! this is what I joined tumblr.com for!! so massive kudos on everything you put into that blog because I cannot imagine the work that goes into maintaining such a wonderful little space!!

Putting election talk under the cut since this reply is already getting long and just in case folks don't wanna hear my thoughts!!

Fun fact: I almost didn't publish that post to begin with! Sometimes I'll have a little thought and I'll start to draft up a tumblr post about it before telling myself, "no one wants to hear what you think <3" and then inevitably deleting it.

But that one felt important to publish. My younger brother was expressing some of his anxieties to me the other day. And I relate to him entirely because I was in the exact same position as him in 2016. I was that queer teenager going to a high school comprised of a mostly conservative staff and mostly conservative classmates who were parroting their parents beliefs. It was a terrifying time. It still is now.

And I figured now that I'm older, I'm going to try to be the encouraging, loving, and optimistic adult I needed back then. Because, yes, there are plenty of folks going out and voting for regression. But there are so many more people deliberately choosing the exact opposite. There are so many people this time around who are planting their feet firmly in the ground and are ready to do what they need to push us forward. And I have to hold onto the glimmering hope in that reluctance to succumb to the ever present ignorance and decay in this country. That is the indomitable human spirit. And I believe in that more than anything else.

Anyhoo. I'm glad that my little vent offered any sort of comfort at all. We've all gotta stick together, especially in times like these. Thank you for the little check-in, Charlotte. Please, please, please take care of yourself. Sending you lots of hugs and your favorite homemade baked goods for the holiday season!! 💛

[woulddieforgabriel]

Okay but concept: it's a week or so after the 15x19 and Sam and Dean are finally sick of this mini vacation they've been taking ever since they defeated God. Sam finds a case, and they pile into the impala for some good old-fashioned monster hunting.

But then Dean sees Cas walking down the sidewalk. He looks like a hot mess. He's covered head-to-toe in dirt and grime, to the point where his trench coat is barely tan anymore. His beard now puts his Purgatory beard to shame. Even the hair on his head seems to be getting longer — and definitely much messier.

Dean slams on the breaks. It's like 2012 all over again. He'd see Cas, he'd stop, and Cas would be gone. Though he does still seem to be there this time...

But then Sam points him out, and Dean realizes he's not crazy and that Cas really is here. They both hop out of the car — Dean doesn't even take the time to turn it off — and run back to see Cas.

Dean freezes. He has no idea what the fuck he's supposed to do in this situation. It's Cas! He's alive! He's a hot mess, but he's alive! And it's so good to see him again. It really is. But with Cas right in front of him, all he can think about is how they left things. He's gone out of his way not to think about what Cas said to him before he made that sacrifice. In his grief, he found it was just easier to forget. But now he has to face it and he has to try to make sense of it, and he doesn't even know where to begin.

Sam gives Cas a bear hug, bombarding him with questions one after another and not even giving Cas the chance to respond. Dean would tell him off if he thought he could.

And then Cas just ??? collapses??? in Sam's arms, and now neither of the Winchesters really know what to do (though they can both agree this takes priority over the case they were about to head off on).

Cas comes to that night, hours after Sam and Dean dragged him into the bunker. They'd laid him down in a spare bed, and though they'd taken turns watching him for the first hour or two, they'd basically decided staring at him wasn't going to wake him up any faster and decided to go about their lives.

They're in the war room when Castiel walks out, holding onto the wall for balance with every step. They jump to their feet to give him a hand — Sam pulls out a chair and Dean helps him over to it — and they get to talking.

Cas has no idea how he came back, but he did; he was dropped right in the middle of Rossville, Kansas, with nothing but the clothes on his back. He didn't have a phone; he didn't have any money; he had nothing.

And, worst of all, he was human. This entire time he was struggling to find his way home, he was dealing with his newfound humanity as well — mainly, the hunger and the thirst that he couldn't afford to satiate. Finding public drinking fountains became almost as important as finding the bunker over the last few days.

But now he's home. Cas came home. That's all Dean can think about — literally. It doesn't even occur to him to get him something to eat and drink until Sam gets up to do it. He's just so busy thinking about the fact that Cas came home.

And now that they're alone, Dean expects Cas to address the elephant in the room: their last conversation. "I love you," he'd said. What the fuck does that mean?

Except he just... doesn't?

They make small talk instead, and every second of it kills him. Sure, Cas has good reason to ask about what happened with Chuck and whether Billie truly was taken care of and where Jack is, but it doesn't make it any easier for Dean, who really only has one thing on his mind now.

He thinks maybe after Cas eats, he'll be more apt to talk about it.

He's wrong.

But that's okay. Sam's here; it would be awkward anyway. He'll carve out some alone time with Cas that evening, see if it comes up then.

It doesn't.

He's probably tired. Sure, he took an hour-long nap before he even got back to the bunker, but he's also newly-human and newly-alive, and walking for days on end probably didn't help.

Maybe in the morning? Sam is out for a jog when Dean wakes up, and Cas is nowhere to be seen. Dean makes a delicious bacon breakfast for when Cas gets back (and he slips Miracle a piece while no one's around to tell him off for it). Cas has great timing; he comes out right as Dean is finishing up the last few pieces. Maybe a bacon breakfast will put him in the mood to talk.

... Or not.

And this goes on for days. Dean does whatever he can to get Cas alone, trying to get him to initiate that conversation — sometimes half-initiating it himself — and Cas never takes the bait. And, finally, Dean can't take it anymore. He can't keep pretending everything's normal with this eating him up inside. So, out of the blue one afternoon while Cas is reading and Dean is playing tug-of-war with Miracle, he asks.

"What did you mean, you love me?"

And Cas looks up from his book, eyes squinted and head tilted just a little bit to the side in that cute little way he does it, and he says, "I meant just that."

Which, obviously, does not clear anything up. "So you love me."

"Yes."

"Love me how?"

And Cas just stares at him because what the fuck does that mean? And now they're both hopelessly confused and after a minute of terse silence, Cas finally says, "I just do?" and it's more of a question than an answer and it sure as hell doesn't help with Dean's days-long crisis.

And Dean's like, "But what do you mean?" which is quite literally the exact same question he asked the first time and definitely doesn't clean anything up, and the look on the former angel's face says that perfectly well. "You mean you love me as...?" A friend? A brother? A lover? God, why does the English language have so many different definitions of love?

Cas just tilts his head a little more. "I don't think I understand the question."

And Dean can't tell if he's feeling exasperated or if he's feeling desperate what but finally he's just like, "Cas, was that just a heartfelt goodbye or was that a love confession?" and it's crystal clear on Cas's face that he finally understand.

But he still doesn't answer it. "It doesn't matter. I thought I was never going to see you again. I was wrong. Can we focus on that instead?"

And the fact that he didn't answer it almost makes it sound like it was a love confession, but the answer he did give almost makes it sound like it was just a heartfelt goodbye, and now Dean feels like his head is going to explode and what the fuck, Cas, just answer him!

And he might sound a little more upset than he'd anticipated when he says, "No, Cas, we can't!" so he quickly adds a softer, "I just... I need to know," because he does and how does Cas not realize that?

So, after a long pause, Cas says, "It was more than a goodbye, but you don't owe me anything. I truly meant it when I told you that happiness isn't in the having."

This has been plaguing Dean's mind for days but he'd never really thought about what he'd do if it really was a romantic confession, and now he's just??? Not sure??? Where to go from here???

And then Cas has the audacity to just go back to reading his book like nothing happened. Dean is having a whole-ass crisis and Cas is just reading a fucking book. It's unbelievable. How can Cas just drop this on him and then go back to his life like nothing happened?

For some reason, that really sends Dean over the edge, because he walks over and takes the book out of his hands so Cas has to look at him. But what the fuck is he supposed to say? What message is he even trying to get across? What is he —

And before he knows it, he's leaning over and giving Cas a kiss. Cas seems taken aback by it at first — like, really taken aback — but then he kisses back, and it's great; it's something Dean had never fantasized about before and god, he's glad he hadn't because he never could have done it justice in his mind.

It's Cas.

What more does he need?

[smuggsy]

i would love to see #11 for the prompt thing (just want to say i adore ur current ed/oswald/omc series btw im excited for more! <3)

owww, thank you so much <3 it's nice to hear ppl are actually enjoying it bc i've got almost no feedback. another chapter is coming soon (;

but now onto the whump below the cut. #11 “Please, let me help you.” 

Getting used to his impaired vision is no easy task, he'll admit. Now that the doctor's made a thorough job of cleaning the wound and administering antibiotics to prevent infection and prescribed him two different kinds of painkillers and now that the initial shock of it all has passed. Now it downs on Oswald that this is who he's going to be from now on, that watching his step carefully when he goes down the stairs and bumping into walls that are closer than they seem is something he's going to have to get used to. 

As if walking around with a limp and a cane wasn't demeaning enough already. He lets out a grunt as he finally makes it to the kitchen, everything is sunk in darkness and he fails to turn on the lights two times before he finally finds the switch.

He sees the switch. He knows where it is. It's always been there, in that exact same spot, and he's walked into the kitchen in the middle of the night to fix himself some tea countless times before.

Now the switch has moved.

"Urrgh," he grunts one more time as he turns around and collides against the kitchen aisle. He nearly grabs one of the chairs and tosses it across the room, a sudden rush of adrenaline and fury coursing through his sleep-deprived mind.

There's a pang behind his eyepatch as if mocking his helplessness but he calms down soon enough, closing his good eye and taking a deep breath to brace himself against the counter. He manages to put the kettle on without any further incidents, but when he stands on his toes to reach the cabinet —how many times has he told Olga to keep that stupid tea-set at hand?!— he topples over and ends up sending two very nice cups to their deaths.

They crash on the floor with a piercing sound and Oswald startles and grits his teeth at the commotion. 

Deep breaths, deeeeeep breaths.

Choosing to ignore the incident he turns around to switch off the gas with trembling hands and pour the water into the one cup he did manage to obtain. 

Except, of course, his mind is still foggy from restless sleep and drugs so he misjudges the angle entirely and ends up pouring it all over his hand holding the teabag in place instead.

He lets out a yelp and drops the kettle instantly.

"Ow! Shit! Stupid little—!"

The water drips onto the floor unceremoniously as he tumbles over to reach the water tap and put his hand under it.

Ed barges into the place only half a minute later wielding a handgun, with hair sticking out and with his glasses askew. Oswald barely spares him a glance, blood boiling under his skin and dangerously close to the edge already.

"Oswald, what—"

"Nothing!" he blurts out almost immediately. Edward bearing witness to this mess is the last thing he needs right now, "just go away."

But, of course, he's Edward.

"What happened?" his friend asks, pistol forgotten on some nearby shelf and rushing over, words the slightest bit slurred by slumber and Oswald thinks lucky you, being able to get a wink of sleep, and takes another of those deep breaths that are doing a poor job of slowing down his heart rate. 

"What does it look like it happened, Ed?!"

Edward stares at him numbly and then his eyes dart around the place like he's only now taking it all in, seeing the shattered china on the floor and the pool of water by their feet. Immediately he brings both hands to Oswald's under the cold water from the tap and tugs at it.

"Let me see."

Oswald jerks him away.

"No�� I'm fine!" he bites out, "go back to sleep."

Despite his ill-mannered humour, Edward doesn't move. Oswald doesn't look at him while he stands next to him in silence, letting the waters cool, clearly giving him a moment to backtrack on his request. And then, ever so softly, Ed's hands return, to his elbow this time. A touch too gentle it almost makes Oswald let out a whine — because he's tired, and aching, and sleepy and nothing turns out for him as of late.

"Please, let me help you."

His words are a caress in Oswald's ear. Barely there. Ed keeps his warm fingers on his arm and slowly brings the hand to his chest for inspection. Oswald lets him, this time. All energy seems to leave him with that puff of breath and he lets Ed guide him to one of those chairs he was contemplating taking all of his frustrations out on just a minute ago.

There's a slight hiss of sympathy.

"Should be alright with a little cream and a bandage," is Edward's assessment. 

Oswald rolls his eyes and fights down a sappy retort much like: yes, I know that, I'm not so incompetent that I need you here to issue an official diagnosis, just leave me to rage in peace. He nods tiredly instead, shoulders slumped and yawn unavoidable.

"I'll be right back," Ed says with a hoarse voice, moving around quickly despite his dishevelled appearance, looking perfectly awake now but sounding nothing like it. 

Oswald doesn't try to stop him. Because he knows it'll be a lost cause and because he's afraid if he starts poking too much at the situation he'll end up embarrassing himself and crying out his frustrations on Ed's shoulder.

Not ideal.

So he keeps silent instead, watching Ed's expert hands apply that cold salve on his knuckles and wrap his aching red-looking skin in a white bandage, giving up on not looking miserable because what's the point.

He is miserable.

"There, all done."

Ed pats him twice on the thigh as if comforting a hurting animal and Oswald can only offer a small scoff in return. He can smell Ed's shampoo from where he's standing so close and he keeps his eyes fixed on that loose crumpled white shirt he wears to sleep, afraid to look up into the gentle eyes he knows he'll find behind those glasses.

Because he might start blurting out stuff that shouldn't be blurt out if he does, as helpless and exhausted as he's beginning to feel.

"Now let's get you that cup of tea."

Ed turns around to make himself busy and Oswald takes the opportunity to scatter away.

"Where—"

"Sofa," he crooks out deadpan. 

That's where Ed finds him ten minutes later, staring at the unlit fireplace as if willing it to come to life on its own. Sitting on his usual spot with the lights off and a glassy look of resignation. 

"Chamomile," Ed says as he offers the steaming cup. Oswald doesn't have the heart to tell him he's changed his mind and would rather down a glass or two of that aged Scotch instead. He takes a sip without muttering out a word. Ed sits down just beside, clearly not taking the hint, "you're uncharacteristically quiet."

Oswald shrugs.

"Just tired," he offers, and then, only to put Ed's mind at ease, gives him a practised look of reassurance and a smile, "I didn't mean to wake you up."

Edward turns the attention back to him, ignoring the clear dismissal implicit in the words.

"Did you go to sleep at all?"

"Yes."

"Is your eye bothering you?"

And then the Oswald from the kitchen returns without a warning and he lashes out.

"Goodnight, Ed."

Edward goes to speak again but stops himself when Oswald sends him a sharp menacing look. He looks nothing short of a kicked puppy as he gets on his feet and turns around to leave.

And then he doesn't leave.

"I could start a fir—"

"Goddamn it, Ed! Just leave me alone!"

And just like that the fourth and last cup of that lovely set ceases to exist, turned into another pile of shattered porcelain on the floor. Because Edward Nygma is a pain in his fucking ass, and he doesn't know how to read an indirect and back down and just disappear. He pokes and pokes and pokes—

—and when Oswald turns to look at him with that murderous glare, he sees no reaction from him. Clearly, this was his intention all along, from the very first moment he walked into that kitchen, to see just how much he could take, to push until he broke, to make him talk about it.

Oswald should have learnt to read Edward Nygma by now. Should’ve seen it coming.

As Ed strides back to him with purpose and swiftly sits back down on the sofa and leans in to wrap him into an embrace, Oswald understands he definitely still hasn't learnt to read Edward Nygma. 

"What are you doing?" he pushes him away half-heartedly with his good hand. Edward doesn't let go, an unmovable brick wall that cannot be swayed.

"I'm hugging you."

"Let go—"

"No."

Oswald blinks. Then lets out a breathless laugh. He can't seem to fathom any other reaction to this — provided this is actually happening. Provided it isn't a secondary effect of being drugged up to his eyeballs for a whole week, now. 

He stops trying to tug Edward away and instead slumps against him, head resting on a slim shoulder and cold and runny nose poking Ed's neck as he keeps giggling at the unprecedented gesture. 

Edward's hug is implacable but awkward. He doesn't move, his broad hands against Oswald's back just pin him in place almost in a possessive fashion. He's clearly unskilled in the ways of physical reassurance.

Oswald realises those nervous giggles he's letting out are actually sobs.

[oftenderweapons]

Steamy Waters — Taehyung

Pairing: Taehyung x reader (nicknamed Lace)

Wordcount: 7.6k ( mostly edited✌️)

Genre: smut, pwp, fluff, slightest angst, established relationship, idol!AU

Rating: 18+ (As usual, I know)

Hello baby bears! Welcome to Taehyung’s Steamy Waters. I must admit this episode is going to be a lot steamier than planned, but I cannot lament. Recently we celebrated Taehyung’s birthday, so I thought I could add a little extra as a late celebration.

There’s not much plot, honestly. Tae and Lace are bathing together in true Kim Taehyung fashion when the intrusive presence of mirrors on every bathroom wall makes it hard not to stare at each other. And when wandering hands — and wandering feet... and wandering mouths — start wandering too much the temperature in the room becomes too hot to handle. Chaos ensues. Especially when Taehyung is... at her service.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: swearing. Wine drinking. Humping, bathtub sex, unprotected sex within an established relationship (don’t make me tell again that you and your partner(s) should be clean before going condomless); massage, slight footjob; oral fixation (not only in terms of oral sex, both male and female receiving btw) but also foot worship, breast worship, body shot, face riding (male receiving), cum eating; spanking, one (1) pussy spank; masturbation (female receiving), also anal fingering (external stimulation only); maid!Taehyung, switch!Taehyung, hard dom!Taehyung, big dick!Taehyung, soft domme!reader, very sub!reader; hair pulling/grabbing; choking kink, degradation kink, overstimulation, squirting, sensory blackout. Taehyung uses a safeword (yellow); did I mention that MIRRORS ARE BACK BUT THIS TIME IT’S WORSE? And if you didn’t guess VOYEURISM 24 out of 10. Also, the softest aftercare and mentions of sleeping pills to help reader relax after... ahem... all of those. Things. In the trigger warnings.

In case you need my masterlist, here it is :)

Enjoy! 💜✨

A jazz piece was playing on the modern gramophone in a corner of the bathroom, somewhere far from the tub, where you and Taehyung would most likely make a splash and quite surely ruin the device.

Taehyung was laying at the opposite side of the tub, head thrown back as your foot rubbed his thigh.

You were pretty chill yourself, arms pressed against the edge of the tub, keeping you from relaxing too much and going under.

“Baths are magic.” You murmured, your toes meeting his hip before sliding back down again.

He hummed in confirmation. “The only problem is with washing one’s hair. It’s so uncomfortable.” He caught your foot underwater, his thumbs digging in the few knots you felt there. If the bath was magic, his hands were miraculous.

You felt your whole body melt and slide half an inch lower, your self restraint too weak to stop you from moaning.

Taehyung smiled fondly and sensuously. “You like it there?” He asked, his fingers moving to the heel, pressing against all those spots he knew from his acupressure appointments.

Your whole leg went insensitive in a very pleasing way. “Yes, you like it, dove.” He said, grinning and moving to your calf, specifically to the spot where the muscle met the bone near your ankle.

“Don’t want your ankles to swell.” He said, pushing your foot into slow, articulate circles.

Your soul definitively abandoned your body.

“We’ll put ice packs on these bad girls as soon as you’re out of the tub.” He said.

“It’s not that bad.” You said, just as he drew two parallel lines with his thumbs digging into your muscle reaching the back of your knee.

You had to grip the rim of tub to keep yourself from end up with your head underwater.

“It is that bad.” He said, rubbing small circles and making sure that all the exertion was magically sucked out of you. “No need to lie to me.” He said, looking at you with his dark eyes, his hair all curled up due to the steam coming from the water and filling the air. His own foot ran down your inner thigh, the sole of his foot ghosting over your pelvis.

There were too many reflective surfaces all over the bathroom.

Angles of him appeared everywhere. Specifically when he lifted your leg and placed a kiss to the upper arch of your foot.

“Shall I move to the other leg?” He asked, lowering your calf back in the water.

You nodded, trying to scoot your hips forward, against his heel.

“Feeling needy?” He asked, as his fingers repeated the procedure he had performed before on your other leg.

“So much.” You replied, using your freshly rejuvenated foot to tease his erection. His massage had activated nerve endings that had probably never really been there before he touched you.

“Let’s finish this leg then,” he said, as he kept pushing your ankle in wide circles.

“Tae,” you called, just as he moaned, your toes tickling his belly while the ball of your foot, way fleshier, teased his head.

“I never thought I could like this.” He said with a small surprised smile before he threw his head back, the cords of his neck tensing, the veins throbbing so clearly under the complicated game of shadows originated by the soft lights in the bathroom.

You loved his bathroom. It was soothing, with all the dark hues and the orangey lights.

His hands stopped for a second. “You’re distracting me.” He said.

“I wanted to treat you nice. For your birthday.” You replied. “I still can’t believe we went vanilla on your birthday night.” You said, still teasing him, hoping you could have him speaking in that soft, deep, dreamy voice he has whenever you’re getting him in the mood.

“It was good vanilla though.” He commented, his hips jerking forward with a small grunt before he felt his spine turn into putty.

“Very good vanilla.” You said, removing his leg from between yours, deciding to be generous and focus on him.

“Still, I owe you birthday sex.” You said, noticing his slow chuckle as you made him part his legs wide.

“Come here.” He said, removing the drain stopper with his fingers and bringing his hand between his legs as you bent your legs underneath your torso and crawled to him, straddling him and grinding your pelvis against his. “This is way better.” He purred, one of his hands keeping him upright while the other one landed on your ass. “You’re so soft.” He said, pushing his crotch up and against you. “I could just...” Once the water was low enough that his cock emerged freely from the surface, he put the drain stopper back in place, taking in your lustful expression as you ground on him.

“I think you’re the one who wants birthday sex.” Taehyung said, grabbing your hips and squishing the skin there.

His touch was always something that set you on fire. Ever since the first time, since your very first touch, he had completely possessed your entire being. Whenever his body connected with yours it felt like your skin and his were ready to part and like the raw extremities of a wound, and heal together, his blood vessels becoming yours, or maybe yours becoming his, until there was no distinction anymore. It was the exact opposite of that kind of surgery performed to separate conjoined twins.

And no surgery, no cutting was necessary. It was just. Preternatural. And so, so natural at the same time.

“Do you need me to stretch you?” He asked, his thumb massaging your clit.

One more bridge between you and him.

“I can take you. I’m so turned on.” You said, bending to kiss his neck and drink the small droplets of water glistening there.

“Was it the massage?” He asked, rolling his head back, offering you even more skin to kiss.

“I don’t know,” you said, licking him. Meanwhile you started noticing it wasn’t water, but rather your own slick making you slide on him.

Water was too unreliable, it would leave you dry and make the whole experience traumatic; especially, considering his size, both in length and girth.

“We can act like it’s your birthday.” He said, kissing a soft spot under your jaw. “Have an early birthday for my Nymphette.” He said, this time nibbling against the sweet spot on your neck.

You chuckled and brought your hands down his chest, scratching his stomach gently and playfully pinching the soft flesh of his belly. You loved him being so lithe and at the same time a bit fluffy in such an adorable spot. It made you think of childhood games, like blowing raspberries of his sensitive tummy. It always makes him so happy that his eyes spark up with pure, innocent joy, his mop of hair immediately coming for your neck and bosom, where he nuzzles in to tickle you before rubbing his face against your breasts like a cuddle some cat.

Once your face parted from his neck and chest, he cupped your face, holding you still. “I love you.” He said, staring in your eyes. And it felt so simple: no big statements, no poetic words, no useless rethorics. “I love you.” He repeated.

You mirrored his hold on you, placing both hands on his cheeks and rubbing your thumb against his divine features. “I love you.”

It holds more meaning than you could ever explain. The obliterating need in both your eyes and his, the urgency and the fondness. You felt like a pot boiling and overflowing with ten thousand ingredients that were a specific mix of his taste and your taste and his smell and yours and all the tastes and smells you’ve experienced together.

The candle burning in his room the first time you made love. His aftershave. Strawberries. Your shampoo, which became his shortly after you moved in. Champagne and that bubbly feeling of having butterflies in your stomach. French macaroons. The first breakfast in bed. The tteokbokki you had eaten with his parents the day he introduced you to them. The light, talk scent of Yeontan’s fur after the first time you bathed him together.

Now you were horny and emotional.

Taehyung seemed to notice. “Are you feeling okay, honey?” He asked, dragging his thumb against your lower lip.

“I just realised how important you are to me.” You said, bending to his face and kissing him.

“Just now?” He asked, slightly surprised as he raised an eyebrow.

“No,” you replied, closing your eyes and touching your face with his, feeling the slight stubble of his cheek against yours, brushing your noses together, focusing on the intense sensation of his face against such a personal, private part of your own body. “Sometimes I just… get lost in the feeling. It feels like being overwhelmed by all the things we share, all that we have together. How many things remind me of you.” You murmured against the tender spot behind his ear.

“I know.” He said. His hands moved to your waist, fingers sinking in the flesh as he invited you to sit up.

You followed his direction. Once he could look at you, all of you, he took his length in his hand. “Inside?” He asked, checking in on you.

You nodded. “Please. Inside.”

He closed his eyes and smiled, pulling you close to his chest once more with one arm wrapped around your waist.

With the hand on his cock, he rubbed his tip up and down your slit, making you moan a couple times, whimpering when you felt his soft tip breach your walls.

“Tae...” You whined, his lips meeting yours and trying to suffocate your lament.

“Hush, Lace,” he said, touching your spine. “Is it wet enough?” He said, pressing his mouth to your temple. “Take your time, love.”

You inhaled and lifted your hips up before sliding down again, one inch at a time, your muscles constricting around him so hard that you had to stop.

“Too tight,” he said, trying to lift you up slightly. “I don’t wanna hurt you.” He said as he kept kissing your face. “Let me stretch you first, love.”

“No.” You whined, your hands stopping his as he tried to slide out of you. “I want it like this. I can take it, just… Easy.” You said, begging. “Please.”

“If it hurts, we stop. Immediately.” He replied, still unsure.

You nodded eagerly and let your hips lower some more. “Kiss me?”

His eyes turned into warm, happy crescents as he obliged, moving his lips against yours. His hips inadvertently jerked upwards, forcing one more inch into you, making you gasp and offering him the perfect chance to let his tongue slide into your mouth.

The kiss was the sweetest poison, with playful flicks and demanding swipes, the tip of his tongue licking the underside of your own as yours arched up toward his palate. In the erotic frenzy of it all, you completely lost control of your legs and before you could notice, he was completely sheathed inside you as he kept sucking on your wet appendage, bobbing his head slightly as your tongue, fully stretched out, methodically appeared and disappeared past his lips. It felt right, your tongue penetrating his mouth as his sex penetrated yours. It felt balanced.

