#I Had the Sketch for This Sitting Unfinished for a Month I Think? Spent a Few Days Chipping Away At Lineart N Stuff and Finished It All Rn | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

arrivisting · 4 years ago

Note

I’d love author commentary on basically the whole scene at Ekkaia in all my war is done (or any individual part of that scene, if your prefer). Taken together, it’s one of the most beautiful and emotionally complex and heartrending things you’ve written, from the description of the sea itself, to the difficulties of Fingon and Alqualondë, to Gil and the ocean and his ‘mother’, to Fingon and Gil beginning to tackle the thorny subect of Maedhros.

I should admit something about all my war is done: it's the most fugue-like my writing has ever been. I jotted down a few notes on my commute into work - I was deeply underwater with my PhD at the time, three months away from submitting - and then the idea of writing a sequel to scion seized me so profoundly that I sat down in the Starbucks where my bus stops, took out my laptop, and wrote instead of just collecting my coffee and walking down to my office. I wrote 15k. In one day. In about five or six hours. I've never achieved anything like that before or since - I do have good days where I can knock 2-4k out easily, but not 15k. (You might note that the posted part of all my war is done is only 12k, but I wrote all the way up into the next bit with Fingon in Tirion that you've read, up until Turgon at the dinner table). I didn't sit down or plan events; I didn't actually know much about what would happen: but I knew they were going to Ekkaia and they'd have some kind of resolution there. These are my phone-notes, from that morning:

You can see, I think, something of the way an idea hits me. I note down a few snatches of plot, not necessarily in any order, some lines I think people should say at some point, although I might not use them, sketch out some things (Formenos's ruins were going to feature more heavily, but they're waiting for a later story).

(It makes me laugh, the words my phone doesn't accept - Gil-galad, for one - and the ones it automatically capitalises from where I've yelled enthusiastically about elf things at people. I never stop long enough to correct spelling etc when I'm trying to get something down).

I clearly knew from inception that I wanted Fingon's place to be called the hill of waiting, and had tried out the name in Sindarin; because my verbs are not good, I came up with Amon Dartha. It was when I was redrafting that I realised Amon Darthir had existed actually in Dor-lomin(!!!) and the name was even more perfect symbolically than I'd meant it to be! Did I know that, unconsciously? I don't know.

You can see, too, that the Sea of Ekkaia was almost the very first point to hit me, and that I knew it and the scene there would be important, and that I knew that the story was about Fingon finding a way to tell Gil-galad that he had been loved, and wanted, and that meant talking about Maedhros; and that at the end I wanted Gil-galad to be gently, impersonally, firmly clear that he would not, could not, be staying to wait with Fingon.

Okay, DVD commentary proper - I'm sorry, I remember awfully little about writing this, given the fugue state and my thesis and everything, so I'm not sure how useful this will be!

“Oh,” said Gil-galad when they broke out of the woods and began to ride down over the dune-lands to the rocky shore. “Oh!”

The Sea of Ekkaia was beautiful, in its own way, but that way that was like no other place in Arda, in either Aman or Middle Earth.

It was a dark-blue that was almost black, even in the late afternoon, and the shore was less sand than gravel, a strange inconsistent rubble of rock and broken sea-shells that had been dashed to pieces by the constant fury of the waves. Staring out to sea, one did not see the far-away horizon the way one did on the gentler coast of Belegaer: there was no gentle faraway blue haze through which one might, perhaps, on a clear day, imagine that Middle Earth could be glimpsed, or at least the Straight Path.

No: instead along the horizon there was a seam of silver light, and then a great blackness, where the Sea of Ekkaia met the Uttermost West that was not quite the Doors of Night, but was certainly the end of Aman itself. If you stood on the shore watching, the seam would ripple with a pulse of light, sometimes green and sometimes white.

It was so far from anywhere the Eldar of Valinor lived. While they clustered around the Belegaer like moths to flame, this shore seemed instead to repel them. Was it the sight of the world’s end itself? It might be; yet Fingon thought there was more to why this wilderness was so little visited, this howling black sea lashing itself against a grey shore. It was beautiful, but not in the way Elves liked things to be beautiful: it was too raw, too unfinished, too savage.