It didn’t take long before your hips started moving, riding him, making him moan and lose the suction he had on your appendage.

Parting from him was a mess of spit, both your eyes and his opening and staring at the silvery string connecting your lips to his. “You’re so hot.” You murmured as his hands landed on your hips, helping you, just as your brought your own palms to your chest, pressing your breasts together, massaging them as they rolled with the way you were simply moving back and forth, not really focusing on bouncing but rather sliding.

Taehyung was immediately captured by the sight of your breasts caught in your palms, his hands staying on your hips to help you while his mouth landed on your left nipple. You quickened your pace as his thumb met your clit, making you whine. “How close?” You asked, brow furrowing as he tugged at your nipple while suctioning it inside his mouth. You moved even faster in reply, gyrating your hips too as he grew more and more eager on your skin, until his teeth had created an indentation on your areola and your nipple was too sensitive to stay inside his mouth, subjected to the ruthless whipping and flicking of his tongue.

“Oh my god, Tae, please, I’m—” You couldn’t put a finger on what was making you so desperately horny, maybe it was simply because you were just out of your period and you had been starving for him for almost a week, but unexpectedly you felt yourself near your edge.

“Lace for fuck’s sake, we’ve just started.” He grunted as he recognised your kegels pulsating around him faster and tighter. “Already?”

You nodded.

“Damn. So hot.” He huffed out before pressing his mouth to your other nipple, giving up on sucking it and deciding to simply loll out his tongue and press it flat against your chest. “Come on, nymph. Cum on my cock.” He swore as he felt you get impossibly tighter. “Fuck it, Lace. Ride it.” He said, removing one hand from your hip before you heard a loud smack, followed by a prickling, burning sensation on your left glute.

The muscles of your ass and legs quivered as you stopped for a second, his thumb restless at the apex of your labia. “Did you—” You shivered as he hit the perfect spot, “Did you just spank me?” You asked, all your muscles tense.

He froze. “… did it… I’m sorry…” He said, confused.

“No, I liked it.” You corrected him. “I was toying with you.” You said with a small smile.

He knew sometimes you weren’t in the mood for spanks and power play. Sometimes you just wanted to be equals and simply get lost in pure, extreme sensations.

He shook his head, incredulous. “Then keep going, nymph.” He said, before surprising you with another spank.

You gasped and chuckled before cupping his jaw and joining your mouths, your hips moving carelessly.

This time he grabbed your ass viciously before slapping it one more time, his tongue being twice as lively as usual as he licked your own tongue, revelling in the velvet paradise of your mouth. Once he felt your hips grow impatient, your movements irregular, he parted from you, throwing his head back, eyes opening, his long lashes fluttering dreamily as he let his mouth hang open before silencing a moan by catching his lower lip between his teeth.

Finally you felt pleasure taking over your body, Taehyung’s eyes opening and focusing up.

He gestured at the ceiling with a jerk of his chin. Following his tip, your gaze turned up. And met the mirror.

In that moment you realised how furiously you were moving on top of him, how eager and desperate and sexy you looked.

“Look at you. So messy for my cock. My little nymph.” He said, smacking your ass once more.

A short whimper exited your mouth as the hit took the air from your lungs.

Your high exploded while his thumb teased the underside of your clit, unprotected by the hood and painfully sensitive by now.

For a second, everything felt too intense, your hair wet and dripping down your back, the water grown cold by now, and his skin so hot, his nipples hard under your thumbs, his hands moving to your breasts once you didn’t need him on your clit anymore, his palms sliding on your half-dry skin and pressing your boobs together before he dove his head forward, dragging his whole face against the soft crevasse that your tits formed together. He started ramming his hips up, fucking into you as your movements slowed down.

He loved suffocating between your breasts, gasping hard as your heartbeat drowned his ears, your breathing like a feral, powerful creature beckoning him toward your dark lair of consuming bliss.

Biting his lip, frowning and groaning repeatedly, he slammed his hips hard against the back of your thighs, four, five, six times before he stilled and screamed in pleasure, the dark granite of the walls amplifying his animalistic sound before he bit into your breast, almost painfully.

Too bad you were still lost somewhere in pleasure, his body finally joining yours.

Maybe you would complain about the bite in the morning, when it would be red and sore and maybe swollen.

“____, fuck. Can we have monthly appointments like this?” He said, gyrating his hips tentatively while you gripped the tub, trying to find purchase as your body betrayed you and collapsed almost entirely.

“Monthly birthdays...” You mused, mouth brushing against the column of his throat.

“Do we really need an occasion to fuck like this?” He asked while his hand kneaded the soft folds of flesh around your torso. He found endless pleasure in feeling every aspect of you under his fingers.

And it never made you feel conscious. Rather, it made you feel appreciated, not like he was avoiding your absolutely average and healthy body fat, but more like his fingers were appreciating every detail of you, singing a hymn to your whole body completely devoid of flaws, praising it in the unwavering, glorious materiality of it.

You felt worshipped.

The shiver that ran down your spine rose him from his blissful slumber. “You’re cold?” He asked, pressing you closer to himself.

You nodded and mouthed at his neck. “You feel too good inside, though.”

He chuckled. “It feels good inside you too.” He replied fondly. Sometimes you wondered how this cockwarming thing never made sense to you before you met him.

“But you need to dry your hair, love.” He patted your ass a couple times. “Don’t want you to get sick.” He said, “Plus, we’re going to be uncomfortable here.” He tried to raise his torso from his slumping. You helped him by sitting up yourself, his dick pulsating inside you and making your eyes roll back in pleasure.

He cackled. “Later.” He said his hands circling your waist and helping you up and off him.

As his cock slid out completely, landing on his belly, completely covered in your and his cum, you licked your lips.

“No.” He said, smirking, already placing his hands on your shoulders, keeping you from bending down and sucking him clean.

“Please, sir?” You whined, arching your brows and pouting.

He looked at your swollen, red lips, at your tongue lashing out to wet them seducingly.

He took his hands away. “Have your fun,” he conceded, his nails scraping your shoulders delicately as you bent forward, one of your hands catching your hair before it got messed up.

With your tongue you licked a thin stripe from the base of his cock all the way up to the tip before engulfing it in your mouth. You easily swallowed a good portion of him before pulling him out, nudging his shaft to the side with your nose and cleaning the messy marks on his belly and his pelvis where your mixed fluids on his flesh had imprinted the shape of his cock.

His moan was dark and sinful before he pleaded for a yellow.

You let him go without hesitation. “Are you okay, pup?” You asked, not even enjoying the mix of your and his taste in your mouth because of your sudden, urgent worry.

“Yeah. I just… I need a slowdown, please.” He said, touching your face weakly. “I’m getting cold.” He said, with soft eyes.

Your worry increased tenfold in your chest. First, you sat up and helped him up yourself. “Okay, Tae. Let me just rinse you, yes?” You called, removing the drain stopper and letting the water flow out before you cleaned up both you and him. The water from the tap ran warm — almost hot — a few seconds later and you managed to rinse him properly before he climbed out of the tub. You followed him and wrapped him up in a towel. “There you go, baby.” You said.

He smiled fondly. “Thank you.”

“Would you like me to dry your hair?” He asked, his beautiful hands balled up in cute fists as he held the large towel around his shoulders.

“No, baby, thank you.” You replied kindly and warmly. “Let me just rinse myself before I dry my hair. I’ll join you in bed in twenty.” You said as you noticed him linger close to the door, showing himself a bit too impatient and excited to head out, possibly to bed, with you by his side. Or on top of him. Or below him. Probably below him, considering you had just ridden him.

Caught in your head, you went back to the tub, rinsing yourself quickly and briskly before stepping out and drying yourself up gingerly, leaving your body slightly damp so that your body lotion would dilute a little with the sparse droplets left on your skin, so that it would absorb better.

Once your body smelled like roses from your breasts down, you rinsed your hands, applied your favourite hair care oil and started the hairdryer. It didn’t take long, fifteen minutes at large, before a rapping at the door interrupted your hair ritual.

You frowned. Taehyung wasn’t one to knock. Just to make sure, you lowered the setting of the hairdryer, waiting in case he did it again and making sure that you had heard correctly.

The sound reappeared.

You switched off the device and placed it in its drawer. “Yes?” You replied.

The door opened.

First, Taehyung’s face appeared, his hair ruffled and dry, his expression sweet and innocent. Was he wearing makeup?

No. Impossible.

He hadn’t actually washed his face yet, but he was definitely without makeup earlier.

His lashes looked longer. His lips redder. And he most definitely had enhanced those beautiful eyes of his with dark eyeshadow lining his upper eyelid, making his stare even more intense.

And was that a heart drawn on his cheekbone?

Indeed.

“May I?” He asked, suspiciously formal and courteous.

“Yes, of course.” You said, with a confused smile.

Next, everything made sense.

God bless him. You thought, your heart skipping a bit and stumbling down approximately sixty flights of stairs.

There, with a fancy silver tray and a fancier glass of red wine on top, stood your amazing, extravagant, glorious, mind blowing, seductive, sultry, indecently sexy, wondrous boyfriend. In a maid dress.

Your body did a strange thing, your mouth hanging open basically already drooling.

Was this how he felt anytime he saw you in lingerie?

“I thought my lady deserves special treatment.” He said, coming closer, placing the tray over the small counter near the sink.

The vinyl playing on the gramophone chose precisely that moment to come to an end.

The mechanic arm lifted and moved away, the plate slowly coming to a stop after all the spinning.

Not that you noticed, you were too busy staring at your boyfriend, imagining what you could possibly do to him.

“I’m sorry I didn’t assist you with your lotion, ma’am.” He said, standing, his hands joining before his stomach. “The uniform is a bit difficult.”

“Don’t worry, darling. All forgiven.” You said, your hand shaking as you reached out to touch his face. “You look incredible.” You said, completely dazzled. “Breathtaking.”

He blushed. “Thank you.” His eyes lowered coyly.

“Really, Taehyung. You look… I am speechless, darling.” You said with a big smile plastered on your face. “You’re unreal.” You said, drawing the shape of his lips, the pink lipgloss looking impossibly perfect on his face, emphasising the desirable curves of his mouth.

He stared in marvel too as you looked completely enraptured by his looks. “You like it?” He asked, insecure.

“Yes, of course I like it, love. You look too good, baby.” You reassured him, feeling a tad underdressed standing naked in front of him, while he had several layers of satin, ribbons, lace and of course, the classy apron. He even had puffy sleeves. And the corset tightened in a complicated lacing on the front. You took in every detail. “Do you feel good in it?” You asked, letting your index finger slide down his jaw, along the curve of his neck, to the small mole on his breastbone.

He nodded. “I’ve been tiptoeing around this for a while.” He said, his hand hesitant, his eyes asking for permission to place it atop of yours.

You agreed with a short nod.

“I didn’t know how you would react.” He said, his gaze guarded.

“I love it.” You said, tightening your hand around his fingers and rubbing his knuckles with your thumb. “And I love you.” You reassured him, pulling your joined hands to your face and placing a small kiss on his ring finger, where someday his wedding ring would lay. “Although we could do a few adjustments,” you said, staring at him with the eyes of a trained lingerie maker. “It could fit so much better on you.” You said, walking around him, observing the few points where the fabric slouched and flopped, unfit for his lithe body. On the back you noticed a zipper. You would remember that for later.

“Here,” you said, pinching the loose fabric around his slim waist. “And here.” You said, fingering the ribbons over his chest. “With slight modifications, we can make it more comfortable for you. And make it look like an actual uniform.” You said, standing behind him as he stood in front of the mirror. You bent to place a kiss on the crook of his neck. “How beautiful.” You said, your hands wrapping around his waist, appreciating how small it was, how elegant and expensive he looked. “Would you like it if I added a small accessory,” you asked, moving your middle finger to trace the column of his throat. “I was thinking about a choker.” You said, “something frilly. Maybe with a small kitten bell. Plenty of soft ribbons and lace. Make this neck look even prettier.” You suggested, placing another kiss on the other side of his neck, this time letting your mouth open and suck just a little.

You weren’t allowed to mark him there with all the upcoming music shows.

He nodded. “I’d love to.” He said, looking in your eyes timidly in the mirror. “But first I’d like to make myself forgiven for being late for the lotion.” He said, bowing his head. “Please, miss.”

Your head rolled back as pleasure travelled from his mouth to your ears to your core.

“Of course, kitty. As long as this is the way you want things to go.” You stated clearly. “I need your consent, kitty.”

“I want it, miss.” He assured you.

“Then proceed, kitty.” You said, wrapping your hand around his throat and tightening it affectionately.

He turned around and looked at your lips. “May I kiss you, miss?” He asked, eyes still deflecting your stare.

“Yes, kitty. Of course, darling.” You replied with a gentle smile.

He bent down slightly and swallowed nervously before placing his lips on yours, the taste was immediately familiar.

“This is not lipgloss, am I right, kitty?” You asked, raising an eyebrow inquisitively.

“Yes, miss. You’re right, miss.”

Damn him. It was lube. Specifically, watermelon-flavoured lube.

You thought how long it would take for this to become too much. For him to become too hot and melt you until all there was left of you was a bottle of sap stored in the fridge.

And your title.

Your ears basked in victory at his perfect speaking manners. You had educated him properly. He was by far your best exercise in domination so far, his manners impeccable at all times when his submissive persona came into play.

“Come on, kitty. Show me how you intend to gain forgiveness.” You spoke sweetly, caressing the hair at his nape.

Soft. So soft. Always so damn soft.

He knelt. Slowly. Very slowly.

Looking up at you with pure, angelic eyes, he poked with his index finger first at your left thigh, and then at his left shoulder.

You grinned.

“You want my leg on your shoulder, kitty?” You asked with an amused smile.  

He nodded eagerly. “Yes, miss. Please, miss.”

You smiled proudly. “That’s a very good kitty.”

Taehyung kept a fond expression, saving his intentions to himself.

Let her think she won, he thought just as his hand landed at your ankle, his fingertips running up the back of your calf, your knee, your thigh, until he applied gentle pressure, inviting you to lift your leg.

Your cunt was right in front of his face, his nose sniffing at your smell, slightly adulterated by your body lotion.

He nuzzled his nose against the tiny patch of hair you kept atop your labia. He loved it without even knowing why. It simply turned him insane. All the time. Especially when he went down on you.

Your hand gripped the hair on the crown of his head, massaging the scalp delicately, but also trying to protect him from potentially bumping it against the drawer under the sink.

“Does it smell good, kitty?” You asked, smiling at him, taking in the view of him.

“Yes, miss. Can I please lick you, miss?” He asked shyly, his voice slightly more high pitched than usual.

“Yes, darling love.” You practically cooed at him.

He didn’t waste a second, his tongue ready to lunge for your opening before he stopped himself with a small gasp. “Thank you, miss.”

You felt even prouder.

God, he really is perfect.

“You’re welcome, kitty.”

And at that, the tip of his tongue brushed the tight rim of muscles lining your entrance, collecting your taste before flattening the muscle and dragging it all the way along your slit, delivering a series of hard flicks as his hands travelled to your ass, helping you ride his face straight away.

You enthusiastically followed his instructions, especially once you felt two of his fingers run from your backside to the front, sliding inside your dripping hole.

“Kitty, that’s very nice.” You said, huffing out an enthusiastic chuckle before it transformed into a sinful deep moan. You started directing his head, his tongue stretched taut past his lips while you ground your crotch against it. “Kitty, this is a very good surprise.” You said, praising him, petting his hair, your eyes closing as he moaned in approval, watching you as you grew more and more lost. You took the glass in your hand, taking a sip of wine and feeling it bloom in your mouth instantly, your cheeks warming up, your veins throbbing with the wild beat of desire awakening your every limb.

Your head rolled back, your hand immediately placing down the glass as you felt your high approach, his fingers sinking all the way to your cervix, tapping against it.

His lips captured your clit, sucking it a couple times before releasing it, pressing it to his front teeth with his strong tongue.

“Tae,” you called, too fucked out to care about pet names and stuff. Your edge was there, waiting for you, all you needed was…

He pulled out his fingers, making you cry out before they returned to their place. Shortly after, his thumb landed on your skin. Wet. Slippery. Right against the oversensitive skin between your cunt and your anus.

All it took was two gentle rubs and your body crumbled, all your weight going to the hand on the sink while your legs shook wildly, your knees too wobbly to survive your high; your other hand too moved to the sink, too scared of hurting your lover. His hands gripped you tighter instead, pushing you harder against his face while his tongue lashed out, the hard muscle grinding against your clit as he moved his head furiously in a nodding motion.

You weren’t sure you called his name or screamed or simply held your breath and stayed silent, your ears were completely out of order.

If it weren’t because of being on your feet, you would have thought you had passed out. Taehyung’s arm stayed tight around your waist while you removed your leg from his shoulder, trembling as you placed it down. “Holy hell.” You said, still gripping the sink for support. You looked at Taehyung. His whole face was covered in wetness, the heart on his cheekbone completely smeared, the only lube left on his mouth being the wetness coming from yourself. “You look amazing, Tae.” You complimented him. “A damn masterpiece.” You said, proud to your very core.

He grinned.

Kitty out. Tiger in.

“May I have some wine now?” He asked, no honorifics, no submission.

You grinned and bit your lip, wiggling your eyebrows.

He wiggles his right back.

Holding the glass, you took a large sip in your mouth, leaving a scarce finger in. You took a step back, bending at your waist and placing your mouth near Taehyung’s. He opened his mouth invitingly and you let a small amount dribble past your lips and fall into his mouth.

He patted his lips wider before stretching up surrounding your lips with his, making sure that not a drop got to waste.

Once he was sated, he placed a finger under your chin, moving it to your throat and wrapping his hand there.

“Now you’re gonna stand up and bend over, Lace.” He ordered, no trace of pliability in his demeanour, and no sign of mercy either.

You obeyed immediately.

“Hands on the sink. Keep them there.” You heard the sound of a zipper. Looking up you noticed that he was naked.

And that he was hard.

You licked your lips nervously.

“Lower your head.” He said, spanking you out of the blue.

So he was in a spanking mood. Mentally, you agreed.

“I know you want me like this. Uh?” He asked.

“Yes, sir.” You replied, inhaling deeply as his fingers drew the line of your spine.

His finger stopped at the middle of your back, pressing on your spine to make it arch until it became almost painful.

“Stay.” He said, grabbing the silver platter and balancing it on your ass. The cold made you hiss, but you focused on staying perfectly still. “Stay.” He repeated, “I need to wash my hands.” He said, before abandoning the platter on your behind and coming to your side, standing right beside you as he washed slowly poured some soap on his palm, opening the tap and wetting his hands rubbing them together as he closed the tap with his elbow.

“It is always a pleasure to look at you like this.” He said, taking all the time in the world.

All you could see was his legs, midthigh down.

“You look like you don’t have a dominant bone in your body.” He mused, making sure that the thin foam reached between his fingers too. “You say ‘yes, sir’ and you sound like the single, most obedient, pliant creature in the world. Like you were made to please me.” He continued, looking at the platter tremble slightly.

He decided he could rinse his hands and dry them.

In half a minute he was standing behind you once more.

With your head hanging low, you felt the weight on your backside diminish imperceptibly. The platter disappeared next, landing on the counter.

Taehyung’s left hand laced with the hair on your nape, moving your rebellious locks aside. Now he had the whole expanse of your back before him, naked and richly arched.

Considering the situation, he cocked an eyebrow, clicking his tongue.

Something cold, like a blade pressed to your lower back, your spine arching even further.

“Stay still.” He said, bending to your ear. “If you move I’m gonna whip you.” He said minaciously.

He didn’t expect a reply, so you didn’t offer any. Cold liquid slid down the crevasse between your shoulder blades, sliding down the dip connecting your neck to your ass. Then something hot and soft appeared at the saddle of your back, where it reached the lowest spot. You put two and two together.

He was doing body shots down your spine.

You were sure when something that must have been his tongue slid all the way up to your nape. “Delicious.” He said, his hand placing down the empty glass on the counter, his erection pressing against your ass. “Let’s see if you can take it.” He murmured, standing straight and tugging at your hair until you were perched on your elbows, his reflection and yours appearing in the mirror in front of you. Which reflected the mirror behind you. Which allowed you to see Taehyung’s handsome figure.

He licked his lip and tipped his head back, looking at you cockily before gripping his hard on, rubbing the soft, velvety head against your labia, spreading your wetness before he let the tip sink in.

You moaned desperately. “Oh god.” You called, closing your eyes and looking away.

He gave a sharp tug at your hair. “Look how good you take my cock.” He said, staying perfectly still until he saw your eyes open through the reflection in the mirror.

“Please.” You begged weakly.

“What?” He asked.

“Please, sir. I’d like you to wreck me, sir.” You whined, pleading for his harsh ministrations, looking at him through the mirror.

He grinned and sunk all the way in.

You screamed.

He spanked you.

You took it with a tiny hiccup.

“Does my cock feel that good?” He asked, backing out.

“Yes, sir.” You replied meekly.

He slammed in again. “This is how you like it?” He asked sadistically, beginning to drive his hips into yours with a punishing pattern.

“Yes, sir. Please.”

“You’re such a slut for this cock.” He said, gritting his teeth, the veins at his neck bulging as his tendons flexed.

“I’m your slut, sir.” You said, ready to cry for him, completely shameless.

He grinned evilly. “Just for my cock. Such a horny fuckdoll.” He teased, delivering one more spank and making you arch your back, the tip of his cock hitting the most perfect spot, “drooling for my cock. Spitting in my mouth. Riding my face.” He rammed in even more furiously, your brow furrowing as you stared at the view of his back muscles flexing as he railed you, his glutes flashing as he hammered into you recklessly. “You’re such a dirty slut. You love being spanked, don’t you?” He asked, landing a loud smack on your other asscheek.

“I do, sir. Please, sir, please please… pl— I’m— Oh, sir.”

He went even harder, his middle finger reaching your clit and rubbing it as fast as he could. “Is this what you want? To cum on this cock? You want my fingers, little fuckdoll?” He asked deviously. “You’re such a pretty nymph. Living to get fucked.”

As you tried to turn toward him and lock your eyes with his, looking for reassurance, you spotted the side mirror, offering you the whole scene as it appeared on the right side. You ended up hypnotised by the motion of his cock sliding in and out too fast for your unfocused eyes to actually capture the whole vision.

Your high crested before you even felt it grow. It overthrew you, your arms failing you, your knees bending and your thighs pressing together.

Taehyung had none of it. His hand forcefully parted your legs again before landing a hard spank on your labia.

“Stay still and take my cock.” He said, angrily keeping his hand on your clit and rubbing it faster while he made you stand straighter, your tits appearing in the mirror in front of you, bouncing as he rammed violently into you.

The high didn’t stop. It grew even more.

He felt you milk him harder and harder. “Cum again, nymph. Cum on my cock again. Make it rain and wet the fucking floor.” He said, growling at your ear. “Look at those tits. So fucking good.” He growled, just as you shook your head in complete helplessness. “I’m gonna suck them like a baby before I fall asleep.” He said, gently slapping one until his strokes became irregular and even more ruthless.

You pushed your own hips hard against him until you finally felt that uncomfortable sensation leave your womb, eyes closing, shoulders collapsing, knees shaking and wobbling until they completely gave out, Taehyung’s body following yours and saving you from the tap as your torso landed against the sink, your legs spasming and leaving the floor as you screamed Taehyung’s name, his hand strumming your clit until you went completely silent and he heard you sob and pant. “Tae.” You called, voice thin before every sensation stopped.

You awoke to Taehyung’s hand touching your face.

“Lace, darling.” He called, “____, love.” He murmured against your ear.

First you realised your legs hurt. Like you had done too much exercise. Next, you realised he wasn’t inside you still. Some part of you felt cold.

“Tae.” You said, confused.

“Oh, baby.” He said, smiling his biggest boxy smile, touching your cheek again, dragging your hair off your eyes. “Are you okay, dove?” He asked, simply looking at you.

You nodded, confused. “I think I blacked out?” You said, trying to stand straight.

He was immediately close to you holding your hand and offering you his body as your support. “You did, love.” He confirmed. “Are you okay?” He asked again, just as you felt your foot land on a wet patch on the floor.

“Did I… ?” You asked, looking at the small puddle there.

“Yeah… ” He smiled sheepishly. “I have your blanket if you’d like.” He said, hugging you to himself.

You shook your head. “Shower?” You asked.

He nodded. “Let’s go.”

He opened the glass door and switched on the soft lights there, set them to the softest tone and helped you in, holding your hand as he used the other to open the tap and test the water for the right temperature. He grabbed your hair tie near the body wash and offered it to you.

“We’ll just rinse real quick, yeah?” He said, leading you under the spray and pouring a small amount of soap in his hands, foaming in up and rubbing it against your legs, before reaching your crotch. “I’ll go easy here,” he warned before his hand skimmed your skin, making sure that you weren’t dripping his seed anymore. Once he was done there, he rinsed his hands and poured some more body wash, repeating the procedure and removing any stain of wine from your back. Satisfied, he pulled you into his arms. “I love you so much, Lace.” He murmured in your ear. “You’re safe here, love.” He reassured you, protecting you. “You are beautiful and strong and sexy.” He said, healing any wound he had caused with his dirty talking, putting you together after pulling you apart. “You are worthy of affection, and respect and love.” He said, watching as you turned and tried to clean him up yourself, his messy eye makeup dribbling down his cheeks.

Once done with the shower, he wrapped you up in his bathrobe, a bit too big for you, making you feel hugged and extra-pampered.

He patted your head with one hand as he removed what was left of his mascara and eyeshadow. And then he placed an arm around you, back hugging you as you both brushed your teeth, his body clad in a towel before he swapped it for a pair of boxers and a sleeping shirt.

“Let’s put you into this.” He said, grabbing one of his robes from his sleeping clothes and wrapping you up in it, lacing your hands with his as you both reached the kitchen.

You stayed silent as he helped you sit on the counter, standing between your legs as he reached for a bottle of water and two glasses, stretching to reach your sleeping pills. He offered you a glass and got a pill ready, passing it to you once he managed to work it open. “There you go, love.”

You nodded and downed the pill, forcing yourself to finish the large cup of water, just as he downed his own, looking at you and making sure that you drank it all.

You placed the cup down and hugged him, waiting for him to finish.

He took your hand in his again, keeping you as close to him as possible as he brought the cups to the sink and led the two of you back to the bedroom.

You climbed the bed absentmindedly as he entered the closet, coming out with a rather large tiger plushie and a fluffy blanket with a polar bear print.

Crawling close to you, he waited for you to remove the robe and slide underneath the covers. Next he threw the blanket on top of your body, making sure that it stayed close to your face. After that, he placed the plushie in your arms, tucking the blanket tight. On his bedside table, he switched on the air purifier, the gentle scent of pine filling the room.

The lights went off.

His body came closer to yours and you cuddled in absentmindedly, his limbs tightening around your shape, warming you up immediately.

“I love you, Lace.” He said, again.

“I love you too,” you replied softly before a yawn.

“My pretty dove. Beautiful dove. My angel… My fairy… My joy… My peace...” And with a litany of sweet praises whispered in your ear, you fell asleep like a baby.

[mosylufanfic]

Color My World (just paint it with your love)

For the Killervibe Gift Swap, a gift for @ava-has-a-closet-murderboard. Eventually I hope to get everyone a gift but it’s going real slow, y’all!

You see in color when you meet your soulmate AU. (Also obviously Ronnie died the first time and didn't come back as Firestorm, sorry Ronnie.)

Title from the song Color My World by Petula Clark

Color My World (just paint it with your love)

When Ronnie died, the world went grey in an instant. 

Even as Caitlin screamed his name, she knew it was hopeless. Just the same as the world had exploded with color between one blink and the next the moment she'd met him, it reversed the moment his heart stopped beating.

-

For years, Caitlin assumed that Cisco saw the world in the same shades of grey as she did. She knew he was friendly and flirty and went on dates, and well - he was Cisco, after all. So she always expected to see him come rushing into the cortex one day, looking around at everything and seeing the colors after having met the person he was supposed to spend his life with.

So when she walked into his lab one day to find him comparing two apparently identical swatches, it was a surprise - but it wasn't.

"Cisco!" she cried, and he whirled to face her, stuffing both swatches behind his back. "Are you seeing in color?"

"Um, I - what? No. I was - comparing - um." He sagged. "Yes."

"You met your soulmate! Who is it? When can I meet them? What's their name?" She realized he wasn't looking as excited as people usually did in that first flush of color and love. "What's wrong?"

"I haven't met anyone new."

"Well, of course you have, you're seeing in color -"

"I met them years ago."

"Years? You've been seeing color all this time? You never said anything."

He nodded. "Sorry. Yeah."

"But when? And why didn't you - why aren't you - what happened?" Dramatic, overblown scenarios raced through her head, taken from cheesy cable movies with titles like "Soulmate to a Serial Killer.”

"Nothing happened, exactly. It's - " He looked away. "They're my soulmate, but I'm not theirs."

She goggled at him. You heard about those things, of course. Small percentages. Sad stories whispered behind hands. But knowing Cisco was one of them - "How do you know?"

"They'd already met their real soulmate when I met them."

She shook her head, attempting to wrap her head around it. "Are you sure? Have you told them? Have you talked about it at all?"

"Yes, I'm a hundred percent sure."

How could the universe be this cruel? Warm, laughing, loving Cisco, to be matched with someone who wasn't matched to him. To watch from the sidelines as they built a life with someone else. 

It was almost as horribly unfair as losing your soulmate. No - no. More unfair. She'd at least had a life with Ronnie, no matter how short it had been. Cisco never had that with his soulmate, and never would. 

"Why didn't you ever say anything? I always thought - "

"Because I didn't want you looking at me exactly the way you're looking at me right this very moment. Like I just told you my puppy has cancer."

She tried to rearrange her face. "I'm just -"

"Caitlin, it's fine. It happens." He shook his head a little. "I'm sorry I kept it from you."

"Who else knows?"

"Barry. And probably Iris."

"Has he met them?" A flush of - jealousy? she didn't know what to call it - washed up her throat.

"No, he doesn't even know who they are. Just that they exist." He shrugged and tossed the swatches on to the table. "Couldn't exactly keep it from him when we were designing suits together."

She said very quietly, "Did Ronnie know?"

He shook his head hard. "No, he didn't. No. Not even a suspicion. Look, I don't talk about it because there's nothing I can do about it, and there's nothing you can do about it, either. A soulmate is a soulmate, right? Even when they're not."

She reached to put her arm around his shoulder. "Cisco - "

Gently but firmly, he shrugged her hand away. "I've come to terms with it. It's just the way things are."

She swallowed hurt. "But you've been dating. Haven't you?" He had an app on his phone, and sometimes he would take it out and swipe through photos. She'd thought it was a regular app that just set you up on dates with other people who hadn't met their soulmate yet.

"It's a different kind of app. We all know the score. Nobody's on there to meet their soulmate. Just to find a good time."

"Is it just people who are - " She floundered. There was a term for people like Cisco, but to her mind, it was nasty and rude.

He said it anyway. "Third wheels?"

She made a face. It sounded even worse now that she knew it applied to him.

"Most of us, yeah. But there's a pretty good number of people who - uh - " He looked at her sidelong. "Who lost theirs."

"Oh." She couldn't imagine seeking anyone out after Ronnie. "Really?"

"Yup. I mean, they're not dead just because - well, anyway, if you ever wanna - you know. See the app. You can."

"Thank you,” she said. “But don't try to distract me. How long has it been?"

"A few years," he said. "Look, it's just a thing about me. Like having brown eyes and vibes and a rockin' fashion sense. Can you do me a solid, as a friend?"

"Anything. Of course."

"Let's never talk about this again."

Painted into a corner, she bit her lip. "Okay. If that's what you want."

"It's what I want."

Of course, she hadn't gotten the chance to ask the question that burned the most. Who was it? Who could possibly overlook Cisco? 

But she'd promised.

-

She thought about it, though. She thought about it a lot, in her cold bed, in her grey house with all the colors she couldn't see anymore. At her kitchen table, set for one. When she opened up her phone and looked at the last picture Ronnie had sent her, a selfie with a particularly gigantic donut.

In black and white, of course. Like everything else, all the pictures of him had drained of color when he died. It made everything sting worse. She'd seen his face in color from the beginning, but now she couldn't remember the exact shade of his eyes or the different tones of his hair.

She didn't ask Cisco anything more, but she did go down a rabbit hole of research. One-sided soulmate was the technical term they used in social science surveys. OSS for short. She looked at reams and reams of statistics, quantitative and qualitative and longitudinal studies. Some of the OSS's said they were happy, some were depressed, some simply accepted it. Surprisingly, the stats on their overall mental well-being weren't all that different from people who were with their soulmates, or still waiting to find them. 

Some one-sided soulmates spent their lives alone. But others dated and slept with and sometimes even married others like them.

She gave into curiosity and read the research on people who'd lost soulmates. She found the stats there very much the same. A little more depression, maybe, but there were a surprising amount of people who did just as the one-sided soulmates did - dating, sleeping with, marrying people they met. 

Sometimes those people even found a second soulmate. 

When that particular revelation popped up on her screen, she dropped a full cup of coffee and completely ruined her keyboard.

-

The day everything changed was just a regular day at first. The Flash and Vibe were out investigating a sketchy warehouse, and Caitlin was trying not to fret while reading yet another study on people who fell outside the soulmate norm. 

"Cisco!" she cried as Barry whooshed them into the cortex, almost doubled over trying to support his weight. "What happened?"

"Got my bell rung," he slurred. "Ow, dude, ow, gentle -  "

"The guy knocked him into a concrete pillar," Barry reported, settling Cisco onto the edge of the bed. 

"No, don’t lay him down. 'll take care of him. You go get changed." As he whooshed out, she gloved up quickly and checked Cisco's pupils. They were the same size, and he denied any nausea or dizziness, but she’d still have to monitor him for signs of a concussion. She set her penlight down and gasped.

"What?"

“You’re bleeding.”

He wiped his face and blood smeared across the back of his hand. “Just a bloody nose. I’ll be fine in a minute.”

She tsked and pressed a square of gauze to his nose, gently feeling its shape. It wasn’t broken. “Are your teeth okay? Your tongue?”

“Mhm.”

“Don’t lean back! Just breathe through your mouth.” After holding it a few minutes, she checked, and indeed, the blood had stopped its flow. She let him straighten up. "How's your head?"

"Could use an aspirin."

"You got it." She turned away, but before she pulled her gloves off, she looked at the blood smeared over the fingertips and soaking into the gauze.

Against the light grey of her gloves and the white of the gauze, Cisco's blood showed scarlet.

-

At first, she thought she’d been mistaken. It had just been the blood, not anything else.

But then the sprinkles on the ice cream he brought her the next day showed up vividly blue and pink and orange against the rich brown of the treat. And the chips and guac she shared with him the day after that were pale yellow and brilliant green. 

Color seeped back into her world a little at a time, mostly following Cisco. It was so different than before, but so wonderful at the same time. She'd forgotten how vivid red could be, how lavender was so delicate, how green was so rich. Sometimes she would just sit and stare at whatever had lit up today.

He noticed, of course. "What's wrong?" he asked one day, as the sunlight filtering through the skylights in the cortex picked out rich highlights in his hair.

She shook her head. "Nothing."

"You were staring."

"There was a - a bug on you. But it flew away," she added hastily as he swiped at his hair. 

It wasn’t like it had been with Ronnie. Then, it had been instantaneous, like a finger snap. Not this slow bloom of color, spreading outward from Cisco like watercolors soaking into paper, until every corner of the world had a different hue and shade. But Cisco wasn’t Ronnie, and she didn’t want him to be. 

She worried about it sometimes. Did this mean Ronnie hadn't been her soulmate? That she didn't love him anymore? But she knew he had, and she knew she did. She would never stop.

It was just that she was one of the lucky very few who got a second soulmate. 

And then the thought followed: what if Cisco's mystery soulmate was her?

She turned it over in her head, as carefully as an antique china plate. The facts fit. She had been with Ronnie when she and Cisco had met. She even remembered them telling him about their first meeting, over dinner or something. She struggled to remember his reaction, what he'd said or looked like, but couldn't. 

And when Ronnie had died and the color had drained from the world, she'd told him that too. 

She pressed her fingers to her eyes, watching the newly colorful starbursts behind her lids. "Oh, Cisco," she murmured to his past self. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry I never saw. I know you couldn't tell me, but I wish I'd realized you were hurting."

Watching her with Ronnie must have been torture for him. Watching her after Ronnie died - that must have been torture in a different way, her loss of color confirming every day that he wasn't her soulmate. 

But it was going to be different now. If they were soulmates, he deserved to know.

And if they weren't - 

Her stomach pitched uneasily at the thought.

-

Her heart thundered in her chest as she made her way down to his lab. She'd kept this secret for a month now, clasped to her chest. And he'd kept it for years. This was going to change everything,

For the better?

She hoped.

He was head and shoulders into the souped-up treadmill Barry used to test his speed, a tool box open next to him. "Hey," he called out as she came in. She never could surprise him. Was that a soulmate thing, a Vibe thing, or just a Cisco thing?

"Hi," she said brightly, almost shrilly. She swallowed  hard and perched herself on the edge of his table, wiping her sweaty palms on her favorite skirt. "What are you working on?"

"Oh, just tuning this old girl up. How about you? What brings you down here?"

"Do I have to have a reason to come down here?"

He peered at her over his shoulder. "No, but you sure look like you do."

She wiped her palms again. "I was just thinking."

"Uhoh," he said cheerfully, turning back to the treadmill.

"About your soulmate."

Although he didn't say anything, all the cheer sucked itself out of the room.

"About, um, when you met them, and how long it's been, and -"

"Caitlin," he said in a heavy voice. "You said you wouldn't talk about this anymore."

"I know, I did, but I'm just curious - "

"You promised," he said. "You made me a promise."

"I - I did - "

He straightened up again, crossing his arms, resting the greasy wrench against his shoulder. His brows loomed heavy and serious. "So why the hell are you breaking it now?"

Okay, this wasn't broaching the subject like she'd thought it would. "You should put that wrench down," she said. "You're getting grease all over that shirt."

"Subject changed appreciated, but why - "

“And I like that shirt," she said. "I like that color on you. “It’s very flattering.”

He dropped the wrench on his foot.

When the clanging and the yelping and the jumping up and down and the checking that his foot wasn't broken had all died down, he wiped his greasy fingers on a rag, getting the fingers greasier. "So," he said levelly, "you met someone. That's great. That- that's awesome. What's their name?"

Oh. She hadn't expected this.

"Cisco," she said. "It's you."

He looked up, pain filling his eyes, and probably not from his foot. "No, it's not."

"It is," she insisted. Oh, wow, she hadn't expected him to be this stubborn about it.

"No," he said. "No. You met someone and you didn't realize, that's all. I don't know why you think it's me, because we've known each other for years, and it's never been me before." His voice cracked.

She reached out to take his hands. "But it is. I've been seeing in color for a month now. Just a little at first. But now it's everywhere. And it started with you. Cisco, it's you."

He shook his head slowly. "How?"

She shrugged. “I’ve been researching. Did you know it's a whole field in social science? The study of soulmates. Amatology. It's so much more complicated then everybody thinks, Cisco. We always hear how you know in the first moment, and it's just that one person, forever, and - and that's not accurate! You can have more than one. And you know somebody for years before they become your soulmate. And that's what happened to me. With you," she added firmly.

He was pressing his lips together. "It was - " he said, then stopped. Swallowed. Took a breath. "It was the first moment with me. The first color I saw was the gold of your engagement ring."

"Oh," she breathed. 

He swallowed again. There were tears in his eyes. "I've loved you for years, Caitlin, so I need you to tell me right now. Swear to me you're sure, and you're not screwing with me, and you - " His voice sank to a whisper. "And you absolutely know I'm your soulmate."

"I'm sure," she said. "I'm not screwing with you. I absolutely know that you're my soulmate, Cisco Ramon. And you know why? Because I don’t want it to be anybody but you."

He kissed her, hard, pulling her close. She had half a thought for her meticulously selected outfit, then mentally consigned it to the rag bin and kissed her soulmate back.

When they had to come up for air, he rested his forehead against hers. "I never wanted it to be anybody but you, either," he breathed.

"Even when - Ronnie?"

He nodded. "Because he made you happy. I wanted that more than anything else."

She traced the lines of his face, the arch of his brows, the curve of his lips. Dear and familiar and beautiful. "You're going to make me happy too."

FINIS

[miracle-sham]

In the Atelier's Glow the Pupa Phoebus will Eclose.

| {Jasonette July 2021, Week 2, Day 10: Light} |

Chapter 2 of Sheltered by Darkness not yet Moths to the Flame.

| [Ao3 Link] | | [Masterlist Link] | | [Spotify Playlist Link] | | [Chapter 1] |

———

| Even when everything you know splits. When it splinters and shifts, like a chrysalis or a damaged cable. And you're left unfurling your wings, unable to yet fly—circuit broken, fuse melted—grounded, earthed. |

| The rest of the world keeps the current flowing through the wires of everyone else's circuit wings, and they're able to keep fluttering, unfettered by your frayed and exposed wires, even despite the threat you pose to their safety. Too blinded by the luminescence of those with power. |

| Word Count: 7,220. |

| Warnings/Tags: Cyberpunk/Criminal/Gang Au, Explicit Language/Swearing, Hacking, Breaking and Entering, Mentions of Guns, Gun Violence, Mentions of corrupt/shady businesses, Gabriel Agreste's A+ Parenting, Brainwashing, Implied Brainwashing & Torture, Injury, Threats of Violence & Violence, Akumatised!Marinette, Fluff & Angst, Hurt with some Comfort, Angst With a Happy Ending, Gang/Team as family/family dynamics, Found Family. |

———

| A/N: First things first, make sure you've read the first chap before reading this. Second things second, this chapter is a chapter and half. And it's the final chapter! I hope this being 7k more than makes up for it being a day late to posting! I put a lot of love and time and effort into this, so I really hope you all enjoy. And for peak atmosphere, listen to Wonder World by Inova (first song on the playlist) during the first two parts, for optimum atmosphere! Not necessary if you'd prefer not to of course, but still. There's also a ton of light and butterfly symbolism stuffed in this, so try and see how much you can spot! |

| On a sidenote, this fic is dedicated to my friend Saf who listened to me ramble about this fic, and in turn rambled to me whenever I gave her sneak peak snippets. This wouldn't have ended up half as good as it did without her support! Also thanks to Weird for the support, compliments, reaction to the snippets, and kind words as well! And finally, thanks to everyone on the discord who was supportive and kind whenever I rambled in my author's channel! <3 |

| Also side note, Don’t Like? Don’t Read. Also also, please do not criticise any of my writing. This was written for fun and receiving criticism, even in a compliment/criticism sandwich, is the exact opposite of fun. |

———

Even when everything you know splits. When it splinters and shifts, like a chrysalis or a damaged cable. And you're left unfurling your wings, unable to yet fly—circuit broken, fuse melted—grounded, earthed.

The rest of the world keeps the current flowing through the wires of everyone else's circuit wings, and they're able to keep fluttering, unfettered by your frayed and exposed wires, even despite the threat you pose to their safety. Too blinded by the luminescence of those with power.

Broken wires cause lights to flicker and dim. They don't glow as brightly as they could—as they should. They crackle and buzz and burn and scorch and smoke, causing only destruction; when light should only be used for creation.

That's why the Atelier Agreste specialise in fixing broken wings and wires. The brightness of tomorrow splinters the darkness of today, the business proclaims.

And Marinette Dupain-Cheng is merely the latest of the poor misguided larvae, with their shade-like masks and unfortunate frayed wires, to be rehabilitated into an enlightened pupa under Gabriel Agreste's watchful care.

Truly, the discarding of a mask that kept the Pupa in the dark, and the Pupa's embracement of the Atelier's radiant glow marks a wondrous occasion indeed.

How glorious it will be, an unveiling of the newest Atelier Agreste designer's début? The welcoming of a new Papillon among the ranks, especially one that shines so brightly. Phoebus, like the butterfly and the god of light. What a fitting name for the butterfly that will glow like the sun.

———

Marinette—no, not Marinette, she is Phoebus. She is light, and her glow has been fixed.

Stitch by stitch, she sews herself a collection of chrysalises. To represent her transformation that has been nurtured by the Atelier, Monsieur Agreste had said.

Stitch by stitch by stitch. She must make him proud, he's done so much for her. He saved her from the darkness, showed her the light and how to glow just as brightly herself. She owes him everything.

Stitch by stitch by stitch by stitch. Lila—no, Rubi, after Macrothylacia Rubi, the Fox Moth—visits sometimes. She's pretty, and likes to keep Phoebus company, telling her all about the incredible things Rubi has done and people Rubi has met. She's like Phoebus, taken in and nurtured by the Atelier Agreste. Phoebus hopes Rubi will be one of her chrysalis models.

Stitch. And anchor, and anchor, then up. Snip. Snip. Snip.

Phoebus hears the sound of the studio door opening but she does not stop. Her chrysalises must be perfect, she must finish them in time. Thread the needle and anchor.

Footsteps stride across the studio floor but still Phoebus does not stray her attention from her work. Stitch by stitch.

“Good morning, Pupa, I hope the final preparations for your début are going accordingly.” Monsieur Agreste greets.

Her hands still, work halting. The Pupa Phoebus turns away from the fashion piece before her, and smiles, as brightly as her namesake, up at him. “It is.”

There's a hollowness inside her. And smiling at him makes the hollowness ache but Phoebus does not know why. Monsieur Agreste does not like it when she asks bad-dark-broken-frayed questions like that, so she says nothing more and nothing less. She will be his perfect protégé. He said so, and so she must.

He nods approvingly. “Good. I expect only perfection from you and your work. Do not forget, once the fashion show starts it will mark your eclosion into my Atelier once and for all.”

The Pupa Phoebus nods her head, eyes shining almost too brightly in the studio's lights.“I will ensure everything is to perfection for my début.”

Her actions and words are as doll-like as her title. For she was once named Marinette, which is close to Marionette. Marionettes are dolls. And Pupa once meant doll. Like a doll, she is so painfully hollow inside. But like a doll, she is perfect. She must be.

Monsieur Agreste does not sneer at her but his lips curl in a way that makes the darkness inside her claim he is mocking her.

“The set designers have informed me the catwalk has been transformed into the river Lethe. Isn't it rather fitting?” He pauses, watching her with sharp eyes for her reaction.

She nods. That is what she is supposed to do. It is fitting because he has said so. And Monsieur Agreste is always right.

“After all,” he continues, seemingly satisfied with her response, “it was once believed that the dead may only be reincarnated upon drinking from the Lethe and giving up their memories. And you gave up your memories of pain to be reformed as a butterfly that will shine ever so brightly, my protégé.”

“Oh,” Phoebus responds, tilting her head to one side as her smile wavers for but a fraction of a second. There's something flickering in the back of her head, behind her eyes; splintered memories, nothing substantial but the ghosts—Fantômes, the darkness whispers—of them linger.

The taste of iron, harsh white lights, cold glowing white strands chaining her fragile wire wings to the ground, lights—so many dancing lights, and the sharp electric zaps. She shouldn't try to parse what they mean, what they herald. Remembering the Before is bad, when she was a poor unfortunate Larva who fell through the cracks into the shadows and gutters. She is a Pupa now, and Pupa change. They become better, brighter, than they ever could achieve as Larvae.

Monsieur Agreste picks up on her moment of lapse, his eyes narrowing in what must be concern. “Is something wrong, Pupa?”

Phoebus shakes her head. “I am just anticipating how my début will go.”

He hums, unconvinced.

Understandable—she is not meant to lie, not to him. It is not how a Pupa should act.

“Perhaps you should take a break so we can ensure you've not damaged your light by working so hard. It wouldn't do to have your glow flicker and dim mid-début.” Monsieur Agreste states, pulling his tablet out already to schedule a check-up.

The Pupa Phoebus widens her bright yet hollow smile. “Oh, that is a good idea! A break would be most appreciated, Monsieur Agreste!”

Monsieur Agreste does not laugh but he huffs in what must be amusement. “How unfortunate that it took so long to rescue and take you under my wing. You will do well as one of my Papillons here.” He pauses to adjust his glasses, the light shining on them in a way that makes the lenses appear opaque. “I didn't think I'd get another specimen such as yourself, so perfectly adapted for becoming a Pupa and then a Papillon.”

His not-sneer unfurls into a grin, one that makes the darkness whisper danger. He steps around her, to get a different angle view of her work, and stares pointedly at the fine detailing. “It is a great shame that my son and my nephew have both become wretched larvae like you once were, instead of wonderful Pupae like you've now become.”

“You deserve a better son and nephew, Monsieur Agreste.” Phoebus recites from the script burnt into her mind, though she does not remember when or why she memorised it.

“I do, don't I.” Monsieur Agreste considers in contempt. “That can easily be achieved as soon as my men rescue him from the clutches of those vile Larvae. We believe the ones who held you captive and forced you to work for them, are the same ones who hold both my son and nephew now.”

“Oh.” Phoebus responds, getting the feel that Monsieur Agreste is testing her. Perhaps to ensure no feelings of Stockholm Syndrome remain for her previous captors? Yes, that must be it. How thoughtful and caring of Monsieur Agreste. “That is awful, hopefully, they can be saved soon!”

Monsieur Agreste hums, seemingly in agreement this time. “Hopefully indeed. And once we rescue them, they can then be taught to embrace the radiance my company brings to this world, just as you were taught.”

He places a hand on her shoulder, and squeezes. “And you, my dear Pupa, can help my son and nephew stitch their Chrysalises. For they are both models, like Rubi. Wouldn't that be nice, two additional fellow Papillons for you to befriend, wouldn't that make you very happy?”

Phoebus nods at a perfectly acceptable speed to relay her happiness and excitement. “Yes! That would be wonderful! I would be so happy if that were to happen!”

And yet, the darkness inside her wails and grieves as she utters each word but Phoebus does not understand why.

“Good,” Monsieur Agreste states, “that is very good to hear. Now, I shall return when your break is ready.” He turns around and strides towards the door, stilling at the threshold. “My wife will prepare high tea for you to join her at, once your break is ready.”

The Pupa Phoebus nods, fingers twitching as she turns back to meticulously stitching her chrysalises. “Thank you, Monsieur Agreste, I cannot wait!”

He huffs in what must be amusement again, “I would hope so, Pupa.”

If she didn't know better, the Pupa Phoebus would wonder why the silver butterfly necklace feels more like shackles than a gift. Why the darkness begs her to break the chains.

———

Three months. Three fucking months. Of nothing. Not a whisper on the news or in the underground, no public proclamations of the capture of one of the co-leaders of the most notorious gangs in the city. Nothing, abso-fucking-lutely nothing. Three fucking months she's been gone and not a word about what happened.

Jason sits crouched on the sofa, head in his hands. A coffee is placed on the table in front of him, he can tell from the smell, and the sound of the liquid sloshing about inside the cardboard cup.

“Marinette used to like coffee…” Jason bemoans, half-serious, half-jokingly.

Something shatters in the next room over, the kitchen most likely from the sounds of it.

“Oh. My. Fucking. God. Jason!” Alix hiss-screeches, from the same place as the shattering, like an angry kitten on roller skates. “You've said that meme every day for the last month! I'm going to murder you!”

Adrien, who's been sitting on top of the side cabinets, throws his head forwards and barely manages to stifle the laugh by slapping a hand over his mouth. He wheezes for a few seconds as he gets his laughter, and breathing under control again.

Félix snorts from where he's curled up in a cushioned armchair. “Alix has a point, you know. We understand you miss her but as do we.”

“Shhh! You'll disturb him!” Roy shushes, grinning mischievously as he stands behind the sofa. Putting on his best David Attenborough impression, he begins to recite, “here we have the rare Jasonarches Toddamentum brooding in his natural habitat. Lamenting the loss of one of his pack, specifically his co-alpha—”

Jason whips around to face Roy and launches the nearest pillow from the sofa at him, before he can continue the mockumentary. “Co-alphas? Really? That's the best you could come up with! C'mon man!”

Yelping, Roy ducks but not quick enough as the pillow smacks him in the right shoulder and flops onto the floor.

Nodding mock sagely, Félix sighs. “We expected better from you, Roy.”

“Yeah, Roy.” Kori teases, passing a second coffee in her hands over to him.

Placing a hand over his heart, Roy gasps. “Wow! The betrayal!” he complains as he grabs at the coffee and cradles it to his chest with the other. “And thanks, Kori! For the coffee, not the betrayal!”

“Ah, friends?” Markov calls cautiously as he hovers into the room, anxiety lacing his robotic voice, claws fiddling with the corner of what looks to be an envelope.

Immediately the jovial atmosphere splinters and everyone stills. Everyone except Artemis and Alix who walk, and roll into the room respectively, at that precise moment. Both hovering by the respective door frames they entered through, coincidentally opposite each other. Artemis crosses her arms, whilst Alix grabs the door frame with one hand to steady herself.