It was too close to where Mandos kept his Halls, which were not only a thing of spirit but also matter, at least in the way that things in Aman were both. Too close to where Nienna’s tower looked out into the Void and where she wept, and wept, and wept. It was too close to death and to rebirth, to judgment and to pity.

There's a little Dawn Treader, I think, in this idea of the uttermost West. I don't know why I thought the seam of the world should pulse with strange light, but it's an uncanny kind of geography, so near Mandos and Nienna, and I like the sense that this is the end of the world, but not the end of the universe.

A lot of this came together serendipitously. I knew some kind of memorialisation of the river that bore Gil-galad needed to be part of his story; that meant going to the sea; and it's clear from the notes that I had already decided that couldn't mean Alqualonde because of kinslaying reasons and memories. (And that that too would need to be confronted). Therefore: roadtrip to Ekkaia. Therefore, the question: what would Ekkaia be like? We don't really know anything about it - only the good qualities of Belegaer. This was really written by a process of inversion, a way of pulling what we know about Belegaer inside-out, and imagining a place at the world's edge, a place that was empty, a place that was uncannily close to difficult things, to Mandos and Nienna; a place that seemed to repel the Eldar as surely as Belegaer drew them like iron filings.

I was thinking visually about New Zealand, too. I spent my childhood summers on the beaches up north, mostly around Tūtūkākā, which are bright and lovely, with golden or white or tawny sand, with gnarled pohutukawa and blue-green water. Like this:

That's what beach and sea meant to me, and it was a shock the first time I went to one of the black sand beaches where the wind howled and the colours weren't blue, green, gold, but iron, grey, navy, black. I loved it, but it felt so other, so passionate, so strange. That shock and that wild beauty and desolation were things I wanted to get at, though Ekkaia would be far more wild and desolate still.

They left the horses in the thin sea-grass, and their shoes, too, and walked down to the water. “I missed it,” Gil-galad said, and closed his eyes, breathing in the brine. “I missed it badly, all the long years besieging Mordor before I died.”

I think Gil-galad would be very marked by his upbringing first in the Falas and then on Balar; you don't lose that, if you grew up by the sea.

The wind took up his long dark hair and made a banner of it as they walked along the rough crescent of rocky ground where the waves met the shore, and around their bare ankles small stones tumbled back and forth in the lace-edge of the water.

When I was young I used to stand in the water and let the waves bury me up to my ankles, watching the water move in, out, spreading skirts of lace overlapping as new waves came in. I could do it for hours. There's something very liminal about the water's edge, between the solid land and the sea, which is why I put this conversation in it, I think. They're in a liminal space and at a liminal moment. It's the scene the whole story has been inexorably building toward, the point where all Fingon's painful scraping-away of his barriers finally reaches his skin.

“Sometimes in Middle Earth it became very difficult to believe in the Valar,” Gil-galad said, his eyes still closed, “in the blood, and the mud, and the filth. There were so many great and small unfairnesses, day upon day, year upon year.” He opened his eyes and looked towards the Uttermost West where the world ended. “And here it is impossible not to. Look at it!"

This is a little more hopeful than the original version, which I don't have anymore, but went pretty much:

"Sometimes in Middle Earth it was very difficult to believe in the Valar,” Gil-galad said. "In the blood, and the mud, and the filth. There were so many great and small unfairnesses, day upon day, year upon year.”

It was a comment more about Gil-galad's rueful scepticism than wonder - because he fought the Dagorlad before he died, because he spent the last ten years of his life in mud and blood and filth and horror. I work on the First World War - its literary legacy and traces in the decades after, more than its immediate experience or actuality, because there was a ten-year period after 1918 where it was more latent than overt, a traumatic lacuna of silence, a Nachträglichkeit- and I thought in the blood, and the mud, and the filth was a little too on the nose.

I kept it, though, because Tolkien was drawing on his own memories of the trenches with the Dagorlad and the Dead Marshes, with those blurred lines of solid land and mud/bog, the living mixed up with the remains of with the dead, all the themes you see again and again in the war poetry and the officer war-books. (Santanu Das is very good on this, as is Eric Leed). Paul Fussell is a bit old-hat now, but his argument that WWI altered the sensibility of its survivors because of their close, consanguinous co-existence with the dead is something I still find valuable. I think there's a lot of WWI survivor in the way I think of Gil-galad, actually, I'm just realising - not that he survived the Last Alliance. He's detached in a different way from Fingon. Fingon's built himself a thick layer of repression/denial, a kind of callous to protect himself from confronting or thinking about what Maedhros did, and what that means for him and to him; Gil-galad is entirely present, but somewhat detached in some ways, the way people who came back from war could be. Not that Fingon and Finrod aren't also separated from the Amanyar by their time in Beleriand and experience of war and death, but Gil-galad lived there for millennia, and he fought a longer, harder, more total kind of war than they did.

But he's at the Sea of Ekkaia, as west as you can get. So much of Tolkien is about that endless longing glance west, that movement: why is this very westernmost edge so under-explored?

I wanted Gil-galad to be softened by this encounter with the sea, so I went back and let his wonder be as much at the spectacle itself as the sea, like the greater hand at work he had sometimes doubted being visible was something wonderful rather than something to be bitter about. I wanted to position him to be potentially open to, perhaps, the Valar; perhaps, to Fingon. I hope he doesn't come off as closed-minded: I think of him as having a fair mind, and good judgment, but - despite placing him here between the sea and the shore - very clear personal lines between what he thinks is just, and what is not. Certainly, it helps a lot, never having known the Feanorians when they had not fallen.

The seam of the universe pulsed with light, and beyond it was – what?

Unutterable nothingness, something worse than death.

Perhaps Maedhros.

This is an important line for Fingon. He hasn't though the name of his own accord for much of the story, flinching away from it; it's only come in when Finrod and then Gil-galad speak the name. This is the first time he's thought it clearly of his own free will, and this is I think the first signal that he's brought Gil-galad here to be as honest and earnest with him as he can be, however much it hurts, or however much it might drive him away. Because if he isn't, and doesn't, Gil-galad will be driven away anyway, and Fingon wants to be connected with him, the first time he's wanted that kind of bond with anyone since he returned.

(I think of Finrod as someone who just kept turning up, regularly, and forcing Fingon to associate with him; and then bringing Amarie; and then his children; and not taking no for an answer. It bothers Turgon rather terribly that they seem to be friends now, when they were never that close Before: that Fingon pushes him away, but allows Finrod to keep pushing; that Finrod does push. He doesn't know about Gil-galad, of course).

He's brought Gil-galad here to show him if possible that he was wanted, to conjure up lost Ringwil where she might be felt if not found; and to do the same for Maedhros. This is a signal that this journey to the sea is as much about Gil-galad's missing father as his missing mother.

The almost-forgotten tang of salt in the air always mingled with the smell of blood in Fingon’s worst memories, and he was not the only one who remembered. The waves were gentle around Gil-galad’s feet, but they boiled furiously around Fingon’s, delivering small spiteful slaps at his calves.

Spiteful was probably the wrong word here. I don't necessarily mean a dramatic boiling or bubbling; but the water is harsh where it touches him, the kind of slapping roughness you get when the tide is coming in rough.

It took Gil-galad longer to mark the difference, engrossed in the joy of the sea and spectacle as he was, and when he did, his face changed. There was something terribly sad in his eyes when he lifted them from the water to look at Fingon.

It wasn’t why he had brought Gil-galad here; but Fingon didn’t want to imagine the look he would receive if he brushed aside the silent question. “No,” he said. “I am not forgiven.”

“So I see.”

They could probably leave it there.

But Fingon won't, because he's trying. He's really trying to connect after all the time flinching away from it, and he's remembering what Gil-galad said about talking, and what Finrod said about mistakes and silences in their first life.

He said, “You said you loathed the thought of being the son of – a murderer. But my own hands have not been clean since Alqualondë, and death didn’t unstain them. All the time you thought I might be your father, you must have known I was a Kinslayer, too.”

I tried to signal this in their earlier tower conversation with Finrod, and Gil-galad's changing of the topic, but I feel like it's a little abrupt here.

“Yes,” Gil-galad said, and his expression didn’t change. “And when the knights that had served you came to me, they told me that you killed that day in ignorance, that you came upon a battle already being fought; that you took up your sword to save those you loved and didn’t question whether it was just. I heard that from others, too, those who had less reason to bend facts to a flattering pattern; survivors of Gondolin and of Nargothrond. I did ask."