Jason tenses and glances over at the little AI. “Everything okay, Markov?”

Markov fretfully swings his claw arm around. “One of our couriers was handed a letter.”

“Did they bring it here?” Jason questions, brows furrowing in worry.

Markov shakes his head. “The courier handed it to a third-party forger, and created the forgery I am now holding. It is addressed to Adrien, and Félix.”

Adrien sucks in a sharp breath, he turns to exchange a look with Félix. “You don't think it's…” He trails off, unwilling to say it out loud in case it makes it any more likely.

Grimacing, Félix nods. “It has to be. It was rather publicly known when you were "kidnapped",” he states, making quotation marks with his fingers as he stressed the word, “by this gang. Less so when you spearheaded my "kidnapping", with them.”

“Yeah… that's. We didn't think that through.” Adrien admits, scrunching his mouth up in concern. “But! If that didn't happen, I wouldn't have gotten to use Cheval Mallet as my vigilante name, which is a plus at least!”

Félix huffs bitterly. “Oh, because getting to use a vigilante name that fits thematically is completely and utterly worth getting targeted by the Big Butterfly himself?”

“In my defence—” Adrien starts, only to shut his mouth again as words fail him. “Nevermind, you've got a point.”

Jason clicks his tongue. “More importantly, we need to decide what we're doing about this.”

“We need to actually see what is inside the envelope, first.” Félix counters, marching over to Markov.

Markov dips in the air in lieu of a nod and extends his claw-arm to hand Félix the envelope. “Here you go, friend!”

“Thank you, Markov.” Félix responds, nodding his head to the little AI as he takes the extended envelope. He marches back over to Adrien and slips out the disguised knife pen out of his pocket, before carefully slicing the top of the envelope open like one would do with a letter opener. Plucking the letter from inside, he holds it at an angle so only he and Adrien can read what has been written.

Seconds pass.

Swearing under his breath, Adrien glances up at Jason with panic clear in his eyes. “It's… it's from Kagami. She's been compromised, the Big Butterfly knows she was in contact with us. He and her mother have forced her to invite us to the Big Butterfly's upcoming fashion show…”

“She's worried that it's a trap, to capture us both so that they can… do to us what they did to my mother, and all of his Papillons.” Félix continues in Adrien's stead, barely able to conceal the dawning horror on his face.

Artemis moves towards them and asks as softly as she can, brows furrowing in concern. “And what exactly, did they do to your mother?”

He swallows a breath of air thickly. “Adrien's mother went missing a few years ago. And so my mother and I visited Adrien and his sperm donor as we were all grieving. However, I started to notice things seemed off and before either of us realised, the Big Butterfly was parading my mother around in front of the news and media pretending she was her twin sister instead. Even at home, she started treating me like Adrien's mother had.”

“What the fuck! Are you saying the Big Butterfly brainwashed your mom?” Jason exclaims, eyes wide with a mixture of horror, disgust, and alarm.

“Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying. The Big Butterfly brainwashed my mum into believing she was Aunt Emilie, purely so that he could keep appearances up in front of the cameras.” Félix confirms, hands balled into fists and shaking ever so slightly. “When Adrien got out and joined here, I stumbled across the Big Butterfly's plans to replace Adrien by doing the same to me. If you all hadn't helped me get out in time…” He chokes up, unable to get the next words out of his mouth.

“That is truly despicable. I'm sorry.” Artemis apologises, looking equally disturbed by the information.

“Shit.” Roy mutters, glancing between Félix and Adrien. “What do we do? We can't just let another innocent get fucking brainwashed!”

Kori purses her lips. “I think,” she starts, giving an understanding look at the two, “we should let Adrien and Félix decide. They are the most familiar with the Big Butterfly, this Kagami, and the situation as a whole.”

Clearing her throat, Alix roller skates a little closer to others. “Guys, you don't think…” she trails off, trying to find her words but also torn over whether saying it out loud will make it true, “you don't think that's what's happened to Marinette? It would explain why we've heard nothing from her or Roaar since she disappeared.”

“Holy fucking shit! I'm going to burn that fucking bastard and his fucking fashion show to the ground if he fucking dared!” Hisses Jason, his eyes flaring toxic green as the fury of the Lazarus Pit burns in his veins. He digs his nails into the fabric of the sofa and his lips curl into a near-frenzied snarl.

“Woah, woah! Jason, calm the fuck down! That might not be what's happened!” Roy intercepts, grabbing Jason by the shoulder.

Jason turns to glare at Roy. “But it also might be what happened to her!”

“We should go.” Adrien cuts in sharply, “Max can get the rest of you in via hacking. Félix and I will be the distraction, and I'll bring Kaalki so we have a quick escape in case things go wrong. Whilst everyone else who goes to the show needs to focus on getting Kagami out. Then once that's done, we can try and look for anything that suggests they've got Marinette. And if we find Marinette, we get her out as well.”

Félix nods. “That's a good enough plan for me.”

Smiling bitterly, Adrien tilts his head to one side. “So, who else is up for crashing the show?”

Kori, Roy, Artemis, and Alix all exchange glances before nodding.

“Max and I are in!” Markov pipes up, hovering up in a swing.

“That leaves, who's telling Luka, and Bizarro they're holding down the fort this time?” Jason mutters.

“Dibs not it!” Everyone but Artemis calls out.

She rolls her eyes at the antics of the others. “I will tell the two of them their roles for this mission. Don't worry.”

Jason hums. “We could also probably call in a favour with the Sparrow kid that you,” he nods towards Adrien, “and Marinette befriended. Not to hold down the fort but to help cover us at the fashion show?”

“Oh! I'm sure Sparrow will be more than happy to help! That's a great idea!” Adrien cheers, perking up slightly.

Moving over to the coffee table, Félix places the letter down in the centre. “Right. Let's get ourselves ready to crash a fashion show.”

———

Adrien and Félix both don a light disguise. One that's easy enough to recognise them on a closer inspection but subtle enough to not attract immediate attention.

The others, in heavier disguises, had arrived early and gotten in already—split between two teams. One with hacked tickets, and the other through breaking and entering, the gang's speciality. Sparrow had also been more than happy to help and had roped in a few others from their gang, the Quantic Kids, into helping watch the outside of the building.

Leaving Félix and Adrien to arrive together, separate from the rest of the gang; they make sure to arrive slightly late to try and avoid the worst of the crowds. Approaching the doors, they hand over their tickets and try to appear as nonchalant as possible.

The nearest android guard eyes their tickets and puts out a hand. “Wait.”

“Is there something wrong with our tickets, sir?” Félix asks, smiling sweetly enough to hide the undercurrent of threat.

The android guard nods their head at another then looks the two up and down in a scrutinising—analysing fashion. “We have explicit orders to escort anyone with these tickets to the seats.”

Adrien grimaces. “Understood, lead the way then.”

The android guards exchange nods once more, then the one slightly further away pulls out a radio and starts quietly reporting into it, too low for either Félix or Adrien to catch anything. Useful or otherwise.

“Follow me.” Says the nearer one as they start walking away.

Félix sighs and lightly knocks shoulders with Adrien as a reminder of solidarity as well as to get ready. Waiting for only a second, they both start following after the guard. Félix adjusts the secret mic and camera attached to his tie, ensuring that it was now transmitting its feed to Max and Markov, as well as Luka back at base.

Next to him, Adrien does the same with his own tie and attached secret mic and camera.

They're led down a few hallways, up a couple of winding staircases, and down a few more hallways before the guard stops outside a door with a metal sign on it reading: Private.

“Your seats are through here.” The android guard says, slotting a keycard into the door, causing a glowing keypad panel to open up in the centre. Then, the android guard scans a digital code into the door and the door swings open before it.

Adrien nods to the android guard and tugs Félix after him as he strides across the threshold, head held high.

There's a shriek, as they pass through the door, and a body slams into Adrien and it's only thanks to his vigilante instincts that he doesn't drop the body.

“Oh, Adrikins!” Chloé cries out, hugging him tightly. “I can't believe you're back!” She lets go of him for a second to step back and check out his outfit. “Urgh, you could do with some better clothes though. It's fine,” she says, waving a hand, “after today's show we can go on a shopping trip together!”

Adrien smiles awkwardly and unconvincingly responds, “yeah… it's nice to see you again too, Chloé.”

Félix, the traitor, snickers at Adrien's predicament and steps around the two to fully enter the room. The android guard does not follow, and the door shuts automatically behind them.

Inside, is a private bar and lounge with double doors on the far wall, opposite the 'Private' entry door.

Kagami glances up from her place from the sofa against the wall with the double doors. She raises an eyebrow. “It is good to see that you made it here safely.”

“As safe as we could.” Félix grunts, delicately dropping into the seat next to her on the sofa.

She hums, tuning out Chloé's screeching with practised ease. “How are the horse-related magic tricks you were working on going?”

“Pretty well, though I don't suppose Father will be all too pleased with the one I plan to practise tonight,” Félix responds.

Kagami relaxes her shoulders in relief for a split second. “Oh? And what sort of magic trick is it?”

“I've dubbed it: Call a Key. And it's like those pull a rabbit from a hat tricks but with a horse from a hoop.” He says, drawing a circle in the air. A circle that just so happens to be the same size and shape as Kaalki's average portals.

“I see,” Kagami says, nodding, “well, perhaps after tonight's show, you won't mind showing me it so far?”

Félix grins, “I'd love to, Kagami.”

Their conversation lulls into silence, so Félix hops off the sofa and goes over to the private bar to fix himself and Adrien some drinks. Seeing as Chloé was showing no signs of letting his cousin go at the moment. A potential hazard for the plan, he worries. With drinks in hand, he rejoins Kagami by the sofa.

An announcement rings out over the loudspeakers on the walls as the double doors swing open in a slow and controlled manner.

“That, is our cue that the show will be starting soon,” Kagami mutters to him. She takes a deep breath and raises her voice, “Chloé, Adrien, it is time we take our seats for the show.”

Chloé squeals, forcefully dragging Adrien across the private lounge and through onto the balcony where their booth seats are.

Sighing, Félix follows after the two with Kagami a few steps behind him.

“Oh, I'm so glad you managed to make it to today's fashion show, Adrikins!” Chloé exclaims, clutching at Adrien's arm like a hawk and gesturing wildly with the other. “It's so nice of your daddy to hold this show in the theatre so we could have a private booth together to watch the show! And it's going to be a really special show from what I've overheard, Gabriel's débuting a new and upcoming fashion designer! Isn't that so exciting, I'm sure your daddy will let you model for them now that you're back! After all,” she scoffs, “he's letting that peasant fox model for the designer today.”

“Is that so?” Adrien responds, glancing at Félix with deep-seated worry etched into his stare.

Félix clenches his fists and takes a deep breath.

Frowning, Kagami taps Félix on the arm and sends him a questioning glance.

“We'll explain it later.” He mumbles quietly enough for her to just hear.

Below them, the sounds of people taking their seats echoes. A few minutes pass, Félix and Kagami make minor small talk whilst Adrien is forced to listen to Chloé prattle on.

The main lights dim and then go out, plunging the room into darkness. The curtains rise, from the sounds of the heavy and large swathes of fabric moving on the pulleys.

Classical music starts playing—not unlike the music Adrien used to learn on the piano. And one by one, the lights in the shape of asphodels flicker to life on the stage, illuminating a sea of the flowers surrounding a catwalk designed like a river carving through the land. White marble Greco-Esque pillars and arches litter the flower fields. Framing the scene, is the blank white wall at the back of the catwalk and stage. The lighting shifts to cast spotlights on the wall behind the catwalk.

Félix tunes out the rest of the show starting, instead putting all his focus in searching for any security watching their booth, as well as for any sign of Marinette.

The show continues on, slowly models wearing pieces designed like asphodels, butterflies, and cocoons or chrysalises strut up and down the catwalk. The spotlights follow them, making the pieces and models appear to glow under the light.

Luckily, there's no obvious security paying attention to their booth. But that doesn't mean they're in the clear, for all they know, Gabriel could have bugged the place to the rafters. They had worked out before entering, that they'd have to leave before the end of the show. Otherwise, they'd most likely be captured and brainwashed just like Félix's mum.

A new announcement from the stage gives both Adrien and Félix pause, neither having fully caught what was said other than mentions of the reveal of the designer. They tense and try to hide the signs of their anxious anticipation. The flickering flame of hope in their chests threatens to extinguish from the worry that this could be what they feared it to be.

The lights and spotlights on stage all dim; whilst the music fades to a quieter volume. The almost deafening echoing clack-clack-clack of heels against the catwalk seems so much louder than when the models in heels had been walking across it.

Félix holds his breath and clasps his hands together tightly. Adrien leans forwards to get a better look over at the stage. They should be nudging Kagami and getting ready to go by now but they can't will themselves to look away. Like a tragedy; a car catching fire and about to crash.

A figure in a chrysalis dress steps onto the catwalk. Step by step by step, they slowly walk to the end of the catwalk. The faint glow of the lights still perfectly illuminates the figure's face though.

And Adrien's heart stops. “No!”

“What? Is that—?” Chloé starts, only to be interrupted by the cacophonous roar of a standing ovation from the rest of the audience.

Félix, Adrien, and Kagami all pale in horror.

“That's… that's Marinette.” Kagami whispers to Félix, her panic thinly veiled.

Stiffly, Félix nods and swallows a breath of air thickly. “So. Minor change of plans.”

“I can see why.” Kagami responds automatically, in horror.

On the catwalk below, the dress shimmers and appears to crack. Shadowy mist seeping from the cracks is followed by a blinding glow eviscerating the darkness. From the cracks, the outer layers of the dress splinter away, and the layers below begin to unfurl. Bright white, beautiful butterfly wings edged with black and the odd symmetrical red spots.

Gabriel Agreste, Papillon, joins her on the stage. “Isn't this such a momentous and wonderful occasion? Tonight, we have witnessed the eclosion of a new Papillon within the Atelier Agreste. And I'm delighted by the bright welcome Phoebus has received.”

At the call of her Papillon name, Phoebus bows.

Félix's heartbeat pounds in his ears, nearly drowning out Gabriel's words.

Before he, or Adrien, can react, there's a buzzing in his ear from the disguised earpiece comms.

“Félix. Adrien. Get Kagami and get out! Now!” Max's voice filters through, “they're sending a reinforcement of guards towards your location. I'll try to hack them but it'll be close!”

Standing abruptly, Adrien yanks himself away from Chloé's death grip.

“Wha—Adrikins!” She protests, still too shocked by the revelation of the new designer having been Marinette, to try and stop him.

Adrien backs away into the private lounge, flushing red with embarrassment. “Sorry Chloé, I-uh… need to use the men's room. Be-right-back!”

He turns heel and makes his way over to the opposite door and yanks it open.

Félix stares at Adrien in disbelief before nodding at Kagami and grabbing her by the arm. He does not so much run, as speed walk after Adrien.

The second all three of them are clear of the private door's threshold, Kagami kicks her foot back to shut the door behind them. The three then start sprinting down the halls.

The hidden earpiece crackles again. “You three and Jason are the nearest to the backstage where Marinette will be soon. I'll lead the four of you towards the location, just follow my directions and don't do anything stupid once Jason joins you.”

“No promises,” Adrien mutters in response. “I'm seriously considering committing patricide at this point.”

Max doesn't immediately respond, presumably having switched channels to help deal with the others, or get out himself.

Less than a minute later, the earpiece crackles again, but this time it's Luka who starts relaying the directions to the backstage whilst keeping them updated on both human and android guards as well as security camera positions.

“You're halfway there, Jason should be just through the third door on the right.” Luka informs, sounding calm but they know him too well to not hear the veneer of fury beneath every word.

Adrien yanks open the third door on the right open, and lo and behold, Jason is sprinting past the open door in the corridor it leads to.

“Wait up!” Félix hisses after Jason.

It seems Jason manages to hear him and skids on the balls of his steel-toed boots, scratching up the wooden flooring, to stare at them with his green eyes blazing. “Alix was fucking right.” He bites out.

“We are coming with you, to save her.” Kagami states, looking equally furious.

Jason cocks his head to the side. “Then c'mon, we need to run.”

The four exchange nods and glances and burst into a sprint down the hallway, following Luka's directions.

Direction after direction after direction. It feels like Luka relays to them hundreds of those endless directions before the four of them reach a long hallway with double doors at the end that has a large sign above it, labelled: Backstage.

Skidding to a stop again, Jason holds out an arm to stop the others as well. “As much as I want to run in, laser guns a-blazin', who knows what kinda fucking security shit they've got ready for us.”

Adrien grimaces. “But they knew we didn't know that they have Marinette. So why would they prepare security for us rescuing her when they're trying to capture us?”

“Have you forgotten how much security the Big Butterfly placed around my mother, after brainwashing her? Public spectacles like this always involve far too much security around the shining star of the show!” Félix spits acerbically, fists shaking, breathing shallow.

Adrien places a hand on his shoulder. “Worst case situation, we can get Kaalki to get us out and we can try and rescue Marinette another time.”

Jason scowls. “If we're forced to do that, I want to shoot that fucker's skull in first.”

“Technically, shouldn't Adrien get right of shooting him before you?” Kagami asks, half-smiling that awkward smile of hers.

Huffing, Jason nods to Adrien. “Fine, but I dibs second shot then. And if you go for the skull, I'm shooting that bastard in the fucking dick.”

Adrien makes a choking noise and doubles over, barely managing to stifle his laughter. He takes a few deep breaths and wipes tears away from his eyes. “Deal!” He wheezes, “please, I'd like nothing more than for you to get the second shot and do that!”

“Good fucking choice,” Jason mutters in response, a cheeky grin crossing his face for but a second before it falls back to the furious snarl. “Now, let's see what's behind the doors and get our anthill tiger back!”

The earpieces Jason, Félix, and Adrien are wearing, buzz again. “Might want to hurry up.” Luka smoothly informs. “Three human guards are coming your way. And as far as Max can see through his hacking, there's no android guards or drones backstage.” He pauses, “the rest of our gang won't be able to reach you four in time, neither will Sparrow's. You're going solo.”

The four exchange quick glances among themselves. “That's a risk we're willing to take if it means getting Marinette back.”

“I'll keep you updated on any changes. Break a leg or three, especially try to break the Big Butterfly's legs if you can.” Luka responds.

Jason snorts. “We'll try our best.”

The channel goes silent, as Jason quietly opens the backstage doors and the four of them sneak through.

———

The show has ended, by the time the four of them arrive through the backstage doors. Jason spots a rack of clothes and gestures to the others to follow him as he creeps over to hide behind it.

She's there. Marinette—or Phoebus, as the Big Butterfly had called her. There in the centre of the backstage. Standing stock-still. Still dressed in that fucking chrysalis—butterfly dress. Like a creepy human-sized doll.

Jason focuses on his breathing, in and out, in and out, in and out. Trying not to let the sickly radioactive green flood his vision and veins.

He freezes as he watches the Big Butterfly himself stride up to her and circle her like a vulture.

“You did very well today, Phoebus.” The Big Butterfly says, with a sneer on his face. “Unfortunately, my son and Nephew have so rudely absconded from their booth before the show ended.”

The Papillon Phoebus dips her head, and ever so hollowly sounding, replies, “that is most unfortunate.”

It takes all Jason's concentration to not be sick at how empty she sounds and acts. He glances at the others and Kagami, Adrien, and Félix all look sickened by the sight.

The Big Butterfly's sneer morphs into a scowl. “It is indeed. However, Mademoiselle Bourgeois was able to inform us of something very interesting.”

Tilting her head to one side, the Papillon Phoebus stares blankly at him. “Oh?”

“Apparently, my son had quite the reaction to the sight of you on stage, my Papillon. Isn't that interesting.” The Big Butterfly taunts.

She blinks at him then nods slowly and stiffly. “Yes. That is very interesting, Monsieur Agreste.”

His scowl curls into a victorious sneer. “That's what I thought, my dear Papillon.”

Jason shakes, he can't watch any more of this fucking creepy-ass bastard messing with his gang co-leader. He whips both of his recently upgraded guns from their holsters and grips the handles with whitening knuckles.

Before the others can think to stop him, Jason dives out of cover and shoots his twin guns. Pew-pew!

The laser bolts slam into the back of the Big Butterfly, frying two circles into his suit and melting the material to his skin.

The Big Butterfly screams in pain and fury. He pivots in place to turn and glare at where the shots had come from. The light flashes across his glasses again, making the lenses appear opaque. As his gaze latches onto Jason, his victorious sneer splits and twists and unfurls into a monstrous smirk. He starts to laugh, like poison bubbling and frothing from his lips.

And as the Big Butterfly does, Jason catches sight of the glint of small purple flapping around the Papillon Phoebus'—Marinette's—neck.

The bubbling and frothing poison of an Akuma's transformation swirls around her, staining every speck of her and forming a glimmering chrysalis once more.

“Shit! Shit! Shit!” Jason chants under his breath. Eyes wide with instant regret, he taps his earpiece. “We fucked up! Holy fucking shit, we fucked up!”

“What?!” Comes the frantic response from Luka. “What do you mean? What's happened? What did you do?”

Jason laughs nervously, “she's an Akuma! She's been fucking akumatised.”

“Hold on as long as possible, the others got swarmed by guards and can't reach you yet.” Luka frets.

At that, Kagami, Adrien, and Félix all burst out from behind the clothes rack, each with laser pistols also in hand. Zap-zap-zap.

The three more shots ring out but only one hits, Adrien and Félix both shaking too much for theirs to land.

“We shall try.” Félix responds to Luka.

The chrysalis-Akuma-poison coalesces around the Papillon Phoebus before cracking and dripping away. Revealing two large butterfly wings exactly like the dress. Phoebus wings. She flutters her wings and begins to float a metre or so above the ground.

“Fuck!” Jason curses, and behind him he can hear the other three echoing the sentiment. He stares at the purple butterfly chain around her throat. “Akuma is in the necklace!”

A bright light, not dissimilar to a flashbang, pops off. Immediately blinding all four of them.

“Capture them!” The Big Butterfly orders.

Kagami yelps.

The blindness caused by the light fades, and Adrien gasps. Jason swears under his breath again, and he and Félix both fire off more shots. This time towards the Akuma object, as the Big Butterfly has vanished.

Cocooned to the ground, Kagami squirms, trying to free herself from the Akuma's trap.

“Fucking shit!” Jason helpfully says on the earpiece channel. “She's trying to fucking capture us for the fucking bastard! And he's disappeared!” He bodily throws himself to the ground to dodge a mote of brilliant radiance lancing towards him.

The Papillon Phoebus tilts her head to the side, wings glittering with bright golden light like her namesake. Safely blocking the laser blasts towards her object with her massive wings.

Thankfully, only one of Kagami's hands is trapped. And not the one with the gun. As quietly as possible, she shoots the gun to slice through the cocoon and free herself.

The wings start to glow brighter and brighter and brighter.

“Flashbang!” Jason yells, diving behind cover in the form of a cluster of mannequins and slapping a hand over his eyes.

Kagami grabs Adrien and the two duck behind a different rack of clothes. Whilst Félix leaps over a stack of boxes and hides there.

The radiance flares once more, but fails to blind any of them.

“We need to shoot the object. I'll draw the attention at the front. Kagami, get behind and get ready to shoot her in the back as a distraction. Adrien and Félix, you two flank her on opposite sides.” Jason plans quietly into the earpiece channel.

Jason leaves his hiding spot first, vaulting over the cluster of mannequins and shoots a laser bolt at the Papillon Phoebus' necklace again. It's blocked by the wings, as to be expected.

Félix leaps back over the stack of boxes and flanks the Papillon Phoebus on the right. Whilst Adrien rolls out from behind the clothes rack and flanks on the left.

The three in position, shoot simultaneously at the Akuma, as to distract her.

Kagami bolts from her hiding spot and flanks behind the Papillon Phoebus.

The wings start to flutter and glow brighter once more.

“Now!” Jason yells.

Zap!

The blast slams into the Papillon Phoebus' back, right between where her wings connect to her shoulder blades. Instinctively she splays her wings out in pain and curls backwards.

Zap-zap!

Two more blasts slam into her, one in each wingtip.

Zap!

Finally, Jason shoots last and his aim is true. Crackle-snap!

The blast sears through the chain necklace, warping the metal and snapping it in twain.

The two parts of the object clatter to the ground and a purple butterfly claws itself out from the broken chains.

Jason spins his gun in his hand and shoots a final laser straight through the moth. Burning a perfect hole through its wings and killing it instantly. Purple Akuma-goop leaks from its injuries and then fades, leaving behind the scorched corpse of what was once a white butterfly.

He sighs in relief, and quickly taps his earpiece. “Akuma dealt with.”

As he says that, the Akuma de-transforms midair and Marinette collapses to the ground. Limp, like a puppet with their strings cut or a discarded doll—a cracked Pupa.

“Thank fuck.” Luka's responds over the channel, sounding tired.

Jason drags a hand down his face. The green poisoning his vision dissipates for the time being, and he hurries over to Marinette. Ever so carefully, he scoops her into his arms—bridal style—and pulls her close to his chest.

Kagami drops to her knees and breathes.

Adrien weakly punches the air with his gun in hand. “Wooh! Luka, we're calling a key home. Disable security please?”

Félix snorts, moving back to lean against the stack of boxes.

“No need, there's no security cameras backstage. I'll hear your songs when you back at base.” Luka relays, tone light with happiness and relief despite the tiredness. “The others have dealt with the guards, so they're on their way back too.”

Adrien transforms with Kaalki, becoming Cheval Mallet. He walks over to Kagami and offers her a hand. Félix, and Jason with Marinette unconscious in his arms join them.

The portal opens up before them, and they walk through together. Today, they've won another battle. Tomorrow they'll try to find out what has been done to Marinette. But tonight, tonight all the conscious members of the gang huddle together in the lounge. And among themselves, they build a pillow and blanket fort, and relax.

They're all together, and they're all safe, for once.

———

| Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this little fic! Comments, likes, and reblogs are much appreciated! |

| So title dissection, Atelier meaning Fashion Studio comes from the Latin "Astula" meaning "Splinter", Astula also is the Genus for the flower Asphodel. Phoebus as mentioned in the fic is the god of light but it also means "Bright". Eclose is the leaving of a cocoon/chrysalis. Pupa is another term for cocoon/chrysalis when the butterfly/moth becomes soup and goes through metamorphosis. But it also comes from the Latin meaning Girl or Doll. So In the Fashion Studio's Glow, the Bright/Light Doll will be Released. |

| Fun Fact: Larva/Larvae mean Mask or Ghost in Latin. Also the suffix "Arches" means Leader/Ruler. So Jasonarches means Jason-Leader :3 |

| Also feel free to send me any comments with any questions you have regarding this fic, I'll be more than happy to answer! |

| @jasonette-july-event |

[supernatural-jackles]

Owe You One - Part 3

Title: Owe You One - Saving You

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 5,141

Warnings: Angst, Self Hate, Nudity, Depression, Anxiety, Mentions of Sex, Minor Fluff, Self Loathing.

Summary:  Dean Winchester has been your best friend and neighbour for the last year. A year of finding comfort in random drop ins and casual conversations, but neither of you know the pasts that the other has. Not fully. Pasts that come back to haunt you, and ruin everything you want in life. Can you find what you’re seeking in a couple of favours and a good time between the sheets or is history doomed to repeat itself?

Owe You One - Masterlist

Square Filled : Best Friend for @spndeanbingo

A/N: Here we go! I hope y’all enjoy this part! Please please please, leave a comment, reblog or ask! Your response is very important to me! Happy Reading!

*Tags are still open! Please send an ask*

Three Months Later

 “Hey Y/N, it’s me, Dean. Again. Uh, look, we need to talk. It’s been three months since I last heard from you. I haven’t seen you since the night out. I’m getting worried now. I’m stopping by tonight around seven. Have a good day.”

 You listened to his words, letting them swirl around in your head as they sunk in. It had been three months since you last saw him. The night of his mom’s party. He called and left messages. Knocked on your door a few times and sent a bunch of texts. You didn’t return any of them. It was for the best.

 You couldn’t get his mother’s words out of your head since that night. You were never going to be good enough for the Winchester family. You were never going to measure up because you were the same filth that your mom was. You were bound to repeat history with their oldest son and she was going to make damn sure nothing happened. Hell, you had no idea what had happened. You were clueless, helpless and most of all, you were completely and utterly alone.

 You glanced around your messy bedroom, knowing fine well it was time to get up to get ready for work. That didn’t help you move. Your room hadn’t been cleaned in close to two months. You had probably vacuumed about three times. You had clothes everywhere. Your sheets were half on the bed. You had blankets on the floor, and the odd pillow. You just stopped cleaning up and taking care of yourself. There was no motivation in you to do anything. You slept, are the odd meal, went to work and repeat. There was nothing special about your life now that you didn’t have anyone in it.

 You rolled off of your bed, your feet landing in what felt to be a sweater that you had worn yesterday or the day before. You couldn’t quite remember. You took a deep breath, searching your drawer for something you could wear that was semi presentable, and not already worn and on the floor. You didn’t have a whole lot of clean clothes left.

 As soon as you pulled on your pants and shirt, you slipped out of your room and into the main part of the apartment. Your dishes were piled up in the sink, and all over the counter. You hadn’t bothered to clean anything in your apartment for awhile now. You just didn’t have the energy to put into cleaning up.

 You shoved your shoes on your feet, wanting to leave the apartment as quickly as possible to get out before you had the chance to run onto Dean. That was the very last thing you wanted. Especially after the message on your phone. If you were lucky and timed everything out, you’d be home early and you could ignore him like you had done for the last three months. Dean and the rest of the Winchester’s were better off without you.

 You hopped on the number five bus that took you straight to the stop right outside your work’s building. You barely gave his beloved impala a second glance as the bus took off down the road. It was filled with the usual crowd. Some in their business suits, others in scrubs. It was always the same people that never said a single word to each other. Not even a hello.

 The ride was exactly twenty six minutes. The average amount it took you to get there. This morning, the lady with the stroller didn’t get on, which saved you three and a half minutes. The old man with the big hat got off at a different stop, and a few new faces got on at a stop that wasn’t typically used. It was all so routine. Nothing ever changed.

 Maybe that was part of your problem. Your life was so routine now that you were alone. You didn’t run the odd chance that Dean was coming over to hang out because you had shut him out. You didn’t go out. You lived the same daily routine every single day. No change. Maybe that was why you were in the slump you were in. Partially anyways.

 You pulled the string, letting the driver know you needed off. You stood up, heading for the side door to get ready to leave. No one looked at you, or even paid any attention to you. They were all staring at their phones, not taking in their surroundings. It made you wonder how they ever got off at their stops.

 You stepped out onto the cracked sidewalk, heading straight towards your building’s entrance. You had your key card ready to scan when you walked in. You took a deep breath as you pulled the door open, your footsteps light as you made your way to the front desk. You slipped your card in the slot, hearing the click to unlock the door.

 The exact same routine every morning. Your work station as you liked to call it was on the third floor. You had your own little cubicle that you made yours. The elevator dinged as it stopped on your floor. You heard the conversations the second you stepped out and headed into the big room. Your area was to the left of the room, near the conference office.

 You arrived at your cubicle, removing your bag from your shoulder before placing it on your desk. You took a seat in your comfortable chair. Your eyes wandered in the same place they always did. The picture of you and Dean that you had there. It was the only picture you had the two of you. You didn’t have the heart to remove it. You loved the picture. He was smiling wide while you were laughing. His younger brother Sam had taken it. What you would do to go back to that day.

 “Morning Y/N,” Charlie beamed, handing you your morning tea with a smile. “Your morning pick me up.”

 “Thanks Charlie,” you smiled softly at her.

 “Are you caught up on The Walking Dead yet?” she asked, leaning against your desk.

 “No not yet,” you shook your head. “I’ve been a bit busy. I think I’m six episodes behind now.”

 “You are and it’s killing me,” she sighed. “Okay, what about we get together this weekend and catch up. Or have a Harry Potter marathon.”

 “I’ll see what I’m doing,” you nodded. “I’ll text you and let you know.”

 “Will you?” she cocked her eyebrow knowingly.

 “Promise,” you said, looking directly at her.

 She gave you a weak smile before heading to the next cubicle with their drink. You let out a breath, turning your computer on. You were just going to focus on getting your work done so you could go home and feel comfortable once more.

 Your job wasn’t hard. You worked for a magazine company called Asemodeus and you wrote articles. It wasn’t your dream job by any means. When you moved here, this was the only place you heard back from that the pay was decent. It was better than nothing. You just weren’t challenged as much as you would have liked. It was all a routine to you.

 Your column was strictly fashion. Nothing to write home about. You worked with a bunch of other woman who helped get the main parts of the magazine together. Your boss, Abaddon was the daughter of the company’s CEO. She ran this floor and was the one in charge of getting everything done. Charlie worked alongside her. She was in charge of everything Abaddon couldn’t get done. Everyone else was just like you in some sense.

 The day was dragging on. You had nothing due. Nothing to research and nothing to write. You were ahead and there wasn’t anything you could help with in anyway. Your eyes kept slipping over to that picture and how he was coming over tonight. He was worried about you. All you could think about was his mom’s words. You weren’t good enough for any of them. What made you think that Dean wasn’t going to realize it at some point? As soon as another woman came into his life, you would be shoved out of his life anyways. You were saving yourself the heartache.

 Six o’clock finally came. You shut down your computer and turned your side light off before standing up. You had your sweater close to you and your bag over your shoulder. If you were lucky, you would catch the first bus back to the apartment, you thought to yourself. You pulled your hair out from beneath the strap.

 You slipped your card in the slot once more, signing out for the day before pushing the door open. The cool March air filled your lungs instantly. The wind had picked up a little. You were looking forward to spring finally making its appearance.

 The bus stopped in front of the stop for you to get on. This ride was shorter than the last one you reminded yourself as you took your seat at the back of the bus. It was a different crowd on this route compared to the morning round. There was a man always on his phone with his wife. Today they were arguing about something which sounded a lot like what to get for dinner. Most of the time, he was telling her how his day went and how much he missed her. He couldn’t have been much older than you by the looks of him. He wore a suit and carried a briefcase. It wasn’t new by any means. A hand me down at best. His suit was one of three he owned. He was definitely just starting out.

 Your stop came quickly and before you knew it, you were back out into the cool evening. You glanced both ways, checking for cars coming before stepping out onto the street to cross over. You couldn’t wait to be in your bed. It was all you could think about.

 It was just after six thirty when you stepped foot on your floor off the stairs. You searched your bag for your keys. You pulled them out of their spot, finally look up, only to have your heart sink in your chest. Dean was sitting on the floor outside your apartment with his knees up to his chest. It wasn’t even seven yet. So much for getting home early enough that you could avoid him. There was nothing you could say to him. There was no point in conversation.

 “Y/N,” he half smiled, getting up off the floor.

 “Look, now’s not really a good time,” you said, slipping the keys in the lock as quickly as you could. “I’ve got a lot of stuff to do.”

 “Not even ten minutes?” he asked, his tone almost cold. Not that you could really blame him.

 “As you can see, I’m fine. I’m still alive and all is good. I’m just busy. You can stop worrying,” you stated, pushing the door open.

 “Y/N,” he breathed out. “Please.”

 “It’s not a good idea, okay?” you muttered, stepping inside your apartment. You turned back, finally looking directly at him for the first time. He had a sad, broken and defeated look on his face. It damn near broke you. You didn’t want to hurt him. That wasn’t your intention in the slightest. You were saving both of you from heartache later on.

 “You have someone over last night?” he asked, pointing towards your kitchen, furrowing his eyebrows. Shit. Of course he could see your kitchen from where he was standing.

 “No,” you shook your head. “I gotta go.”

 “Y/N, please,” he pleaded. “I talked to my mom about what happened.” You stiffened at the thought of him talking to her about you. The mere thought of you on her mind, her face turning angry and filling with disgust.

 “That’s great. I don’t want to hear it, okay? Please, leave me be,” you said. Your voice laced with defeat. You moved to shut the door closed, only to have Dean’s hand stop it before he entered your apartment. He wasn’t going to give up. There was no getting him to leave now without a fight.

 “You’re not okay,” he said sadly. “Are you?”

 “I’m okay,” you lied. “I’ve just been busy.”

 “Don’t lie to me,” he stated. “Your kitchen is a mess which is completely unlike you.” He walked over to the fridge, opening it up. “You have nothing in your fridge, Y/N. Not even a carton of milk. You haven’t done the dishes in what looks like a week or two. God knows, the last time you had a proper meal.”

 “I’ve been busy,” you whispered, trying to make yourself small. He wasn’t going to buy a word you were saying. You could see it on his face. Maybe if you kept lying, you’d piss him off to the point where he’d leave. Maybe if you pretended not to need him.

 “Y/N, don’t lie to me,” he frowned, making you feel guilty.

 “Can you please, just go,” you swallowed hard, not daring to look at him.

 “Let me clean up, okay? Go shower and do whatever you do after work,” he told you. You didn’t have to be told twice. You turned on your heel, heading into your bedroom. You shut the door quietly, taking in the darkness that was the room. The curtains hadn’t been opened in months. Dean was going to leave after he did the one thing you couldn’t do. You could handle him doing that. You were tired of fighting.

 You shed out of your work clothes, dropping them near the overflowing laundry basket. You never bothered to make sure they were fully in there. It didn’t matter anyways. Your room was as much of a mess as your kitchen was, if not worse. You reached for your pyjamas that you had on this morning, pulling them on your body before slipping beneath the covers of your bed.

 You lay your head on your pillow, bringing your legs up to your chest as you settled in. You felt everything, but at the same time, you felt nothing. It was one of the worst feelings in the world. Knowing something was wrong, but not having the slightest clue how to fix it, or the energy to even try. Nothing was going to make you feel any better.

 You had no idea how much time had past when your bedroom door opened, letting in a little bit of light from the main part of the apartment. You had no energy to move, let alone talk. You didn’t want to do this. You didn’t want to have to fight Dean on this.

 “Y/N,” you heard as the bed dipped down next to you. You felt his hand coming down to the other side of your body. “How bad is it?”

 “What?” you mouthed.

 “The way you’re feeling. How bad?” he questioned. His tone was light. There wasn’t a single hint of anger or judgment.

 “‘M fine,” you replied, nuzzling your head into your pillow a bit more.

 “Y/N, please don’t lie to me. This is my fault; I know it is. Please just, talk to me,” he almost begged.

 “I would like you to leave,” you asked politely. You couldn’t handle the hurt in his voice. He was worried and you knew it was a long shot of him leaving after he seen you like this.

 “Not without a fight, sweetheart,” he half smiled. “C’mon.”

 He stood up, throwing the comforter back without your consent. You felt the draft instantly, wanting the warmth back. Before you could reach for it, Dean reached down, pulling you into his arms, lifting you out of bed. You could barely protest as he carried you into the bathroom. He placed you down on top of the counter before flicking on the light.

 “Alright, arms up,” he pointed to your shirt.

 “Dean,” you shook your head.

 “I’m going to say this as nicely as possible. You smell terrible. Now arms up. We’re showering,” he explained.

 “I don’t want to,” you protested, casting your head down.

 “Okay,” he nodded. “Then you can go for a bath instead. You can soak in there while I clean up your room.”

 “No,” you refused.

 “Y/N, please,” he declared, raising his voice just a little. He turned away from you, reaching your tub. He turned the nozzle, beginning to fill up the tub. He grabbed the bubble bath from the shelf, adding a good amount into the water before testing the temperature. He never uttered another word to you. You knew he was irritated with you, and you did nothing to make that any better. You were pathetic. Why was he sticking around?

 When he was satisfied with the bath, he made his way back to you. This time, you didn’t protest. You weren’t sure you had any fight left in you. He pulled your shirt over your head, revealing your breasts to him once more. He didn’t look at you with the same lust filled eyes this time. Then again, this wasn’t the time or place. Next were your pants and your panties, which were off quickly. What you weren’t expecting was for him to carry you over to the tub. He was careful when he placed you in the water. It wasn’t too hot. It was the right temperature to provide you with some relief. It felt nice to be in the water.

 “I’m going to go clean up,” he stated lowly. For a split second, you didn’t want him to leave you. After telling him to leave so many times. After avoiding him for so long. You didn’t want him to go. If he was in here, you weren’t alone with yourself and your thoughts. You weren’t alone with your fears, and your depression. You would have him here with you and it was a lot less scary if he was here.

 “Stay,” you whispered. Your voice was weak and barely even there.

 “I’ll just be out there-”

 “Please,” you mouthed.

 “Alright,” he nodded. “You want me to wash your hair?” You nodded your head this time, not daring to try to speak again. He opened up the cupboard door, grabbing the pitcher from the shelf. He moved to the shower, grabbing your shampoo and conditioner from the perch before settling down next to the tub.

 You moved to the middle of the tub, giving him some room to work. You brought your knees to your chest, letting him do what he needed to do. He was gentle, which you should have expected but didn’t. He worked in silence, solely focused on washing your hair the best he could. You didn’t want to do anything to make him mad. You just let him do his thing.

 You couldn’t deny that it felt good to have him run his fingers through your hair. It was that comfort thing again. Like the way he kissed your head at his mom’s party. It was little things that put you at a little more ease. You never really realized just how much you missed him until you thought about these things.

 “I’m sorry,” you mouthed.

 “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart,” he assured you, running his fingers through your wet hair once more. “You want to get out now so we can dry you off?”

 “Okay,” you breathed out. You moved your hands to the side of the tub, finding the energy to prop yourself up to a standing position. He reached for your arm, helping you climb out of the tub and onto the soft mat to dry your feet. He wrapped you in one of your warm towels, trying to dry you off the best he could. He held out his finger to you, taking off into your bedroom a second later. You moved the towel around your body, drying yourself off in all the places you knew Dean would miss.

 “Clean pyjamas,” he said as he stepped foot in the bathroom once more. Dean took the towel from you, and handed you the clean clothes in exchange. You managed to pull them on without too much of an effort. Dean stepped over to the counter, grabbing your hair brush off the little shelf. What you didn’t expect was for him to begin brushing your hair. You felt useless. You couldn’t even take care of yourself and it took to Dean barging into your apartment to help you for you to actually do something. He had to be thinking about how pathetic you were. How much of a broken fucking mess you were.

 “De-”

 “We’re going out,” he told you, throwing his arm around your shoulder. You furrowed your brows. Where in the hell could he be taking you that you could be wearing your pyjamas. He lead you into your bedroom, heading over to your closest to grab you a sweater before exiting the room.

 You followed him into the now clean kitchen. He was setting out your comfortable slip on shoes for you, and he had your bag ready for you. You weren’t really up for going out, but there was no way he was taking no for an answer. Not this time. Even if you tried, you were still going. You were breaking routine, you told yourself. That was good.

 He threw his arm around you once more, pulling you into him as he lead you down the stairs and to the impala. The wind had picked up a little more, chilling you instantly due to your wet hair. Dean still opened the door for you first like the true gentleman that he was. You couldn’t wait for him to get in and turn the heating on.

 You were on the road within seconds, heading left instead of right, which was what you were expecting. The car heated up pretty fast, warming you up slowly. Dean hummed along to the Queen song that played on the radio. The car ride was pretty silent all in all. You didn’t know what to say to him. You were sure he didn’t know what to say to you at this point. You were a mess. You weren’t his responsibility.

 He made another left turn up a road you weren’t sure about. It was a dirt road that went uphill. You weren’t sure how long you were in the car for or where you were for that matter. Dean knew what he was doing and that was more than enough to put you at ease. The car eventually came to a halt and Dean cut the engine. You were at the top of the hill, overlooking the main part of the city.

 It was just starting to get dark out and the lights were becoming brighter. You couldn’t stop staring out the window, taking it all in. It was breathtaking. You took a deep breath, letting the calm feeling take over you. It was the first time in a long time that you felt a sense of ease. You didn’t want that feeling to leave you.

 “It’s beautiful isn’t it?” Dean said lowly, grasping your attention.

 “Yeah,” you breathed out. You could sense that he wanted to say something more but chose not to. Not yet. You knew after everything he did for you, you owed him an explanation. You owned him something. There was no nice way to put any of it. You had no idea why he even cared. After everything with his mom. You knew she didn’t want you around him or any of them. You shouldn’t have been with him now.

 “Y/N,” he sighed, almost as if he was defeated.

 “I’m not okay,” you confessed. “But Dean, we can’t be friends.”

 “Why not?” he questioned.

 “Because your family hates me,” you reminded him. “Because for some reason that I don’t know about, they hate me. My existence was enough for your mom to tell me get away from her family. I’m not good enough for you, Dean. Or anyone for that matter.”

 “Is- is that why you didn’t answer any of my calls, or texts? Because you think you’re not good enough for me?”

 “Yeah,” you nodded. “Partially.”

 “I’ve been so fucking worried about you,” he revealed, turning to face you. “And clearly I’ve had a good reason to. Talk to me, Y/N.”

 “There is nothing to say,” you shook your head.

 “Yes there is,” he pointed out. “Since when do you not have something to say?”

 “Since my best friend’s mom hates me,” you raised your voice. “Since the one person I actually got along with was told to break up with me, because my bitch of a mom fucked your mom over in some way that I don’t even know about!” You let out a huff, crossing your arms over your body, trying to make yourself small.

 “I’m sorry,” he frowned. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve done something sooner. You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.”

 “We can’t be friends, De-”

 “I don’t give a fuck what my parents think, Y/N,” he stated clearly. “I care about you. The one who stuck by my side even when she wanted to run. I’m never going to leave you behind because my parents feel a certain way. They can go to hell for all I care.”

 “I’m not going to be the one to break you from your parents, Dean. I’m not worth it,” you argued.

 “I’ll be the judge of that one,” he told you. “I like you and that’s all that matters. I’m not going another day without knowing you’re okay.”

 “You said you talked to your mom about what happened?” you brought up, finally turning to look over at him. He gave you a soft smile, motioning for you to move over to him. You took a deep breath, not fighting him this time. He threw his arm around you, tugging you into him, giving you a squeeze.

 “From what she told me, she said your mom and her were best friends growing up. From Kindergarten to junior year. She didn’t speak kindly of her, I’m going to tell you that now-”

 “I figured,” you shrugged.

 “Your mom cared more about her boyfriends that she did about her friendship with my mom. My parents were together in high school. Have been since sophomore year. Apparently they took a break during senior year and during that time, your mom hit on my dad and said a bunch of things about her to him. Their friendship was over after that and your mom took off. I know there has to be more to it, but that’s what she told me.”

 “I’m trying my hardest not to be like my mom,” you breathed out. “She made it pretty clear before she died that I was going to end up the same way as she did. A slut who was never going to settle down with anyone.”

 “Sweetheart, you’re not your mom,” Dean declared. “You’re not a slut. Trust me, someone is going to fall head over heels for you someday. You’re definitely a little naughty though, I’m not gonna lie.”

 “Shut up,” you let out a chuckle.

 “You are,” he laughed, “I’d fuck you anytime. You’re hot as hell.”

 “I’m a mess. You don’t want me,” you half joked, swallowing hard.

 “I’d take you no matter what,” he assured you. “Best sex I’ve ever had.”

 “You already know you’re the best I’ve ever had,” you shrugged. “Backseat is free.”

 “As much as I’d love that, I’m not sleeping with you. Not tonight,” he breathed out. “You’ve clearly got a lot going on and I’m not about to make that any worse for you. Just, don’t shut me out again, okay?” he said, nudging you.

 “I’m sorry,” you whispered. “Things just got dark, you know? My head got the better of me after that night and I just kinda stopped. Everything whirled around in my head and I convinced myself you were better off without me. After that, I felt trapped in a loop. Everyday was the same shitty routine. I didn’t want to talk to you because of what happened, and I worried that because your mom told you to break up with me, you were going to leave me in the end anyways. You deserved a better friend that your parents didn’t hate. On top of that, I never told you that I have bad anxiety and a bit of depression all wrapped up in this tight little box. I’m a mess nine times out of ten. And everything with my mom and growing up - I figured I’m only good for a night between the sheets and nothing more.”

 “You are worth a lot more than that, sweetheart. I can promise you that,” he stated, pressing his lips to the top of your head. “You might have a few dents, but you aren’t broken and you aren’t a mess. You’ll always have me, no matter what. I’m right next door, neighbor.”

 “Thank you,” you nodded, swallowing hard. You leaned your head over, resting it on his shoulder. “I’m sorry I’ve been a terrible person the last three months.”

 “You do owe me a birthday present,” he joked. “I get it. I don’t mind helping you clean up your apartment when things get to be too much. I don’t want you to feel like you have to shut me out. I’m always here for you. I don’t care about what my parents think. You’re always going to be my friend. I’m not a kid and I can make decisions for myself.”

 “I might need you to remind me of that from time to time,” you shared. “I’m not going to be okay all the time. I’m never okay all the time.”

 “I’m a phone call and probably about twenty two steps away. Anytime,” he assured you.

 “Can - can you stay over tonight,” you inquired. “I don’t really feel like being alone. Not after three months of it.”

 “Only if I can sleep in your bed. I’m not sleeping on the couch,” he chuckled.

 “Yeah you can sleep in my bed,” you nodded.

 “Good. Your bed is comfortable,” he smiled. “We’ll get your room back in order this weekend.”

 “Thank you for being a good friend, even if I’m a shit friend.”

 “You’re not a shit friend, Y/N. You thought you were doing what was best for you at the time. You’re overprotective of yourself and I get it,” he smiled. “But remember I’m here for you.”

 “I know,” you breathed out. “Thanks for caring.”

 “Always!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Part 4 will be out on Sunday 👀 

Did you like it? What was your favourite part? Any theories? Please share your thoughts with me via reblog, reply or send me an ask! Nothing is stupid! I WANT TO HEAR FROM YOU! Your response is the ONLY thing keeping me sharing this story! 

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[moon-stars01]

~Sugar Rush~

Hoshi x Reader

Author:pseudomint

Summary: Kwon soonyoung finds himself becoming a regular customer in a local ice cream shop after meeting mingyu’s cute co-worker. Sounds normal—unless you leave out the fact that he dislikes sweets.

Pairing:Hoshi(Svt) x reader

Gene:Collage/University,Ice Cream polar,attempt at humor,flirting,Smitten Hoshi,Mingyu third wheeling,Jun and his pick up lines

Rating:Teen and Up Audiences

Word Count:6100

———————-

~SUGAR RUSH~

Hoshi stares at the cute, pastel building, decorated with stickers of ice cream illustrations on the big, glass windows and door. He checks his phone screen once again, only to see the exact picture of the building he found on the internet glaring back at him mockingly.

This is the place. He finally knows where Mingyu’s secret workplace is. Don’t ask him where he got the address from (he might have.. owed a certain pink haired devil named Jeonghan). All he has to do now is to storm inside the ice cream shop and make fun of Mingyu for all it’s worth.

Being friends with that guy for a long time, Hoshi has a vague idea of why would Mingyu hide his workplace. The guy has always been vocal about his worship for anything hip-related, evident by his love for classic Pop, several ear piercings, and fashion style. He’s studying art so that he can become a tattoo artist. Moreover, he has a history as a delinquent back in middle school.

So, working in a local, cute ice cream shop near their campus might not be included in Mingyu’s list of Top 10 Dream Jobs, even as a part-timer.

Hoshi stifles a grin as he pushes the door open, earning a chime from the bell above. The shop is quite vacant, save for three customers, minding their own businesses in three different seats, the ice cream on their plates or cups half-eaten. One of them is bobbing their head to the popular pop song that is heard through the wall speakers. As Hoshi continues to scan the pastel themed shop, his eyes finally land on the glass display, filled with various flavors and colors of ice cream.Hoshi can already feel a toothache—he’s never been a fan of sweets, after all.

Noticing the absence of the employees behind the counters, Hoshi spots a bell placed beside the cash register. His hand hovers above it, uncertain whether calling the shop clerk with a damn bell is even polite—obviously, this isn’t some kind of five-star gourmet restaurant. Not that Hoshi has ever been into one.

Thankfully, before Hoshi could dive further into his impromptu crisis, an employee emerges from the back door. He’s wearing a pastel blue uniform shirt and a pink apron with the shop’s logo on the left side of his chest. Such soft colors, contrast with the dark scowl on his face.

“What the fuck are you doing here, bastard?” Mingyu snarls, clearly aggravated by the mere of Hoshi’s presence alone.

And Hoshi can’t hold it back anymore. He laughs, folding his body in half, one hand clutching his gut as the other supports himself by gripping the counter. Fuck, this is funnier than he initially thought. No matter how he imagined it, the image of Mingyu and a cute ice cream shop just can’t be merged. Yet, here he is—the reality presented right before Hoshi’s eyes.Hoshi wheezes again.