“Ignorance wasn’t an excuse. I died ashamed of it, and I live again with the shame.”

"Good!” said Gil-galad, and there was no forgiveness in his voice, even when Fingon jerked his head up in shock. Instead there was the stern ring of a king used to weighing the ideals of justice against the world as it was, the king who had walked arm in arm with Eonwë the Maia, led his people through many full-fledged wars, and held court and meted justice to them for an Age. “That gives me a far better opinion of you than any of the stories did! I’m glad.”

I remember talking to you about this in the comments, about what it meant that Gil-galad wasn't forgiving him. I think I really meant condone, but I also don't think it's Gil-galad's place to absolve Fingon - he wasn't the one wronged! - and that it's important to me that, because Fingon does truly regret it, he doesn't wish to be absolved, to slide away from it. I don't mean he ought to wallow in it or flog himself with it daily, but I think it would be important to him to shoulder and own that guilt rather than ever allowing himself to put it behind him or have someone else tell him it’s quite all right.

I think this is a moment where I show that they're quite similar, too, because even if Fingon wasn't aware that a bracing, clear assessment was just what he wanted, it was what he needed, rather than people being kind (which he's had a lot of, since he returned; and which hasn't touched that central guilt he's hidden from them, that he loved Maedhros, who had done such terrible things. It's prevented him from accepting kindness made him block people reaching out to him. Gil-galad is not being kind, but just, and still reaching out).

It felt like Fingon had been struggling to take a full lungful of air for a long time, and now something constricting in his chest had loosened, as it hadn’t even after the Valar themselves had judged him. It was only now that he realised that he hadn’t wanted Gil-galad to forgive or absolve him. He had wanted – needed – Gil-galad to be better than him, to withhold forgiveness when it was unmerited; and Gil-galad had. He had become the shining legacy they had all hoped he would be, the thing they had all somehow done right.

The water slapped at his ankles again, in impatient reminder.

This is too brief a transition. I should have fleshed the join out more.

“I think Ulmo would come to you here, if you called. You were a king by the sea in Middle Earth, and you may not remember it, but it was a river who gave you life.”

Gil-galad looked at him as if he’d grown an extra head. “What?”

“I brought you here for a reason,” Fingon said. “Where did they go, the drowned and poisoned rivers of Beleriand? I don’t know; but Ulmo might.”

I've really personified the rivers, but I think it's a clear and easy extrapolation from the Withywindle and the River-daughter in The Fellowship of the Ring that I don't need to justify in order to argue that every river might have had its own attendant Maia-spirit. It does make what happened to the Rivers of Beleriand much worse, though, and I wanted to look at the way a character that was a throwaway mechanism in scion ended up being sickened and dying as horribly as Beleriand did; this story was really about following all those lighter bits in scion home, to the end of the line, and looking at the long-term impacts of something that began more lightly. In this verse, Ringwil was a river, but also a person; and I think of her and Finrod as sharing a strange human-river friendship and overlapping enthusiasms.

He clapped Gil-galad on the shoulder, hoping it said all the things he meant it to say. Affection had been so easy for him once, in the life that had been taken from him by the fiery flails of the Balrogs, but now it came hard, and the sea-smell was in his nose, the terrible memories too close to the surface.

He had surely outstayed Ulmo’s tolerance by now. Fingon left Gil-galad there in the water, and didn’t dare glance back until there was thin sandy soil under his feet again.

Only then did he look once more towards the sea.

Gil-galad was standing in the shallows. His broad shoulders were bunched tight, as if he was readying himself for something very difficult, a confrontation with one of the Valar he had long doubted.

Then he spread his arms out, empty-handed, and tipped his head back, and the light on the horizon grew unbearably bright, whiter than white, more silver than silver; and a face began to move upon the water.

I really like this, honestly. Which I can't/don't say often! The temptation to overwrite this was strong, to show this encounter, to describe the Vala: but I think it's often stronger not to show something numinous, to pull away, to let the mind fill it in.