“Stop fucking laughing,” Mingyu hisses, hands clenching on both of his sides. His face is flushed from anger with a mixture of embarassment. “This is why I’d never fucking tell you about this place!”

“Oh, it’s never about the place, ‘Mingyu,”Hoshi replies, wiping a tear from the corner of his eyes. “It’s always been about you.”

Mingyu growls. “I’m seriously gonna kick you out.”

“I’m a paying customer,” Hoshi smirks back. “Treat me like one.”

“Then act like one,” Mingyu snaps, folding his arms across his chest, frown deepening. “Though I bet you can’t even handle the sweetness.”“Gimme the menu.”

“There’s one behind me, written on the chalkboard, asshole.”

“Wow, brilliant customer service,” Hoshi deadpans. “Don’t you have the printed one or something?”

“Aren’t you spoiled?” the hipster grumbles as he magically pulls out a menu, printed on a laminated paper from behind the counter. He doesn’t miss the opportunity to slap it against Hoshi’s chest.The act, however, is caught by one of Mingyu’s co-worker who’s suddenly coming out of the back room.

“Mingyu-oppa! Why did you do that to a customer?!” She screeches, horrified at her oppa’s rude behavior. She’s way shorter than Mingyu, and shorter than Kazuya. She has a (h/s) (h/c) hair that somehow looks soft and fluffy as the strands bounce everytime she moves.When their eyes finally meet,Hoshi’s lost the ability to speak.

Now, Hoshi’s never been one to believe in love at first sight, albeit having heard the idea of it in many sappy romance films. Hoshi’s also met many girls he considers as good-looking, but that’s it. There were no imaginary flowers or love-shaped bubbles or sprinkles of glitters around them, like a typical page of shoujo mangas. He didn’t feel his heart pounding harshly against his ribcages. He’s positive that he had never blushed at someone without any good reason.But his cheeks have never felt warmer than this moment.

The girl in front of him is unbelievably cute; she has an air of innocence around her that makes Hoshi want to scoop her up (no ice cream puns intended) in his arms and pinch those slightly chubby, round cheeks. Her cute button nose is perfect for a nose boop, and oh, how Hoshi wishes to nip her pink, plump lips.The girl’s tongue darts out to lick the very same lips, before she opens her mouth.

“Um.. are you okay? Is my co-worker hurting you?” She asks, brows furrowing in worry. Hoshi forces himself to look at her in the eyes, which is apparently a bad decision, because for the love of baseball, he’s never seen someone having such beautiful, molten e/c eyes—

“He’s fine,” Mingyu answers, shooting Hoshi a knowing look. “Sadly, I gotta admit that he’s a friend of mine, so don’t worry about him, y/n.”

“Oh!” Y/n brightens up, giving Hoshi an impression of a cute dog perking up its ears and wagging its tail. “Finally this l/n y/n gets to meet one of Mingyu-oppa’s friends!” She says joyfully with a voice a bit too loud. “May I also have the honor of knowing your name?”

Hoshi briefly glances at Mingyu, as if asking whether he should be concerned of Y/n’s odd, archaic way of speaking, but Mingyu’s expression works as a wordless assurance that it’s nothing to be worried about.Then, after eyeing Y/n’s extended arm as an offer for a handshake, Hoshi takes it firmly with a smirk.

“The name’s Kwon Soonyoung but you can call me Hoshi,” he purrs, his thumb tracing a circle on the back of Y/n’s hand. “It’s a real pleasure to meet you, Y/n.”His smirk broadens when a blush blooms on the girl’s cheeks.

“Uh—likewise!” Y/n retracts her hand too quickly. “Um, I’ll let you proceed with your order with Mingyu-oppa—“

“The thing is,” Hoshi cuts her off, leaning on the counter, showing a feigned, saddest expression on his face. “Mingyu was bullying me,” he sighs. The said guy promptly sputters a series of denials. “And this is my first time here. I think I deserve a discount for the bad customer service, don’t you think?”

Y/n lets out a scandalized gasp, giving Mingyu a nasty, chiding glare for treating their customer poorly, even if they’re ‘friends.’ “Then you have my approval!” She declares, jabbing a proud thumb at her own chin. “Don’t worry! I’ll tell boss about the discount later! Now, please pick any flavors!”Hoshi’s mouth twitches as a bubble of laughter arises from his chest. This kid is so gullible, so genuine, so interesting. He almost feels bad for tricking him.Mingyu kicks Y/n’s legs, “Idiot! Can’t you see that he’s tricking you?!”

When y/n shoots a puzzled look at Hoshi, Hoshi’s laughter breaks free from his mouth. In return, he gets a bristling y/n who goes out of her way to be on the other side of the counter just to shake Hoshi’s collar and send him colorful insults. Not the most professional thing an employee should do to a customer, but it’s worth for Hoshi’s own entertainment.In the end, Hoshi’s the one who gets kicked out of the shop before he causes more commotions.

Hoshi comes back at Mingyu’s next shift, mentally convincing himself that he’s here to annoy the hell out of the hipster, not because Mingyu accidentally reveals the fact that y/n has the same schedule with him.Yeah, right.

He peeks over the big windows, and hesitates. The shop is more crowded than his last visit, as expected from weekends. It’s mostly filled with couples and giggling high school girls. Hoshi decides to sit on the unoccupied outdoor seats by the window, waiting for the beeline to lessen.

Fortunately, it doesn’t take long for the patrons to decrease. By the time he enters the shop, the jingle of the doorbell earns him an automatic response from y/n who’s not even looking at the door. “Welcome to—“ she glances at Hoshi, then frowns. “—oh, it’s you.”

“Oh? Do I see another bad customer service?” Hoshi smirks, strutting closer the counter.

“I’ll show you customer service,” Mingyu threatens, glowering at him.

Hoshi holds up his hands in defense, grinning, “easy there, ‘Mingyu”

“So, are you going to order, Kwon Soonyoung?” Y/n squints at him in suspicion. Pushing aside his inner glee of noticing a mundane detail such as Y/n remembering his full name, Hoshi ponders of giving her an honest reply or not. Will they kick him out once again if he admits that he can barely handle sweet things?

“Hoshi?” Y/n’s voice pulls him out of his thoughts, and his previous scorn is replaced with an owlish blinking. It makes Kazuya more aware of how y/n’s long eyelashes brush her cheeks whenever she closes her eyelids for a brief second.Pretty.“Hoshi!”Hoshi coughs and answers distractedly. “Uh, yeah, sure. I’ll order something.”

Mingyu stares at him like he’s grown a pair of horns, but it’s more like that he can’t seem to grasp that Hoshi, of all people, agrees to order something sweet.

“You sound uncertain, but worry not! The ice cream here will change your mind,” Y/n chirps with an eye smile. Hoshi can feel a thousand of cupid arrows piercing through his fragile, gay heart.

“Right, because Hoshi absolutely loves ice cream,” Mingyu mutters under his breath beside his co-worker with a blatant sarcastic tone.Y/n doesn’t seem to hear it, much to Hoshi’s relief.

“So...” Hoshi drawls, scrutinizing the menu near the cash register. “Do you have a flavor that isn’t too...” he grimaces at the next word, “sweet?”

“That’s impossible, go home.”

“I didn’t ask for your opinion, Mingyu.”

“I can recommend you some,” Y/n replies, ignoring Mingyu and Hoshi’s glaring contest. “We have wasabi flavor, bitter melon flavor—“

“Some extreme recommendations you have there,” Hoshi sweatdrops.

“Hey! They taste fine, I guess,” Y/n looks hesitant herself. Hoshi wonders if the girl even understands basic marketing strategies—she could’ve at least pretended to be confident with her promotion. “I mean, I’m sure they’re better than natto flavored ice cream or anything.”

“You hate natto?” Hoshi smiles in amusement, inwardly happy to know one fact about Y/n.

“I despise it!” Y/n huffs, not even bothering to conceal her disgust. “Anyway! If you’re not interested with our out-of-the-world flavors, maybe you’d love our triple shot espresso ice cream! If you’re still not convinced, we still have a variety of diet frozen yogurts that are guaranteed to be low-sugar!”Hoshi hums at the mention of anything caffeine-related, “triple shot espresso ice cream doesn’t sound bad. Get me the smallest cup, y/n.”

“Roger!” Y/n beams, giving a military salute before she busies herself with Hoshi’s order. Her moves behind the counter are swift, practiced, and surprisingly not clumsy. Her hips sway a little to the beat of the music—whose great idea it is to play a suggestive jazz music at a fucking ice cream shop in Saturday afternoon?—but Hoshi’s not really complaining. In fact, he enjoys the show a bit too much; he doesn’t even realize that he’s been propping one arm on the counter to support his chin while watching y/n with a mushy smile.“Wipe that disgusting expression off your face,” Mingyu comments, unimpressed.“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah? As if I could overlook someone who looks like they’re seconds away from jumping my co-worker in public!” Mingyu hisses this time, still considerate enough to lower his volume.“Don’t worry, I’ll do that in private,” Hoshi winks.

“That’s not what I—“

“Do you want any additional toppings, Hoshi?” Y/n unintentionally interrupts their bickering. She’s now holding a small paper cup of a coffee-colored ice cream, head slightly to the side in an adorable manner, waiting for Hoshi’s response.

Although Hoshi’s brain is already short-circuited due to the amount of metaphorical sweetness that Y/n radiates, he still manages to croak out a reply of “almonds are fine”, in hoping that if the ice cream is still too sweet for his liking, the almonds would be able to balance the sugar.

Mingyu handles the payment without initiating any arguments with Hoshi for once, probably wanting to speed up the process of Hoshi leaving the shop. Either way, Hoshi has to leave indeed. He has other things to do, too.

“Thank you for purchasing, please come again~” come a chorus of synchronized phrase from Mingyu and Y/n; the former sounding bored and forced, while the latter sounding more cheerful.“I will,” Hoshi retorts jocosely, then flicks his gaze over Y/n, “if Y/n calls me her oppa, too.”

“Okay, Hoshi-oppa,” y/n breathes out without missing a beat. Her face instantly bursts into a myriad shades of red, complemented by a small, shy smile etched on her lips, and-Hoshi suddenly thinks he has a severe case of heart palpitations.

He inhales sharply, and turns his heels towards the door. “It’s decided, then,” he chuckles over his shoulder, giving his last smirk towards y/n, and exits the shop.

(He eats his ice cream on the way to his apartment and is genuinely surprised at the rich taste of coffee instead of sugar.It adds one more reason to visit the shop again.)

 Hoshi’s next visit includes an unwanted guest, much to Hoshi’s distaste.

For a better term, he was following Hoshi in secret. Usually, Hoshi would easily sense something behind his back, but the particular street that the ice cream shop is located at is always busy. It’s to be expected from a street that connects commercial, academic and several residential buildings. That being said, the crowd of people makes it hard for Hoshi to notice whether someone is following him or not.In the end, Jun makes his presence known loudly by the time he enters the shop.

“Oi, Hoshi! You refused to hang out with me just to buy some ice cream?!” he stomps his foot on the ground. “Wait, I thought you don’t like ice—“

Hoshi, who’s currently leaning on the counter right in front of Y/n, automatically massages the bridge of his nose and quickly interjects the purple haired before he spouts something unnecessary. “Jun, did you really follow me all the way here?”

“Does it matter?” the purple haired shrugs, sticking his nose up in the air. “I’m here now. That’s what you get from ditching me.”

Hoshi sighs in exasperation, “I did not ditch you. I told you to reschedule our hang out.”

“Same thing,” Jun scoffs stubbornly.

Mingyu bashes his forehead on the counter, emitting a depressed aura all over the shop. “Great. There goes all of my peace at work.”

“Oh, Mingyu! Fancy meeting you here!” Jun greets with a grin. “So you’re the reason why Hoshi’s here?”

“No,” both Mingyu and Hoshi say flatly.

“Um, are you going to order?” Y/n, who’s been observing the situation, speaks up, attracting a pair of black orbs towards him. Then, Jun regards Hoshi and Y/n, back and forth, in a thoughtful manner.

“Oh ho? I see now,” he grins wickedly, elbowing Hoshi to the side and takes over his place, resulting in the dancer stumbling and hitting the glass display of ice cream. Paying no attention to Hoshi’s heated glare, Jun leans over the counter and brings his face closer to Y/n. “You’re pretty cute, I guess. Hoshi has a good taste.”Y/n makes a choking noise from her throat, and Hoshi’s left eye twitches.

“Who the heck are you?” Y/n scrunches her nose, taking one step backwards defensively.

“Wen Junhui, but you can call me darling,” Jun smiles flirtatiously. Y/n only stares back with a palpable discomfort on her face.

“...Then, are you going to order?” She repeats hesitantly.

“Sure. As long as you’re included as the bonus.”

“Uh,” y/n frowns deeper. “May I know the flavor of your choice?”

“Anything would do,” Jun answers, “but if you were an ice cream, you’d be my favorite flavor.”

“What?”

“And I know you’d like me too,” jun then lowers his voice into a whisper, like he’s going to tell the world’s deepest secret, “because I have an 8” popsicle down there.”

Mingyu’s shoulders are shaking from laughter, finding the whole situation amusing and ridiculous. Any other day, Hoshi would, too, but right now, he only feels a second-hand embarassment from Jun’s abhorrent pick-up lines. Even y/n looks utterly unimpressed by Jun’s flirting.

“Alright, Jun, that’s enough,” Hoshi interjects impatiently. “No one wants to know about your nonexistent 8” popsicle dick.”Mingyu laughs louder.

“Tch, you’re no fun, Hoshi,” Jun glares at him childishly, then whirls his body towards Y/n crossing his arms in his usual bossy manner. “Fine, I’ll order something. Get me a big cup of butterscotch and vanilla ice cream with marshmallows and oreos on top.”

“...Coming right up,” slightly taken aback by the change of attitude, y/n mutters and wordlessly scoops the ice cream into the cup, while Hoshi is inwardly cringing from the amount of sugar Jun’s order has.

The purple haired pays and finally leaves the shop, not before gesturing a V-sign to his eyes and then to Hoshi’s—indicating that their conversation isn’t over.

Hoshi shakes his head. “There’s nothing to be discussed in the first place,” he mumbles under his breath. Jun dragged himself into this situation. Then again, Hoshi’s known Jun long enough to tell that the purple haired wasn’t seriously flirting with Y/n. The dancer could properly make his fangirls swoon if he wanted to.

Looking back to his prior act, however... it’s almost as if he was testing Hoshi, because his eyes were holding a familiar knowing gleam—the exact glint in Mingyu ’s eyes when Hoshi first met y/n.

“But seriously, who is he?!” Y/n fumes. “I can’t believe he made a dick joke straight to my face!”

“He’s Hoshi’s ex,” Mingyu grins, nudging

y/n with his elbow. The younger blanches, mouth gaping upon hearing the information.

“Yup, and I’m totally dating you, Mingyu,” Hoshi rolls his eyes.

“R-really?!” Y/n’s eyes grow as wide as a saucer. Hoshi bites back a grin, almost forgetting how gullible Y/n is.

“Relax, we’re lying,” he snorts. “Can I take my order now?”

“Oh, right!” Y/n straightens her back, although she doesn’t seem to be convinced by Hoshi’s reassurance.

Hoshi selects the exact menu he ordered on his last visit, although this time he chooses a cone rather than a paper cup. He also makes a mental note to try another variety of topping next time.

“You two looks close,” y/n comments all of a sudden as she works behind the counter. It doesn’t take a genius to know who Y/n is talking about.“Jun’s my childhood friend,” Hoshi

smiles, quirking an eyebrow at Y/n’s pout. She’s sulking, for some unknown reason, albeit Hoshi has a silly, vague (and hopeful) idea of it. “Rest assured, there’s nothing between us,” Hoshi continues, watching how Y/n subtly relaxes her shoulders. “That goes for me and Mingyu, too,” she adds as an afterthought. Mingyu has never nodded so aggresively.

“That explains why you guys are on a first name basis,” Y/n says abashedly, avoiding Hoshi’s gaze. “B-but! Your relationship is none of my business, of course! This

l/n y/n was just curious, please forgive me for prying!”

Still blushing, she shoves the cone under Hoshi’s nose. Hoshi chuckles and takes it, purposely brushing their fingers together, deepening y/n’s blush. Satisfaction sprouts inside his chest—even without any cheesy pick-up lines, y/n’s naturally a blushing mess around him.Adorable.

“This is sickening to watch,” Mingyu groans, “now pay up, bastard.”

Out of reflex, Hoshi gives him another snide remarks about bad customer service (again), to which Mingyu retaliates with another empty threats.

The doorbell jingles as two chatting customers enter the shop, and at the same time, it’s Hoshi’s cue to leave. He looks back at Y/n, who’s unexpectedly staring at him in silence, and grins cheekily when Y/n flinches due to being caught.“See you next time,” Hoshi says in soft tone, before he playfully boops y/n’s on the nose.

Y/n doesn’t—can’t—reply because she has to serve the next customers, but she manages to send a meek smile towards Hoshi’s direction.