Again, this is Gil-galad as I imagine him: still somewhat distanced from the Valar by the Dagorlad and the things that happened there (and I think perhaps doubly unhappy in that he lived through the end of an Age once before, and that time, at least, the Valar came: they did not come in the Second, nor send so much as a messenger, and such obscenities as the fall of Ost-in-Edhil and the drowning of Numenor had been allowed to happen, and Men and Elves were left alone to come together and break Sauron's grip). Doubting, but not angry; doubting, but still curious. Open to listening.

a face began to move upon the water is of course a deliberate sideways reference to

And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters.

It took a very long time. Fingon could not watch; his eyes dazzled.

Can you tell I was teaching The Duchess of Malfi at this time? Cover her face; mine eyes dazzle; she died young. That sense of a light too bright and white to look upon; that sense of guilt; that faint reference to life lost untimely. This wasn't meant to be a direct intertextual reference, but that net of meaning was there, lightly. Again, I wanted to under-write rather than over-write. I know I have a tendency to over-write.

And of course - there's a sense here that Fingon is refusing the kind of close enoucnter with Ulmo he could/might have. There's water in his eyes. From the wind?

“Thank you,” Gil-galad said when he rejoined him at last. His eyes were glowing, and he whistled Ceredir to him from where he was tearing ropey roots of sea-grass from the dunes with great relish. “Thank you for bringing me here;” and he didn’t say it the way he’d thanked Fingon for the horse, or the armour, or the sword, or even the lance.

Because this is a real gift, something that means something to both of them, something more honest/painful. Fingon's been trying to connect through gifts but not serious conversation or sharing, like some estranged parents do, throwing money at the problem rather than giving of their time or their selves, and however well-meant, it hasn't worked.

“I didn’t truly do anything."

“You brought me to the Sea. I know – I could see – how difficult it was for you."

"Well,” Fingon said lamely. He cleared his throat. “What did Lord Ulmo say about – oh, I can’t call her your dam! – the Maia who bore you? Did she – was she there?”

The dam pun is Finrod's. Don't blame me.

A little of the light dimmed, but it didn’t quite fade away. “No, she’s gone. Back to the Timeless Halls, he says; but one with him again, Ulmo, at the same time.” Gil-galad made a noise. “I don’t pretend to understand any of it, all the metaphysical nonsense of the Ainur! But he was kind to me, and he told me something of her – that she delighted in the making of me.” The corner of his mouth turned up. “I left the flowers we gathered earlier in the waves for her and the sea didn’t dash them back onto the shore. I’m sure Ulmo broke a few laws of Arda there.”

I like this image of the flowers suspended in the water. I had it clearly in mind from before I began to write.

"You were wanted.”

“I’m beginning to believe it,” Gil-galad said.

“You should,” Fingon said. He took a breath. Talking is how you sort things out; and a long time ago, Fingon had been known for his valour. Gil-galad deserved to know how much he had been wanted, who had called himself a political compromise given birth. The truth of that had stung.

And it was less than the truth. Fingon could still remember the first time he had opened his mind to Maedhros over the leagues between them and let him see Gil’s small face through his own eyes, holding nothing back. He had shown Maedhros the dark long lashes and the squashed baby nose, the milk-blister on the bow of Gil’s upper lip, the way his whole head turned an alarming red when he wailed; shared with Maedhros Gil’s fondness for being tossed in the air, his splashing joy in his bath.

This is is me trying to describe a baby without being too sentimental about it, because Fingon wasn't all, oh look at the toesie-woesies, or my son, my son: his eye was more detached, and you see him in scion thinking of Gil-galad as it.

I've been thinking about why Fingon in no way allowed himself to consciously dote on the baby, why that streak of denial that's so strong in his second life was there in his first light, and really: it would have been dangerous to let himself love him, to see Gil as his son and Maedhros's. He was born at a time of terrible loss, after the Flame, when they all expected they could die themselves. He was moved around Beleriand like a game-piece. Fingon was always going to lose him: he wasn't going to get to raise him, after all, until and unless Morgoth was defeated. Maedhros wasn't going to meet him, until and unless &c. It was easier not to let oneself get attached than it was to confront those hard facts and let oneself be hurt by them. Easier to think of him as a baby Finwean prince, and that only: a political pawn, not a son.