Fuck, Hoshi thinks later, as he ambles back to his place. He can’t believe he finally had the balls to nose boop y/n. He can’t erase y/n’s blushing face from his mind. He can’t stop smiling giddily right now—passersby are probably whispering about him, but he couldn’t care less.All he cares is that he’s honestly in some deep shit.

~~~~~~

 Hoshi spends the next few weeks coming to the ice cream shop. He sometimes misses a day or two, partially due to being exhausted by dancing practice or just college in general. Another reason is because he’s fed up with eating ice cream (no matter how much he’s come to tolerate it a little ever since coming to the shop) and his diet as an athlete doesn’t allow him to overeat anything sweet. Which is ridiculous, since he doesn’t have other excuses to see Y/n; visiting the shop frequently without buying anything would be weird. Though, as days go by, he becomes more creative with his orders, like switching to low-sugar frozen yogurts or an iced Americano float (with the float being removed, much to Y/n’s confusion). Soon, he also finds out the existence of food—such as toasts and grilled sausages—in the shop’s menu.(“You need to stop ogling at Y/n and pay attention to our menu instead,” Mingyu once chastised wryly.)

Regardless, Hoshi enjoys most of his visits. Y/n is a fun person to talk to; Hoshi is often swayed by her personality and ends up being more talkative than he actually is, earning a frown from Mingyu. Later, Y/n reveals that she’s a dancer at Hoshi and Mingyu’s rival college, and she has jokingly asked Hoshi several times to dance against her.Hoshi’s never given an outright answer, however. As much as he wants to meet up with Y/n outside of the shop, he wants it as a date.

And that’s where the problem lies. He doesn’t know how to properly bring it up. He could ask Y/n in the shop, right beside Mingyu, but getting rejected in public would be awkward. In the end, that thought is always buried to the back of his mind.

Today is no different. Hoshi visits the the shop again—after being absent for a week prior—with no intentions of bringing up the date. As usual, he only wants to see the dancer. Even before stepping his feet inside, his heart thumps in anticipation to Y/n’s welcoming smile. So, as soon as he pushes the door open only to notice the absence of one of the workers behind the counters, his face falls.

“Asshole, I should’ve gotten offended of how disappointed your face is when you saw me instead of Y/n,” Mingyu scowls, to which Hoshi grins sheepishly. “She’s gonna be late today. I know what you’re thinking—she’s fine. There aren’t any dangerous emergencies or something like that, calm down.”

“I am calm,” Hoshi replies, burying his hands into his pockets. “I know she’s gonna be fine. She has such a caring co-worker after all,” he smirks at Kuramochi, who huffs in slight embarassment.

“Shut up. Who knows what stupid thing she’s gonna do,” the hipster’s lips curl downwards, an attempt to hold back his smile. “Anyway, since she’s not here yet, I can finally interrogate you.”

“What is there to interrogate?”

“What is y/n to you?” Mingyu ignores his words, giving him a pointed look instead. “If you’re only playing with her, Hoshi, I swear – “

“Oi, can’t you trust me a little?” Hoshi sweatdrops. “Do I look like some kind of heartthrob? You know me better than that, ‘Mingyu.”

“With your face, it’s easy to become one.”

“Very flattering.”

“Anyway, I’m being fucking serious right now,” Mingyu glowers at the dancer solemnly. “Tell me what you want from her.”

Hoshi eventually sighs, and briefly scans the whole shop. Luckily, it’s one of the weekdays, so there aren’t many customers inside. Besides, they’re too engrossed in their conversations or electronical devices to eavesdrop on Hoshi and Mingyu.

“Look, I don’t want anything from her,” Hoshi begins slowly, but he’s only rewarded with a skeptical look from Mingyu. “Okay, maybe I’ve been meaning to ask her on a date, but—“ he narrows his eyes at the hipster. “Wait, she’s single, right?”

“Isn’t it a bit too late to be asking that?” Mingyu purses his lips into a thin line.

“Oh, Hoshi, you’re here!”

Both the hipster and the dancer whip their head alarmingly to the familiar voice. There stands y/n with her trademark grin, her bag slung around her shoulder. Panic blossoms inside of Hoshi’s chest—he didn’t hear the jingle of the doorbell, and judging from Mingyu’s startled response, he didn’t, too. They don’t know how long has the dancer been standing there. It’d be bad if Y/n managed to hear their conversation.

So, Hoshi studies y/n’s facial expression, searching for something, but the dancer only looks perplexed—probably due to Hoshi’s sudden stillness.

“Hoshi?” Y/n blinks up at him, making Hoshi more conscious of their height difference. Eyes trailing down to her neck, the pastel-colored collar of the shop’s uniform peeks out of her oversized sweater that falls until her mid-thigh, with the sleeves covering up her whole hands.

Sweater paws, Hoshi’s mind shuts down as tiny Hoshi’s inside his brain run in circles, screaming “ABORT! ABORT!” with high-pitched voices. She’s fucking wearing sweater paws.

“Hoshi-oppa!” Y/n frowns, successfully drawing Hoshi’s attention. “Don’t zone out like that, you’re scaring me.”

“Right, sorry,” the dancer mutters as he watches Y/n disappearing into the back room, before she shows up again without her sweater while tying the apron on her lower back.

“I see that you haven’t ordered something!” Y/n grins brightly, this time placing both of her hands on her hips. “So, what are you here for today, Hoshi?”

Hoshi, still distracted, racks his brain to all of the menu he’s ordered in the past. Triple shots espresso ice cream with almonds. Iced americano float, but without the float. Wasabi ice cream because he was feeling adventurous. Hazelnut spread and sliced banana on toast—

No, that’s not What hoshi wants all of this time. He wants—

“You,” he blurts out, mumbling, unaware of Mingyu choking in the background. However, when he notices the lack of response from the dancer, the haze in his brain suddenly dissipates, and everything becomes crystal clear again. “Shit, I mean—“

“Okay,” Y/n says, e/c orbs shyly peeking from underneath her lashes towards Hoshi.

“I was—huh, what?” Hoshi pauses, dumbfounded.

“I said okay,” Y/n averts her eyes, playing with the hem of her apron. “You can have me.”

Hoshi stares and stares, trying to process Y/n’s affirmation. That sounds too suggestive—too good to be true. Maybe his brain is tricking him. Maybe this is only a scene that he unconsciously creates inside his mind which is brought to life in a form of hallucination.

But when Y/n starts to fidget under his gaze, Hoshi lets his brain register the fact that this is, indeed, a reality.

As the gears inside him begin to work again, Hoshi doesn’t pass the chance to poke some fun at Y/n’s answer which basically serves as a free teasing material for Hoshi to use.

“Oh? How bold,” he then comments, smirking in satisfaction as he observes how realization gradually dawns on Y/n’s face.

“I didn’t mean to phrase it like that!” the dancer exclaims defensively, her cheeks now tainted with red. “Y-you were the one who blurted out weird things in the first place!”

“Sorry, sorry~” Hoshi grins unapologetically, to which Y/n pouts at. “But, as tempting as it sounds, you should let me take you on a date first, y’know,” he continues, his playful grin faltering a little due to slight nervousness.

To his relief, Y/n utters a timid “okay” and nods, a tint of pink still decorating her cheeks. At that, Hoshi doesn’t bother to hide the ever-growing smile on his lips and an excited glance to Mingyu who’s pretending to read a magazine and acting all disinterested, albeit the small curl on the corner of his mouth tells otherwise.

The next thing Hoshi knows is him exchanging phone numbers with the dancer and discussing their date in a short stretch of time due to the arrival of a group of customers.

Hoshi doesn’t get any ice cream that day, but he does get something—someone—sweeter in return.

 ~Three months later~

 Hoshi sips on his hot, black coffee, the steam fogging up the lenses of his glasses. He steps aside when a patron comes out of the shop hurriedly, but he manages to halt the door from closing with his right knee. Hoshi then opens the door big enough for his body to get inside as the familiar chime of the doorbell greets his ears. The shop is silent, empty without customers, highly caused by the “CLOSED” sign on the door with a red, thick font.“I’m sorry, we’re already closed—“ Y/n says from Hoshi’s left side while stacking some brochures. When she finally turns her head towards the door, a beatific smile appears on her face. “Oh! Hoshi.”

Hoshi smiles back, placing his coffee on the counter and leans towards Y/n, to which the latter eagerly closes the gap between their mouths. They share a quick kiss as a greeting, before Hoshi withdraws slightly.

“Hey,” he murmurs, lips brushing over

y/n’s. He steals one or two more kisses, just because he can’t help himself.

“Hi to you too,” Y/n whispers, giggling. Hoshi cradles his lover’s cheeks with one of his palms, prompting Y/n to nuzzle against it. From here, he can also make out Y/n’s e/c eyes twinkling in delight—so captivating and blinding that it stupefies him.

“For someone who’s on her last day of work, you sure look happy,” Hoshi comments, arching an amused brow.

“I am happy!” Y/n replies, pulling away fully to finish her tidying duty. She moves swiftly behind the counters, the sole of her shoes creating noisy sounds against the tiled floor. “But not in a way you’re thinking.”

“Enlighten me, then,” Hoshi says, bringing the paper cup of his half-drunk coffee to his mouth and takes a sip.

“I like this job,” Y/n confesses, finishing her work and untying her apron. “My co-workers are nice, and my boss is generous to give me discounted ice cream.”

“I think the latter plays a bigger part,” Hoshi teases, knowing Y/n’s sweet tooth.

“Shut up,” the dancer juts her tongue out. “Meeting you here is what makes this job more special,” Y/n casually states, offering a smug smirk at Hoshi’s flabbergasted expression.

“Wow, Y/n,” he breathes out, before whistling with a shake of head. “You sure become bolder with your words nowadays.”

“Wh-what’s that supposed to mean?!”Y/n questions, pupils turning cat-like.Hoshi hums. “Well, you used to blush so much around me—“

“That’s – “ as if on cue, red creeps up to y/n’s cheek. “That’s because you always gave me those kind of eyes and used that kind of voice—!”

“What about now?”hoshi smirks, revelling in the way Y/n gets all worked up because of him. A nasty personality he has, indeed.

“Ugh, I’m not gonna talk about it!” the dancer scrunches her nose, a habit that Hoshi’s taken to notice whenever Y/n is frustrated. “Anyway! I was talking why I feel happy to quit work! It’s because I can spend more time with you now!”If Hoshi’s heart pulsates rapidly due to the abrupt swarm of affections in his veins, he does a great job of hiding it. “The real reason why you quit is because of the upcoming dancer season. We’d still be busy, either way,” he points out instead.

“Must you be so pessimistic, Hoshi?” Y/n pouts, looking a little dejected. Hoshi exhales guiltily.

“My bad,” he chuckles, ruffling the crown of Y/n’s head. “You know that I’d always try to make time for you, right, Y/n?”

“Of course you do, you whipped asshole. Only you would come to a shop that sells something you dislike.”

“Mingyu-oppa!” Y/n jumps due to

Mingyu’s unannounced appearance from the back room, before gawking at his revelation. “Wait, what? Does Hoshi not like ice cream?”

“Ask him yourself,” Mingyu shrugs.

Y/n immediately whirls towards Hoshi, displaying her best puppy face to lure the truth out of her boyfriend. And concede Hoshi does, not before shooting daggers at a snickering Mingyu.

“Yes, y/n, I don’t eat much sweets. You happy now?” he admits reluctantly, tugging the collar of his jacket in embarassment.

“Oh my god, Hoshi!” Sawamura bounces on her feet. “After all of this time, you didn’t come here for the ice cream?!”

Hoshi sighs, not before downing the remnant of his coffee and throwing it in the nearest trash bin. “I don’t see what the issue is. It’s not like I exactly loathe ice cream, I just can’t handle it if it’s too sweet—“Y/n, however, wastes no time to approach Hoshi on the other side of the counter, circling her arms around Hoshi’s neck and kisses him hard on the mouth.

The hipster groans in agony, covering his face with his right palm. “This isn’t the outcome that I wanted,” he bemoans, lamenting in his misery.

Hoshi laughs nasally, eyes closing in pure mirth as Y/n continues to pepper kisses on his face. It eggs Mingyu even more as he seethes in irritation.“Okay, stop it, Y/n! Why the fuck are you so pleased at the idea of Hoshi trying to get himself diabetes for you?”

“Oi, that’s too exaggerating, don’t you think?” Hoshi sweatdrops.

Y/n ends her ministration and frowns at Mingyu. “But Mingyu-oppa! If I were in Hoshi’s shoes, I’d do the same! But currently he’s not working in a natto-based restaurant or something, so I shall reward his bravery in some other way!”

“Don’t do it here,” Mingyu snaps, “I’ve cleaned and locked all shit in the back room while you were busy with that idiot. Grab your bag and sweater and just go home.”Teary-eyed, Y/n beams brightly, “I express my sincerest gratitude for you,

Mingyu-oppa!” She exclaims, before dashing to the back room to collect her belongings.“Yeah, yeah,” Mingyu waves her off, rubbing the back of his neck. “Don’t read too much into it. It’s my last day too, figures I’d do more than usual.”

“Aw, it wouldn’t hurt to admit that you care for her, ‘Mingyu,” Hoshi coos.

“And you!” Mingyu then throws the dancer a resentful look. “You owe me for all of the time you’ve made me into a fucking thirdwheel, bastard!”

At that moment, Y/n has come back, already clad in her warm, oversized sweater, and proceeds to stand next to Hoshi. That’s when an idea strikes him.

“Thirdwheel?” Hoshi asks, tilting his head at Mingyu in a faux innocuousness. He pulls his unsuspecting girlfriend closer by the waist, to which Y/n lets out a soft gasp. “Whatever do you mean by that, Mingyu?”

“Huh?” Mingyu croaks out, widening his eyes when Hoshi lowers his head to Y/n’s face with a shit-eating grin.

“What are you – shit, don’t you two dare making out again – give me a damn break, I’m trying to close the shop here! If you two don’t stop right now, I’m gonna kick out both of you with a fucking broom – oi, did you hear me?! Alright, for fuck’s sake, Y/n, save the moan for later and GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE—“

[cloveroctobers]

• JENIFER “JEN” MARLOWE •

IG Info/bio: @/justjenw1n | 220k followers | Fashion | just a LUVer who owns a lovely blog that you’re more than welcome to check out here... astoldbyjenmarlowe.co.uk 🪞🛍🪄

22 (24) (25 in 2021) years of age

From London, England

Her family has French origins

Tends to visit once a year mainly with her family

For her 18th bday, her parents also sent her to Paris with her bf that she’s been dating since she was 14

they broke up since he wanted to stay in Paris to pursue his dreams and she felt like she needed to be back home...which she felt Paris was not

Extremely close to her parents, some may say a little TOO close...

See, I feel like jen comes from a family that spoils her where her parents did everything and took care of everything for her. She had the privilege and didn’t have to work too hard to get things she wanted so that made her a little bit different than a few of her friends, hell—even her bf

Didn’t have to work until she reached her twenties

She also didn’t have too many friends because her parents felt like her cousins and/or her sibs were really only allowed to hold that title

However her parents had some sort of a soft spot for her when they allowed her to date her bf at 14 since he came from a nice background...

And to have at least 1-2 best friends...

I can’t decide if I see her having 3 other sibs with her being the second eldest, or her being the eldest with a younger sister? I can also see her being a only child too? Idk y’all can decide

Because her family is a tight knit one, she values everything they say and do...which is canon/evident

She got her thigh tattoo in Paris and even thought about asking her parents permission but her bf talked her out of it

she later showed them that night while he was in the shower. Her mother openly disapproved saying it was, “unladylike or unclean” while her father was more lenient towards it 

Her mother even scheduled her for laser appointments but this was one of the things jen was sure of, she loved her tattoo and she didn’t want to erase it from her body which led to her mother not speaking to her for about a month—even tho they live in the same household

I feel like she looks more like her dad with her mom’s hair and smile

Got into fashion due to her maternal grandmother who seemed to live a extravagant life as a old time actress, she always had and owned the finest of things

Jen loved having sleepovers there, it felt like she had her own personal Liz Taylor inside of her nan...but better!

Definitely found inspiration through Liz Taylor, Kate Moss, Victoria Beckham, and Naomi Campbell

she had no clue what she wanted to do in life (she never had to think too hard about it until now, it’s true what they say about your twenties) and she made the choice not to continue thru with uni & I’m not going to make her out to be the stereotypical “dumb blonde” I think she did well in school—so she kinda just chilled after it was all over

Her first job at 20 was probably working in retail where she learned all about the bs you put up with but she loved clothes! That never changed

So she decided 6 months into her job that she was going to make a fashion blog

she made one separate from her tumblr but kept it under construction since she needed to brain storm what exactly this blog would entail

It didn’t take too long to her to figure it out by how she wanted the blog to look then discussing pieces from celebs/models then slowly discussing her own wardrobe + advice

She didn’t immediately gain success for it —altho she did have a good 1k people follow her thru her tumblr where she also provided the link to her separate blog... but she worked/works hard at it, hoping one day it’ll get her somewhere and that maybe she can get paid for it too?

Retail fucking sucks and people are horrible twats so when she was approaching 21 she deff quit with her parents still hammering...more so her dad on what she needs to do with her life but she found happiness in her blog and no one was going to take that away from her —not even her parents

‘What’s the use of working if it doesn’t make you happy?’ She thinks but again! she has the privilege of living under her parents roof and not having to pay bills so she didn’t have to worry too much rn she knows they’d never kick her out right?

she has two bunnies named “bugsy” and “Lola”—u know the reference right?

I feel like she values the flinstones & jetsons because it was something her dad loved watching as a kid and still does , probably has the dvds showcased in her room that she watches when she feels sad

Seems like a smiley person but when she’s sad? It kinda sucks to see cause she turns into a whole different person and she always seems happy with a smile so wide that turns her eyes squinty

If she disagrees with something, she’s 100% giving her opinion whether you like it or not? Wrong is wrong. But when the shoe is on the other foot? She hates being wrong LOL or doesn’t view herself being wrong. Doesn’t take accountability well...at all!

She’s also showed her ass by being a gossiper and fake as hell with Allegra about mc with the whole, “let’s pretend like we’re there for her” if you’re not fucking with somebody just say that or SHOW it sis cause that snakey shit will come back to bite you in the ass (I forgot about this lol as I’m replaying)

she’s all “mega resting bitch face” until she breaks out into a large smile

Libra sun? + Virgo moon? + Gemini rising?

I feel like she only knows what she wants when it comes to relationships but not with the rest of life?

Lol she was very determined with levi in the beginning, explored shit with jake, (I can’t remember if that was after you/mc showed a interest in him or not in that route? I’m doing a talia/Rohan route rn But that’s kinda foul if she’s smiling in ur face and then boom goes and does what she wants but hey that’s the game right? Fck that tho) and then stood by Tim after only some time?

She wasn’t feeling him in the beginning either cause he thought she was too posh for him and snakey which he’s right to some degree but she’s also right if she finds him too immature for her liking

To you jim? Ten? Stans— Idk what their ship name is but it probably wouldn’t have worked out in the long run either because I don’t see both of them wanting to change themselves completely to satisfy the other. (Tim tried) Sure if you’re showing unhealthy behaviors and are open to diminishing that for yourself then trying to work on your relationship then that’s great! But they already started from the jump not liking each other’s personalities/characteristics....

And hey! Ofc I know people grow to like things they might have disliked about you in the beginning but you can also find yourself not fully accepting it in a relationship and that doesn’t mean you didn’t try

+ it’s been hinted at that they’re not endgame & if you love yourself some Tim not platonically then this works in ur favor. if not? Then you can keep them endgame by all means! For me? That endgame shit is a no! For those that don’t gaf about either of them that’s fine too lmao

YES I feel like they were both hurt over the breakup and it probably happened right around the holidays or either a couple of months after Christmas/New Years 2019

Jen is probably the type to keep checking up on her ex, not necessarily talking to them but finding out who they’re with now

and if it’s Tim with mc she’s definitely gossiping about the shit with erikah and Allegra or making shady tweets or posts on IG for sure

“5 outfits to wear when you run into your ex” type posts on her blog looool

She hopes if she runs into Tim, she’s looking her best and she would 80% go up to him & mc/his new girl if not mc and be all huggy with him and holding conversation before she even thinks to acknowledge mc/new girl and when she does it’s a shady convo with fake smiles

Absolutely loves watching housewives so she was prepared for that moment if it ever does come

Her parents openly didn’t like Tim which made him feel like shit since it seemed like jen never defended him in front of them but again, she values her parents opinion and always wants their stamp of approval that’s just the way the girl is/ was brought up

She owes them everything but deep down knows that in her relationship with Tim she could have been a little more understanding of his needs like he was with her love for her parents...but she’ll never admit that

Doesn’t get over breakups as easily as it may seem like her exes do in her opinion.

It sure didn’t take long with Tim to date mc/new girl months after they broke up! Which was like a slap in the face

The ex bf she spent time w in Paris who looks like Matthew Noszka is now engaged, lives in AMERICA—& of all places??? California to be exact, and just released his debut album!! She knows which songs are probably about her, it’s a nice album she screamed about it for hours into her pillow and cried for what felt like weeks

Lost her voice over that breakdown too

Her mother even went as far as sending a nasty letter to this ex bf’s new address...since ya know? jen’s dad is a private investigator & all!!! but dad had no knowledge of this being done

She’s still fond of Levi and jake but not like in love with them? Like she thought/felt she was with Tim but she still considers them her mates

Maybe in 2021 she’ll be open to dating again and hopes erikah and Allegra will be her wingwomen when the time comes BUT she’s focusing on her blog rn and it’s the best it’s ever been!

She had the show to thank for that now that she has a manager and is getting paid for running her blog now! That’s right this girl is officially employed!

“At least one good thing came from the show ;) 🧽🥐🥂” type of tweets

There’s never not a moment where she’s not connecting her posts whether thru ig or Twitter to her blog: astoldbyjenmarlowe.co.uk!!!

Both erikah and Allegra talk a little shit about that together...WHEN they DO talk, the pair only really socialize when jen initiates it but if one pisses the other off?? they’re going to gossip about it with the other forsure

She doesn’t look that tall to me? Taller than erikah? 5’2-5’5 the 5 is pushing it for me? Maybe? lol I’m still deciding between her and Allegra far as height and I’m too lazy to go back and see what I put for her

Hates straightening her hair, that pin straight look is not cute to her. She loves having waves and body to her hair

Get her eyebrows micro bladed since she doesn’t have much hair up there to begin with

Adores French cuisine, always has since she was a little girl. Bisque used to be her fav back then and all that she would eat

Loves spring season especially pastel colors when it comes to her wardrobe

The type to say one thing and do the complete opposite

I feel like she probably has a little bit of lisp and it’s not really noticeable until she says some words, she’s insecure about it and thought it had something to do with the structure of her teeth and begged her parents to get them fixed but it literally had nothing to do with them

Yet she still got colorful braces in middle school even tho her teeth were pretty straight. She didn’t have to wear them for a whole year, thank goodness

Went to speech therapy to help

Has stacks of fashion magazines even from the early 90s all over her room: her night stand, her vanity, her closet, underneath her bed etc...

Adores the Hadid sisters, Rosie Huntington-Whiteley, & Georgia May Jagger

Makes the best white chocolate chip (that’s right, white not just regular chocolate) banana bread but cooking/baking? Isn’t really her thing

Early riser

Loves yellow: yellow phone case, yellow laptop, yellow room, yellow tulips, yellow shades, etc...

Getting Prada shades was probably one of the best things that happened to her, s/o to her nan for granting her this wish

Words of affirmation is her love lanaguage, this girl is a talker and a bit of a thinker too I mean duh? She runs a blog

Likes bright colors on her toes but nude and clear polish on her hands?

Loves a good mascara but she also loves magnetic lashes but is trying her best to grow her lashes out rn! Thanks to erikah for sending her some good ol’ coconut oil!

Smokey eyes? Set her up

Gets a belly ring, and two more tatts one in between her boobs and the last on her ankle & that one she shed a tear over!

Maybe she’ll start changing her physical attributes more so than the way she carries her life at first? (Or ever) She’ll cut her hair below her collarbone to the top of her chest, and maybe she’ll try a light light LIGHT brunette (she loves being a natural blonde) with blonde highlights? Who knows

loves espadrilles and wedge sandals

Loves going wine tasting and visiting vineyards, if she’s vacationing? You can bet ur ass she’s looking for a vineyard to visit

Deff a lightweight

Here’s her unpopular opinions on s2: Thought Felix was a wannabe Tim and hates the fact that he follows her, thought graham was unattractive and said so to Allegra who snickered, thought marisol’s clothing choices were rather boring,

didn’t feel 100% bad for Hannah but disagrees with the way Gary and noah spoke about her + the way Gary tried to slide back over to Hannah on her comeback episode

but doesn’t feel like Lottie is wrong for choosing Gary after Hannah left

isn’t a fan of priya but is glad she’s doing fashion since jen strongly believes in if something isn’t making u happy then u need to let it go

Thinks Hope should have won and cannot tolerate Bobby. Feels he’s WORSE than Felix,

would be open to dating Ibrahim or Carl from that szn

has spoken to Harry from s3 due to his drunkenness and actually made a friend out of him? But low key wants to get to know seb? Take that info as u will 👀

Her anthem: Michelle — SUNRISE

[meganshinsou-tm]

just like daddy. (f)

☙ pairing: dabi x reader

☙ theme:  domestic/dad dabi & asahi*

☙  cw/tw: fluff just pure unadulterated fluff, precious baby asahi, profanity, uncle shiggy

☙  a/n-request:  IM HAVING BABYFEVER SO DABI WITH HIS CHILD AND S/O PUTTING ON MAKE UP TO MATCH HIS STITCHES AND STAPLES

Dabi laid passed out on the couch, one of his hands hanging over the arm as his body stretch out the length of it. The hem of his shirt rose and exposed his lower abdomen where it was nothing put pale flawless skin. A set of tiny turquoise eyes watched as Dabi slept, scanning his face, chest and arms. A tiny hand went to reach out and touch the mans face but quickly pulled back when he started to stir, turning over onto his side facing away from the toddler that stood at his side. The child pursed his lips and knit his brows together, clutching his toy Deku to his chest.

“Asahi? What are you doing?”

The little boy jumped and turned around to see you walking towards him with an amused look. You crouched down next to him and ruffled his dark maroon hair. Your son looked from you and back to his father still asleep on the couch.

"Does daddy wear makeup,” he asked with genuine curiosity.

You quirked a brow and quietly chuckled at your son, “No Asa, he doesn’t.”

“Then why is his skin purple, and why does he have those shiny things?”

“Shiiiit,” you thought and rubbed the back of your neck. 

You knew that this day would eventually come, it was only natural for a 5 year old to ask questions but you wish it hadn’t been that question. Of course it kind of didn’t shock you and you wondered why the child didn’t ask sooner before now. Your son was very intelligent and loved to learn, he was like a walking interrogation with all the questions he asked about his surroundings, how things worked, etc. He was also very kind and in-tune with people’s emotions. He didn’t like to say or do anything that would hurt someone’s feelings or make them feel bad, the polar opposite of his father. So that was the only reason you could think of as to why he never asked about Dabi’s appearance before.

Asahi adored his father so much, and Dabi loved him tenfold. 

Still though, he was too young to learn the full truth about his father’s disfigured skin and you also knew that it was Dabi’s story to tell, not yours. So you had to think of something, or some kind of watered-down version of the truth.

“Well – uh, something happened with daddy’s quirk that caused his skin to turn that color. Those shiny things – well I think your daddy just uses them as a fashion statement.”

Asahi let out an ‘ah’ and looked back at his father, you bit your lip and clenched your teeth hoping that your son was satisfied enough with your answer for now.

“I want to be just like daddy though,” he finally replied with a pout.

“You are Asa, you have his eyes and hair,” your finger poked the tip of his nose and made him slightly smile, “You also have his nose and you have his quirk, in fact you’re like a mini version of him.”

Your son shook his head and pointed to his face, the tips of his fingers pressing into the soft baby fat of his cheeks. 

“I don’t have purple skin though or his shiny things! And he has black hair mommy!”

Sighing and patting Asahi’s head you smiled, “Your daddy just dyes his hair that color, underneath you have the same red hair. But, maybe I can do something to make you look more like daddy, only if you just absolutely need to look even more like him!”

Your son’s sea blue eyes suddenly lit up and he smiled that same maniacal smile as Dabi, making you laugh. 

“I do, I do! Please mommy!”

He squealed and flew into your arms, almost knocking you over as you grunted and balanced yourself to keep from falling over.

“Okay fine then, come on let’s go to our room.”

Asahi nodded as you stood and he took your hand, his tiny legs jetting off and dragging you behind as he bolted for your bedroom.

Dabi finally woke up from his nap, groaning and running a hand through his spiky locks as he sat up on the couch. His tired blue eyes looked around the living room, you nor his son were in sight but he could here noise coming from down the hall. The man stood from his seated position and stretched out his arms with a yawn and started to make his way towards the noise. As he got closer he could hear your amused voice and his sons’ giggles. The sounds made him crack a lazy smile as he leaned against the wall next to your bedroom door and listened closely before making his presence known.

Dabi had left his villainous lifestyle after you gave him the news that he would be a father. The man was actually elated to be having a child of his own, it was something he thought would never happen given the choices he made. But once you came into his life, all those choices he started to regret and you showed him how he could have everything he ever wanted, whether he thought it obtainable or not. Villain or not, you still loved him but he knew that with a baby on the way you would prefer the two of you have a safe and secure life for your child, and Dabi wanted nothing more than that for you and his offspring as well. So he did a few more jobs that would have him set for life, after that the two of you left the League and started over completely. It was the one choice he made and still hadn’t regretted to this day.

“Okay Asa, now do your hands like this and do that funny smile your daddy makes,” your voice instructed before the sound of a camera shutter was heard clicking.

Dabi quirked a dark brow and peeked his head around the door, his eyes squinted and he chuckled. “What are you two doing?”

Both you and Asahi looked up at him from your spots in the corner of the room. You sat on the floor, legs crossed with your phone in your hands, taking pictures of your son dressed up in one of his white v-necks that swallowed his small body. There was purple and silver stuff all over Asahi’s face, chest and arms, and his hair was dark in color. His son looked like an exact carbon cop of him, just smaller.

Once Asahi realized Dabi was in the doorway he started to jump up and down waving his arms with a smiling, “Daddy, I look just like you now, see?”

“Yeah little one, I see,” Dabi replied and walked over to his son, crouching down next to him and getting a closer look.

Sure enough the purple under Asahi’s eyes and all over the bottom half of his face and ears was finger paint mixed with something else to texture and dull the glossy color of it, it was used to paint his little chest and arms too. To replicate his staples you drew them out with eye-liner and used a shimmery silver eye-shadow to fill them in. Dabi’s hand reached out and touched a spike of his son’s hair, a questionable look on his face as he pulled his fingers back. They were covered in black powder and it smelled familiarly of mint.

“What exactly did you use in his hair?” 

Dabi questioned with a smirk, cutting his turquoise eyes at you, already knowing the answer.

“Uh – yeah. I owe you some more teeth cleaning stuff,” you sheepishly laughed and rubbed the back of your neck.