Conversely, Maedhros maintains a physical distance, but not an emotional one. Here's a bit from Maedhros's perspective:

Finrod had told him that. They had written, back and forth, in the long months as Ringwil’s belly swelled, as the child formed, as it began to move and stretch and turn frog-like inside her. They had corresponded constantly during the first months of the child’s life in Nargothrond, and during the first months of his life, Finrod had sent long scrolls detailing every change in Artanaro’s weight, his length, his hair colour, his eye colour, how much milk he’d consumed each day: screeds winging forth to Himring until the child was old enough to survive the secret trip north.

Fingon’s letters had been infuriatingly spare of useful information while the child was fostered at Barad Eithel. Beloved, ineloquent Fingon: Fingon, who had nevertheless shown him the child as no reams of paper could.

Fingon had given him forever the rounded bloom of his full cheeks, and the pursed mouth, sullen in sleep: the feathery, rather cross-looking eyebrows, and the small hands with their deep dimples and smaller fingernails, curled into the edge of Fingon’s furred mantle.

Maedhros had felt the way Fingon hovered between wonder and confusion at what they’d wrought: the way he couldn’t quite manage to think of the child as his own, this thing spun out of air and calculation and freshwater into heavy, solid life. He could have loved him so desperately, Maedhros knew that. He was halfway there, hovering in terror on the edge, afraid of falling. If the baby had stayed in Barad Eithel longer; if Fingon had watched him begin to creep around on fat little knees, to pull himself up on the furniture and to take his first steps – to hear the baby babble turn into words and speech – his heart would have opened to him like a flower, and the child would have become the centre of his universe, the sun in his sky.

Fingon had never known what to do with Idril as an infant, either, but he’d easily become an adored uncle as she grew up. If they’d had more time – if the child had been permitted to stay with Fingon even a month longer before being sent for safety to Cirdan –

Well, they’d never had enough time.

There had been few walls between them then, so he had felt Maedhros’s bright joy, the painful love, in its moment of birth: swelling and swelling like a cloud with rain, as though his heart was growing and his blood was leaking out of him at the same time, transmuting into pure tenderness and iron purpose.

I like this because I think of the Ekkaia scene as a cloudburst, full of emotion that has been swelling and swelling and now released. This is one bit of the breaking-through.

He had never needed to ask whether Maedhros considered Gil-galad a son.

“I don’t want to talk about – him,” Fingon said with difficulty, and the salt breeze stung his face, his eyes. “I know you loathe him, and rightly; and I do, too. I do hate him; or I hate what he did. I do! But you should know – you deserve to – that he wanted you, badly, although he never met you; he never wanted the shadow on him to touch you or to taint you.

And this. You can see here where I spun off into cliffs of fall, which isn't a scion story, but sprung out of this speech. It was already there in those sketchy notes, too, a lot of what Fingon's saying here: this important line about hating Maedhros, or what he did (that movement from clear certainty to trying to separate the deeds from the loved one; to urgent reptition - I do! I mean it, I really do! - which means he doesn't, can't: this is the heart of Fingon's guilt, because he wants to hate Maedhros utterly, but he can't, and he is profoundly in denial about that).

“He always wanted children; I took that from him even before the Oath did, but I gave it back to him with you. I loved you first of all for that, but he loved you for yourself. Because you existed, against all hope and possibility and fate and chance; and because you were ours.”

Gil-galad said nothing. There was still a wildflower tucked behind his ear, but the brilliance had quite left his eyes.

“Well,” Fingon said at last. “I needed to tell you that. You should know that you were never – not only – you were wanted very much."

Beloved ineloquent Fingon, &c.

They were some miles from the beach when Gil-galad said, “‘Ours’?”

“Yes."

I was trying to let the gaps and breaks talk for me in the text. Under-writing.

The beginning was full of these little breaks, too, because they didn't yet know how to talk to each other; now at the end, that connection, and their conversations, are breaking down again. It's echoing that ride together at the beginning very strongly, but now it's not Gil-galad trying to become acquainted and Fingon giving light, unsatisfying answers. These are the real questions/answers at last, and the whole story has really been about getting to the point of Fingon and Gil-galad in Aman where they actually could have the kind of conversation Gil-galad was trying to have at the start.

Some miles further, Fingon said, “Did you ever meet him in Beleriand? After I died. I always wondered.”

“No,” Gil-galad said.

It didn’t seem like he was going to speak again, and Fingon had begun to assimilate that knowledge, that pain – that Maedhros had never seen him, had only ever known him through Fingon’s own eyes – when he added,

“But I saw what he did. Have you ever seen a whole city ruined, and known the ruiners to be Elves? It wasn’t even a city, poor Sirion! It was a refuge, a place for the desperate, as far to the West as they could get, as close to the safety of the Sea. They had so very little. No great stone palaces, no towers, no spires. Little enough fresh food. They were able to grow so little, and they lived on fish, and sea-weed, and what brave hunting parties would bring back; and hope. They lived on hope, and they thought Elwing wore it around her throat, but the Valar didn’t come for them: Maedhros Fëanorion and his brothers did instead, and they burned and killed and ravaged. I’d say they salted the earth, but it was salt already. To fall on any innocent Elven city would be a horror: on poor Sirion it was the greatest cruelty I ever saw, and entirely pointless."

They said nothing more.

I like this, too, actually. You see a little here of why Gil-galad might be healthily sceptical of the Valar - they didn't come for them: Maedhros Feanorion and his brothers did instead - and that very post-war experience of seeing a descrated, destroyed town. Worse when you had seen it when it was whole, when you knew the dead and fled.

Sirion is, I think, the worst thing the Feanorions did. I find it worse than even Doriath or Alqualonde (though they're all awful!). These were desperate survivors, huddled together at the edge of the sea for protection. So many of their leaders had been killed or lost. Idril and Tuor had disappeared; Earendil was away; Maedhros and the others struck while only Elwing was there, and she was so young, and so alone, and so damaged already by what they'd done in Doriath. And now they’d come again. There's something about the revictimisation that gets me. It's awful.

I wanted it to be weight and counter-weight - that soft, painful, remembered moment of Maedhros seeing baby Gil-galad through Fingon's eyes, something Fingon has clearly not deliberately thought about since he was reborn, but dredges up now for Gil-galad, because he should know: and which is echoed in the beginning by Fingon's question to Finrod. But Maedhros is still the person who did the things he did, and I wanted to set that soft moment of truth against his deeds at Sirion, another truth, to point out clearly why Gil-galad would recoil so hard from this offering, this honesty Fingon wants to be able to give him. This is the dichotomy at the heart of the story: reconciling Maedhros and how one felt for him with what he did, and how one feels about that. It is irresolvable, at least for Fingon, at least at the moment I've ended it at for now.

I don't know if this is quite what you wanted, @warrioreowynofrohan, especially because like I said, I wrote this story in a frantic fog, but I hope this in some way suffices!

#not!fic

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pl-panda · 4 years ago

Text

To Marry a Vigilante: Part 2

MASTERLIST || First || Previous || Next

Disclaimer: Masterlist

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The day before Christmas… was a nightmare. Marinette had to admit that Damian was right. Her parents volunteered to help Alfred in the kitchen. The butler tried to argue, but his fighting with Sabine was an unstoppable force meeting an unmovable object. In the end, they got a compromise that the baker couple would help that day, but would be banned from the kitchen for the rest of Christmas.

The boys meanwhile were ordered to decorate the house and prepare the formal dining room. And it was a mess. First, Dick and Jason spent almost an hour arguing over the decorations, only to then see that Mari and Damian already decorated the room with the merchandise Damian somehow got imported from Paris without their knowledge. Jason tried to dismantle the decorations that were put up without a warning, but it ended with Damian chasing him with a sword… again. It didn’t help that Todd kept riling the youngest Wayne up. Technically second-youngest since he was older than Marinette by a few months, but that’s beyond the point.

Then, when Jason ended up with a slight limp after he crashed into a cupboard when trying to cut the corner and Damian’s bloodthirst got satisfied, it was time for decorating the Christmas tree. When Mari saw the tree, she almost toppled over. It was put in the hall before the stairway to the second floor. It was tall enough to almost reach the ceiling.

“That’s your tree?”

“In my defense, I tried to order a smaller one. It’s not my fault they gave size in the metric system.” Tim argued.

“If you cut on coffee and instead got some sleep once in a while, maybe you would’ve noticed.” Jason snickered.