“Hmm, I think you owe me more than that. I’ll deal with you later about it though,” Dabi retorted, flashing you a devious grin that made a shiver run down your spine.

“Whatever you say, I’m not scared of you!”

Dabi chuckled as you winked and he looked back to his son who was smiling from ear to ear. He smirked and leaned forward, cupping his scarred hand to the toddler’s ear as he whispered something. Asahi’s smile turned into a shit eating grin as he giggled and looked at you.

“You’re gonna want to video this!” 

Dabi snickered as he crawled over to sit next to you. You decided not to even ask, getting the video ready. Once you hit the red button, Dabi told Asahi to do as he instructed. 

Small blue controlled flames emitted from your sons palms as he held them up, next he shifted all his weight onto one foot and cocked his head with a smirk. You couldn’t help but chuckle at how much he resembled his father.

“Okay Asa, now say what I told you to say.”

Asahi mustered up a little chuckle making his shoulders shrug with all the effort he put into it. 

“Piss of you crusty bastard!”

“Asahi!” You exclaimed as Dabi fell out laughing, his staples almost coming undone.

You stopped recording and your son bolted past you and Dabi, laughing and squealing. You went to get up and chase after him but Dabi grabbed you quickly and pinned you down, smiling that same shit eating grin your son had before. His eyes smiled and you shook your head starting to chuckle yourself.

“You’re a terrible father, you know that right?”

Dabi smiled and leaned down, placing a kiss to your lips as he still laughed, he knew you didn’t mean it, in fact it was more of a twisted compliment.

“The worst! Now give me your phone, I’m sending that shit to Shigaraki!”

[hi-rubi]

hi Rubi this is 👁 anon!! I sent you an ask off anon but I figured I’d send you another and try to say something else. I read another person’s ask that said your writing balances toxicity and redemption well, and I have to say I really agree with that. I love that you don’t shy away from having your characters do shitty things and then having them suffer through the consequences of said things. I think that’s a really mature way of exploring and handling certain darker topics, and it does show that deep down you believe (or want to believe) that people can change and evolve and be better, whether for themselves or for love etc! it’s been something I think about a lot - the way that in your stories, no one is inherently unlovable; characters who believe that eventually realize their own worth, and they learn to fight for themselves.

(sorry this is gonna get long and I hope this doesn’t count as trauma-dumping?) recently I kinda took a step back from a friendship I had with my ex-crush: I really liked him, he didn’t like me that way, and it was hard on both of us? like we changed. we were best friends for a few months and he’d be the first person I talked to when I woke and the last I talked to before I slept. at some point he called me his best friend and deliberately made time to talk to me (like he worked on his class work beforehand so he could message me during class). and when he got a lot more distant I actually would just wrestle with myself and the feelings of loneliness and rejection. I once wrote you a very rambly long anon that I’m slightly ashamed about (bc I really shouldn’t have trauma-dumped in your inbox), but anyway... I realized there were some key differences between us (funnily enough the dispute was about the Mineta update; I was like “omg not Mineta” and he was like “these people suck for looking for representation in the wrong places”) and then I realized... this wasn’t good for me. I tried to not love him (and I will say I’m not in love with him anymore for sure) but it always hurts when you’re the one that’s more invested, right? not his fault that he’s not as invested though bc we don’t owe each other anything. so yeah I’m just taking steps back to not be so dependent on him (bc it’s draining to the both of us)! (it’s kinda sad that I’d been writing in my journal since April about how sad I’d felt about him distancing himself, and that it’s taken Four Months for me to actually stand up for myself and say what I wanted to say, but at least it’s done now! that’s something to be proud of, right? I never used to stand up to people I loved. I’d internalize everything, and then my self-esteem would just sink lower and lower. I’m glad that while this guy wasn’t It for me, at least he’s decent enough and cares about my feelings.)

anyway this long rant is just for me to say that reading your fics has been cathartic for me. the first time I read your fics (I think the rich boy Shoto one), I was sobbing by the time I read to part 5. I felt really lonely and I was wishing he would love me. but like slowly as I kept reading and kept thinking and evaluating, I realized I don’t need /him/ to love me. and sure I’m not perfect and I might have some of my own kinds of toxicity, but that doesn’t mean I’m not worth loving! I’m still working hard to love myself. I’m learning to be compassionate with myself while not giving myself excuses for toxic behavior (eg passive-aggressiveness, overthinking, etc).

I just wanted to tell you that you are a beautiful person (both in and out!!). I could tell this not just from what you write, but from how you interact with the people in your inbox, whether anonymous or not. you have such a big heart, and you pour so much of yourself into your writing. I can see how it’s been both cathartic and perhaps a little destructive to keep ruminating on certain scenarios you’ve dealt with. but also I’m so glad for you that you’re starting to see more hope and light, and hopefully you’re starting to need this coping mechanism less. you are wonderful, not just in what you give others, but in what you are.

when I was looking for MHA smut in the tumblr tag I wasn’t expecting to feel all of this and to experience this change. thank you for that. know that in your journey, there are people who are rooting for you!! love, 👁 anon

p.s. I read your ask about New York and I hope you feel a little more at home now!! you sound like an amazing person to be friends with. even though I’m nowhere near New York (I’m moving from my country to the UK which is still far from NYC), I hope someday I’ll be able to befriend someone like you! and I hope you enjoy the city and the friendships and the drinking and all of it 💜 take care Rubi! known you are loved. the stars cast their love on you.

Ohhhhh my gosh. Eye anon I have so many thoughts putting under cut.

I literally went through the exact same thing. That guy was the reason I wrote half my pieces. Like, scumbag bakusquad and all these other works were about HIM. I know SO WELL how you must feel right now. It is the worst, most painful fucking feeling in the world. The only reason I got over that guy was literally because I went on Wellbutrin (an antidepressant), and I realized my fixation with him (and other guys/things in the past) was quite literally because of my mental illness.

Please, please, please, PLEASE cut him off entirely. I think you mentioned you took a step back from your friendship; I want you to stop reaching out and messaging him completely. You don't have to take my advice, but if I could go back in time and tell myself something, it would be this:

Romanticize your life. Start working out and eating healthy. Get to a point where you feel good about your body. Switch up your fashion and wear shit you'd never normally wear. Experiment with makeup. Meet and talk to as many new people as you can. Go to new places in your city, whether it's a cool new library 30 minutes away or a pretty flower exhibit at the arboretum. Fall deeply in love with your friends and your family. If I were to write a story about you: you are literally a kind, beautiful main character who is moving to the new UK for a fresh start after being hurt in the past, and learns to love herself and others in the process.

Above all, never, ever get upset with yourself for falling for someone. You are an amazing person full of so much love, and he was someone you chose to bless with your emotions. But you probably love so many other things around you- your friends, the crisp air when you go on 7 AM morning runs, the nice lady who compliments your skirt at the store....... he is not unique. He's just one lucky person that got to experience your feelings.

You see how when you romanticize your life and paint yourself as the main character of your narrative, it helps shift everything into perspective? That is what helped me get over him. While my medication did most of the heavy lifting, that mentality just changed the game for me. I hope that you can internalize that, too. It takes a ton of work but I believe in you, and I want to hear updates on how beautiful your life is!! I would also recommend writing it all in a journal/online diary of some sort.

Whoa. You brought up.... SUCH an incredible point. "I can see how it’s been both cathartic and perhaps a little destructive to keep ruminating on certain scenarios you’ve dealt with." You're so right, it was destructive. I was always so absorbed in the cathartic part of it that I was always confused why I felt so destroyed afterwards. I literally wrote that quote doc on my "romanticization" document. There's something so beautiful and poetic about that line.

Thank you so, so much for sending this in. Your incredibly sweet words made me reread this message so many times and also save it. I really really appreciate you being here and I'm so happy I met you <3 Sorry this answer was SO long but eye anon I just.......... I'm just hugging you so hard right now. It feels like I'm talking to myself from the past and I just want you to know that I know what you're going through, and you will persevere.

[inkwell1013]

Fluff October - Day 20 - Neighbours - Good Omens

[Prompts are here by the way] 

So... somehow this fluff piece about Crowley and Azi being neighbours spawned an idea for a series. I hope you’re all ready for that. Featuring Crowley as Warlock’s foster father, traumatised Warlock and the kindly bookseller living down the street

- - - - -

“Warlock are you awake?” asked Crowley, giving his son a shake. “You’re going to be late for school.”

 “I don’t feel very well Dad,” mumbled Warlock. Crowley pressed a hand to Warlock’s forehead.

 “You do have a temperature…” he rescinded. “It’s probably just a cold though. I think you’re fine to go to school.”

 It was at that exact moment that Warlock threw up all over Crowley’s favourite pair of shoes.

 Safe to say, Warlock would not be going to school that day.

 That put Crowley in a difficult position. Warlock was too young to be left home alone – he was only eight years old – and Crowley didn’t really know anyone who could watch the kid. He would have taken the day off work, but he didn’t have any sick days left.

 He was racking his brain for a solution, he gave Warlock his porridge. Warlock was disinterested in his food, which was worrying. “Are you not hungry kiddo?” he asked.

 “Don’t want to eat. I’ll be sick again.”

 Crowley patted him on the shoulder. “Can you please try to eat a couple of bites for me? You’ll feel worse later if you don’t eat.”

 Warlock still seemed apprehensive. “I’ll put some honey in your porridge if you promise to eat some for me,” offered Crowley, just as he sent a message to Anathema asking if she could babysit Warlock for the day. Unfortunately, she couldn’t because she taking Adam to therapy and Newt was at work. How irritating.

 His son perked up a little at the offer of something sweet. Crowley fetched the bottle of honey from the fridge and set it down on the kitchen table, just a little harder than he intended. Warlock jumped a little. “Are you mad at me daddy?” he asked between spoonsful of porridge. “I’m sorry I’m sick.”

 “I’m not mad at you kiddo. You can’t help being sick. It’s just…” Warlock gave him an inquisitive look.

 “You know how daddy had to do special lessons so I could look after you?” he said. Warlock nodded. “Well anyone who babysits you has to have the same lessons. And I can’t find anyone to look after you because the only people I know who’ve done the lessons are Auntie Anathema and Uncle Newt.”

 He took a sip of his coffee and watched the gears turn in Warlock’s mind.

 “Adam told me that the new guy down the street looked after him when Anathema and Newt were busy last week. The one with the bookshop,” Warlock said, poking his porridge around his bowl. Crowley messaged Anathema to confirm this fact and it turned out to be true.

 A few minutes later, Crowley had managed to arrange for the town’s bookseller to babysit Warlock. It was actually a good deal. The guy had an completely clean criminal record – without so much as a speeding ticket – had completed the training and he worked from home, meaning that he was available all day. Plus he adored kids!

 The only requests the guy had was that Warlock wash his hands before touching any of the books in the shop.

 Warlock finished his breakfast and fetched his backpack from his room. Crowley had packed some books, including his favourite colouring book, and some colouring pencils. “Have you got your shoes on?” asked Crowley pulling on his boots and zipping them up on the side. Warlock fiddled with his laces before promptly giving up.

 “Can you do it Daddy? I can’t remember how.”

 Crowley crouched down and tied up the laces quickly. “You really need to learn how to tie your shoes Lock. You’re nearly nine.”

 “Its hard! I can’t remember all the steps and if I can remember them, they get all muddled up in my brain.” Crowley stood up and dusted off his jeans. He wasn’t exactly happy about how the house was often dirty or coated in dust, but he was a busy single father. All in all, he was lucky if he managed to sweep up once a week but with such a young kid (who tended to track in dirt as kids did) that did little to help.

 “Come on kiddo,” he said. “I need to drop you off at Mr Eden’s shop early enough that I can get to work on time.”

 “Kay!”

  Aziraphale had never heard much of this Anthony Crowley fella – granted he had only been living in Tadfield for two weeks. But Anathema said he was a good guy and Aziraphale could always trust her opinions on people.

 There was a knock at the door. Aziraphale set down the books he was sorting and walked over to the door. He opened it up with a smile, laying his eyes upon what might just be the most attractive man he’d ever seen.

 He was lean, tall and dressed in a way that Aziraphale would call fashionable but still professional. His bright red hair was cropped short

 “That you so much for this dude. I really owe you one,” said Crowley, shooing Warlock toward Aziraphale. “Why don’t you say hi Warlock?”

 Warlock shuffled a little but didn’t say anything. “Sorry. He’s a bit shy.”

 “I was shy when I was his age. It’s totally alright,” responded Aziraphale, crouching down to Warlock’s level. “I’m Aziraphale Eden,” he said, introducing himself.

 “I know who you are,” said Warlock. “You looked after my friend Adam when his mum and dad were busy.”

 Aziraphale’s smile brightened. “Adam is a lovely young man.”

 “I like him. He let me borrow his colouring pencils in class.”

 “Yeah? Do you have your pencils with you today?” he asked. Warlock gave a little nod. “That’s good. I have some colouring sheets that you can do. How about you go set yourself up on that table over there while I talk to your Pa?”

 Warlock smiled a little and wandered off, backpack in tow, leaving Crowley and Aziraphale alone together. “I should probably give you this,” said Crowley, passing over a plastic bag, though hands lingering for just a few seconds too long.

“Warlock’s allergic to peanuts. He’s usually pretty good at knowing what he isn’t allowed to have but I’ve put his EpiPen in there just in case. It’s in the box. His lunch is in the bag too. Do you…”

“Yes, I know how to use an EpiPen,” reassured Aziraphale.

 “Oh good. Guess I don’t have to explain that then. And I know this probably goes without saying but Warlock has a lot of trauma. And I know we’ve taken all the same classes but just… be careful. He’s my kid, you know? Don’t hurt him.”

 “I would never.”

 Crowley waved goodbye to his son and set off for work and Aziraphale went to find those colouring sheets he had offered to Warlock.

[miraculous-ladybug-bitches]

Summer Days

12 years old

Marinette sat at a table with 4 others.

The female blonde grins at her and says, “Hi. My name is Chloe!”

Marinette smiles back just as brightly. “I’m Marinette!”

“Nino!”

“Alya!”

“Adrien.”

Alya looks around. “Guess we’re stuck together.”

Chloe looks around and wrinkles her nose when she sees a kid shove mud down another’s shirt. “Definitely could be worse is all I’m saying.”

Alya snorts. “You're telling me.”

Nino looks around. “Our table is pretty nice.”

Mariette looks around the large camp. “It’s kind of a big camp. Pretty sure I’ll end up in the archery range instead of the bathroom at least once.”

Adrien suddenly lights up. “Why don’t we share numbers in case we get lost?”

They all quickly type in their numbers into one another’s phones.

“So what are you guys like?” Nino asks.

“My parents run a prestigious bakery. But I’m a fashion designer,” Marinette says.

“My mom works as the head chef at a very important resteraunt. I’m an up and coming reporter,”  Alya proudly declares.

“My dad’s a fashion designer and I’m a model,” Adrien says.

Marinette gasps. “I knew you looked familiar! You’re related to Gabriel Agreste. And you!” Marinette says, pouting at Chloe. “You’re the mayor’s daughter, aren’t you?”

Chloe chuckles awkwardly. “Yeah. But I want to become a lawyer.”

“That’s pretty cool!” Nino exclaims. “My dad’s a DJ and I’m taking after him.”

Everyone chatters for a bit till their table gets their cabin number.

“This seems like it’ll be a fun year.” Alya chirps.

Everyone nods in agreement.

13 years old

“Look who it is, the great Chloe Bourgeois,” Alya said dramatically, bowing down.

Chloe turns and squeals in delight, running to tackle Alya in a hug.

Alya laughs and hugs her back. “We’ve been texting all year, dude.”

“That’s not the same as being in person,” A voice says from their left.

The two girls turn and see Marinette grinning with Nino and Adrien by her side.

“Guess who all are still in the same cabin?” Nino sing songs.

Chloe’s jaw drops “Really?”

Adrien smiles. “Oh, yeah.”

Marinette seems to rembarrer something, her mood dampening.

Alya notices right away. “Marinette? What happened?”

Marinette sighs. “I forgot to tell you but….my PARENTS GOT A JOB WORKING AT THE MAYOR’S OFFICIAL PARTY BAKERS!” Marinette screams.

Chloe screams with her the two girls hugging.

Alya smirks, pushing up her glasses. “Well,my mother got a job at his restaurant.”

Nino looks a bit lost but says,”My fam got a house near the mayors.”

Adrien snaps his fingers and points at Nino’s. “3 Florence street.”

Nino gaped at him. “How did you-”

Adrien grins. “That’s my neighbors house that just got sold!”

“Wait, so we’ll all be close to each other?” Chloe asks.

“Yup!” Marinette says, popping the p.

“You know it, girl!” Alya says, making everybody laugh.

They make their way to the cabin they recognized from last year.

14 years old

Nino opens the cabin door and laughs.

“Really guys? Again?” Nino says, flopping on his bed from the past two years after he sees the rest of the group.

“That best not be disappointment or we’re gonna have words,” Alya teases.

Adrien laughs at him from the bunk above him.

“Where’s Mari?” Nino asks.

Chloe waves off the question. “She went to go to the bathroom.”

Adrien snickers at a memory. “Remember when she got stuck in the archery range instead of the restroom?”

“She called it, man. She called it,” Nino affirms.

Alya nods thoughtfully. “She did, didn’t she?”

That exact moment, Marinette threw open the door but immediately hurried to shut it.

“We. Have a problem,” Marinette hisses.

Everyone stares at her.

“The fact that you may have broken the door?” Chloe says, pointing out the rattling hinge.

Marinette rapidly shakes her head. “No! They started the paintball tournament without us!”

Alya gasps in outrage as Adrien falls off top bunk. Nino tries to stand but hits his head on the top bunk and Chloe throws her magazine to the floor with an outraged, “What!”

“What are you waiting for, people, let's go!” Marinette yells, ushering everyone out.

They forgot to wear the gear and were covered in bruises for the rest of camp.

15 years old

“Spill,” Alya demands.

Marinette flushes. “I think I might have a tiny, itty, bitty crush on Adrien.”

Chloe immediately opens her hand and looks expectantly at Alya. “You owe me twenty bucks, Nancy Drew.”

Alya scowls and mutters a ‘bitch’ but gives her the money.

Marinette looks appalled between the two. “You bet on me liking Adrien!”

Chloe rolls her eyes. “Of course not. We bet on when you would fess up. Now Alya has to, too”

Alya folds her arms over her chest. “Fess up what?”

“Please, darling, you may have got everyone else fooled, but I’m not a dumbass. You like Nino, plain as day,” Chloe scoffed.

“Well you like Nathaniel!” Alya says indignantly.

Chloe gives her a flat look. “Yes, that’s why we’re dating.”

Marinette tried not to gape at the two. “How the heck are you figuring this out so quick?”

The two other girls give her a flat look. “We aren’t oblivious idiots.”

Marinette huffs. “Go suck a dictionary.”

Alya sighs. “We need to teach you how to swear.”

Marinette glares at her. “No. I will swear in ice cream.”

Chloe scoffs. “How the fuck do you swear in ice cream?”

Marinette clears her throat. “What the Mint Chocolate Chip did you say to me, punk? I’ll kick your Rocky Road and then beat the ever loving Strawberry Cheesecake out of you!”

There was a beat of silence.

And then the three girls burst out laughing.

“Marinette not swearing,” Alya wheezed.

“Fucking imagine,” Marinette said, howling with laughter.

“The ice creams though,” Chloe choked, unable to breathe.

They girls spend the rest of the night under covers, laughing.

16 years old

“We’re counselors, guys!” Marinette cheers.

Adrien and Nino high five while Chloe and Alya smile at each other.

“Actually, I have more good news,” Alya says, excitement growing on her face.

“Me and Ayla are dating,” Nino blurts out.

Alya slaps his chest. “Nino! That was my line!”

Chloe sighs dramatically. “Finally. Took you long enough.”

Adrien grins. “Nino finally worked up the courage to ask her out.”

“Cough, bullshit, cough,” Marinette says, fake coughing.

Alya chuckled. “I asked out Nino and he was speechless.”

Adrien groans. “Come on, dude.”

Alya shook her head laughter in her eyes. “No, no, that’s not even the best part.”

Nino buries his head in his arms out of mortification.

Alya shook with laughter. “He asked the guy behind us, ‘Line?’ And the guy said, ‘I like you too and I’d love to go out with you.’ AND NINO SAID THE SAME DAMN THING AND AFTER HE TOLD THE GUY, ‘Thanks, bro.’”

Marinette couldn’t breath and Adrien’s stomach was hurting.

Chloe was full on cackling as Nino sighs.

This is what he gets for being friends with people like this.

17 years old

Adrien walks into the cabin, arm slung around Marinette’s shoulder.

The second they walk in, the other three start clapping.

“Finally, Mari!” Alya exclaimed.”

“Adrien, my man. Finally getting some!” Nino said, grinning.

Chloe looked between them. “Nope, they’re still virgins.”

Marinette squawks in outrage as Adrien flushes.

“How do you know?” Alya asks, looking over the edge of the top bunk to look down at Chloe.

Regardless of changing relationship statuses, no one would move from their spot. It was just the way it was.

“His hands are on her shoulder, not waist. And neither have that ‘sex glow’ on them,” Chloe points out.

“Sex glow?” Marinette sputters.

“Yeah, now I see it,” Alya said, squinting at the two.

“Adrien. Adrien, Adrien, Adrien. Come on dude. I thought you had better game then that,” Nino chides.

Adrien sighs. “I also thought I had better game than that.”

Marinette snorts. “I can assure you that you don’t.”

“Damn. Shots fired,” Chloe says.

“Roasted, toasted, and burnt, Adrien,” Alya says from the top bunk.

“Gotta get used to it, man. The whole sweatshirt giving. It doesn’t matter if you’re uncomfortable or freezing, just give it to her,” Nino says solemnly.

Adrien frowns. “Why can’t I be comfortable?”

Nino deadpan looks at him. “Adrien, you can either be in a relationship or be comfortable. You can’t have both.”

The cabin erupts with laughter from that one, simple line.

18 years old

“Off to college, huh?” Alya says as the group of 5 stars off into the lake on their last day of camp.

“Yeah. Me and Chloe’s universities are actually pretty close,” Nino says.

Chloe smiles. “I don’t mind having a coffee together every now and again.”

“Me and Alya are going to the same uni,” Adrien says.

“Hell yeah, up top!” Alya said while grinning, high giving the blonde.

Marinette was silent.

“Mari?” Chloe asks.

Marinette sighs. “I’m going to America. New York City, to be precise.”

Silence engulfs the group.

Nino breaks the silence. “Congrats. You deserve it. You worked really hard to get where you are now.”

Marinette smiles gratefully.

“We should meet up on vacations.” Alya suggests.

The rest agree.

“So I guess this is goodbye.” Adrien whispers.

Chloe lets out a bittersweet smile.

“Not goodbye. Just, see you in a bit.”

[nerianasims]

Billboard #1s 1983

Under the cut.

Toto -- "Africa" -- February 5, 1983

This song becoming massively popular recently sort of mystifies me. But maybe it shouldn't; the music is very pretty, and we've been short on popular music that goes for "pretty" for a long time. The lyrics... I really don't know. The best explanation I've seen was someone joking on Tumblr that maybe the narrator's a werewolf. I'm sure that wasn't the intent, but it's what I'm going with. It is a good song, entirely because of the music.

Patti Austin and James Ingram -- "Baby, Come to Me" -- February 19, 1983

I'm not sure I've ever heard this song before. It's a romantic duet. It's not annoying or anything, it's fine, but now that I've heard it I think I'm probably about to forget it again immediately.

Michael Jackson -- "Billie Jean" -- March 5, 1983

This song, I've heard. A whole hell of a lot. Like everyone else, we had the Thriller album (or tape, rather.) Actually I had it -- for some reason, Thriller was seen as some kind of child's first pop album. Every kid I knew had it. (And since seeing Leaving Neverland, that has been very creepy to me.) As for me, I'd put it on and dance, especially to this song. I pretty much understood what the song was about, and even got the "His eyes looked like mine" line. I didn't have an opinion on whether or not the kid was his son. It didn't matter; it was entirely about the music. Which is truly great.

Dexys Midnight Runners -- "Come On Eileen" -- April 23, 1983

Until the last couple years, I didn't entirely know what this song was about, because I couldn't understand Kevin Rowland's weird singing outside the chorus. I got that he wanted Eileen, and that this was about the combination of arrogance and horniness of youth. I did not know about all the references to the previous generation's pop culture, with an obvious inference that they felt the same way at one time. Also about Margaret Thatcher's intentional destruction of her own country's society. You don't have to think about any of that to enjoy the song if you don't want to, though. It's a fun dance song as well as being complex lyrically.

Michael Jackson -- "Beat It" -- April 30, 1983

This is the Michael Jackson song I remember being played on the radio by far the most when I was a child. It's basically the main background song of a couple years of my childhood. It's a hard-driving song about how you should run away from a physical fight rather than die. "It doesn't matter/ Who's wrong or right." Yes. It's rock, and it's dance, and it's... probably really great? I don't know, some things are too formative.

David Bowie -- "Let's Dance" -- May 21, 1983

"Put on your red shoes and dance the blues" makes no sense. But this is David Bowie; he knew that. It's part of the point. While this song is perfectly feasable to dance to, it's not really a dance song. It's achingly romantic and not the tiniest bit soppy, with music that's both accessible and fascinating. And my god Bowie could sing. I love it so much.

Irene Cara -- "Flashdance... What A Feeling" -- May 28, 1983

I didn't see Flashdance until college, when my roommates decided we would watch a bunch of cheesy 80s movies because it seemed a brilliant thing to do. It was, actually. Some of them even turned out to be good. Not Flashdance. Flashdance is memorably stupid, at least -- it doesn't hold back. It's extremely entertaining because it's deeply unintentionally hilarious. This song, though, I've heard a lot since it came out. The song is much better than the movie. It's got a wide-eyed optimism that's appealing, and the music is fun.

The Police -- "Every Breath You Take" -- July 9, 1983

I remember people periodically insisting that many, many women don't understand this song and think it's just romantic. I have never met any of these women. I have a feeling it was only a few, and that got blown up into some kind of crisis, as things do. Especially when people can imagine angelic airheaded women being dumb and somehow inviting abuse from those scary scary men. That's a favorite hobby for many. Anyway. It's a really good song that gets into the mindset of a really bad man -- or of a man who's currently imagining being really bad but is going to wake up, deal with his hangover, and get on with life. It's not a comfortable song, and that is good. Also Sting's hot.

Eurythmics -- "Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This)" -- September 3, 1983

Usually repetitive songs drive me nuts. This song is incredibly repetitive lyrically. I love the lyrics, though. And musically, it changes up just enough to keep my interest. It's almost hypnotic. Apparently, Annie Lennox can do whatever she likes with me. Speaking of "some of them want to be abused"...

Michael Sembello -- "Maniac" --  September 10, 1983

The original demo of this song was about a serial killer, and it sounds like it, with the Psycho-like musical parts. It's not a dance song at all. Michael Sembello worked with Stevie Wonder during his best years, but he's no Stevie Wonder. He has that 70s light rock white guy voice, and it doesn't fit this song. If he'd handed this to another singer, it would have been better. Though still goofy, because it's music about a serial killer wedded to a story about a dancer. Many of the lines don't seem to have been changed either: "On the ice-blue line of insanity/ Is a place most never see." And  okay, that's a good line; I wouldn't want to leave it out either.

Also my aunt is a professional dancer (mostly choreographer now), so I've seen quite a bit into the professional dance world, and it is seriously unhealthy. It seems to be getting better, at least in modern dance, but the reason my aunt didn't go farther as a ballerina and switched to modern dance is that she could not get skinny enough for the fashion in ballet, no matter what she did. We're a muscular family with solid bones, and she couldn't get rid of that. She's got an eating disorder still though. Professional dance is harsh and terrible, and probably kills more women than serial killers do.

That's what I think of when I hear this song.

Billy Joel -- "Tell Her About It" -- September 24, 1983

Billy Joel's best songs didn't make it to #1, but that's almost always the way. This bouncy throwback of a song is still fun. With most excellent advice: "Tell her about it/ Tell her everything you feel/ Give her every reason/ To accept that you're for real." (It occurs to me that my husband is the first guy I dated who did that actually while we were dating, as opposed to waiting until after we broke up. Most of the guys I dated did not take in "I will not get back together with you if we break up." Not my fault; I told them about it.) Anyway, this isn't as good as "Big Shot," or "You May Be Right," or "My Life," or a whole lot of other Billy Joel songs I like a lot better, but it's pretty good.

Bonnie Tyler -- "Total Eclipse of the Heart" -- October 1, 1983

Melodrama, I love it. This song is so Great -- big, fantastical, unembarrassed, and awesome in both meanings of the term. Bonnie Tyler knows her strengths and has no hesitation about using that huge voice, and yet she doesn't oversing, either. The lyrics? Hell if I know. To me, it sounds like that part of a relationship where you're losing yourself and can't think about anything but the other person, and especially about having sex with the other person. But whatever else it is, it's poetry. And big thunder crashes. Which is a lot like falling in love. It's not necessarily happy. It just is.

Kenny Rogers and Dolly Parton -- "Islands In the Stream" -- October 29, 1983

Going from "Total Eclipse of the Heart" to this song induces emotional whiplash. The opening goes "Baby, when I met you/ There was peace unknown." That's the exact opposite of "Total Eclipse of the Heart." What is the same as "Total Eclipse of the Heart" is that the lyrics make no actual sense -- but of course they don't, this thing was written by the Bee Gees. Nonsensical lyrics can be poetic, but the Bee Gees didn't do poetry, at least not good poetry. Oh well, it's probably their most tolerable song. It's a sweet and light song, and I'm sure the narrators will be very happy together. They sound exceedingly "emotionally healthy." But as art, I prefer the "Total Eclipse of the Heart" take. Also I think this song might have been better with just Dolly Parton. Kenny Rogers was good, but he couldn't match Dolly.

Lionel Richie -- "All Night Long" -- November 12, 1983

Lionel Richie puts on a fake Jamaican accent for this thing. Also he makes up pseudo-African chants. I'm not going to go all "j'accuse!", at least not of problematicicity. No, I am accusing him instead of being annoying. Also dull. This is a party song, but an extremely boring one. Also Richie kind of tries to do an "ow" thing, obviously inspired by Michael Jackson, but of course it doesn't work. It's still not terrible. Unlike all the gloop Richie made, I can listen to the whole thing. The drums --  or drum machine, rather -- have a neat beat, and there are some good horns and other musical touches.

Paul McCartney and Michael Jackson -- "Say Say Say" -- December 10, 1983

Well this is weird. I can't remember ever having heard this song before. The song is about begging someone not to "play games with my affection." And it sounds like the two men are singing to each other, regardless of the lyric about getting through to a "girl." It's not bad -- Michael Jackson gives Paul McCartney the musical edge that he'd lost as soon as he left the Beatles. Strong beat, harmonica and all. But I'm not going to seek it out, either. I think the beat's too repetitive. Also it feels too busy.

BEST OF 1983 -- "Let's Dance" by David Bowie, "Total Eclipse of the Heart" by Bonnie Tyler, and "Sweet Dreams" by The Eurythmics. Great year for the pop charts. WORST OF 1983 -- There aren't any that I think are truly terrible this year, so I guess I'll go with "Baby, Come to Me," because as predicted, I have already forgotten it.