Dick took the opportunity to climb upstairs and start decoration, only to be caught by Steph, who proceeded to decorate on the other side. Seeing the two already started, the three other boys also raced to start putting decorations. It was a mess, but somehow Marinette found it endearing. It felt… homey. Then she grabbed some decorations and joined Damian. Then she teamed up with Steph to make a large bat symbol on one side out of gold tinsel garland. Then she made a red ‘R’ inside it.

And this time nobody got hurt.

After that, Dick and Jason left for their respective homes. Tim and Steph left shortly after, leaving Damian and Mari alone with the adults. Technically, Cass also stayed at the manor, but unless she wanted to be seen, only Alfred (and now Sabine) could find her.

The teens decided to stay in the Manor. Marinette was dead set on making everyone their gifts by hand. She brought several unfinished designs that could be adjusted. Damian was kind enough to collect the measurements for each family member from Alfred.

And so Mari then spent all evening in her room, where she worked on adjusting and finishing everything. She was beyond grateful that her room was already equipped with a sewing machine and anything else she would need to make the gifts. The whole time Damian sat nearby to offer some advice. Mostly, he just enjoyed watching her work on the designs.

“Do you think putting a Red Robin logo on this tie would be too much?” She asked, showing a red tie with black accents. It had a meticulous black stitch going through the narrow part. It spelled MDC over and over.

“Maybe put it inside, so that it only shows when he put it upside-down,” Damian answered.

“But then nobody will see it.”

“There is a bigger chance someone sees it than if it’s on the front.” The boy deadpanned.

“Don’t be mean.” She scolded him, but her pearly laughter kinda ruined it. She put the tie away and reached for the sunglasses she was working on. They used to be black, but she tinted the glass deep-red and then added details at the side. Now, there was a small silver bullet-shaped decoration where they would fold. She had a case ready where she stitched the shape of a red handgun at the top of black leather.

“And this?”

“Habibti. They will definitely love your gifts.” He gave her a soft smile. “If not, I will introduce them to my sword” He muttered, hoping she would not hear it.

“Damian!” She shouted. His hopes went in flames. “No murdering people!”

“Can I at least maim?” He asked with a hopeful voice.

“Hm… only if you ask me before.” She giggled at his expression.

“I think it is high time I retreat to my bedroom. It’s almost midnight, Angel. Go to sleep.” He stood up and walked outside, only to be met with Sabine’s judging eyes. She watched him carefully before smiling slightly.

“Good. You can go. I will tuck her in.”

After she passed him, Damian let out a breath he didn’t know he held. That woman was scary.

--------

The next morning was still hectic, but no longer so chaotic. Mari spent half of it locked in her room giving the designs final touches. She did not let Damian or her parents in since she focused on their gifts and didn’t want to spoil the surprise. Alfred was the only one who got a peek inside and he didn’t even fear Sabine, so the chances he would tell anything to anyone were less than Joker genuinely apologizing to everyone he ever hurt.

Finally, around midday, Marinette finally revealed herself. The room was a mess of cut fabric, loose papers, and Kwami knows what else. There was also a bowl of water in the corner.

“That was a race.” She commented before grabbing Damian’s hand and dragging him into the living room to share a tea and cookies. All adults cooed.

“So, Habibti. Care to reveal what you made for me?” The boy asked hopefully once they were both sitting side-by-side on the two-people couch. She held a cup of steaming tea while Damian put his in a small cup holder while he was eating a cookie.

“Nope.” She grinned. “But I can tell you that you will like it.”

“From you? I will like any gift.” He answered smoothly.

“Stop it!” She squealed, blushing heavily. “You can’t say things like that out of the blue.”

“Why?” He asked, giving her a barely noticeable smile.

“I can’t go around blushing all the time!”

“But you look so cute with red cheeks.”

“You don’t look so bad either, Mi Amor,” she retorted. She wanted to get some reaction from him, but he only smiled slightly more.

They rested, cuddled together for a bit, enjoying the silence that surrounded them. It was interrupted when suddenly Cass dropped out of the blue. Or from the ceiling, but they would’ve sworn she was not there before.

“You… Cousin?” The girl asked.

“Oh! You must be Cassandra!” Mari recognized her. Cass was maybe her height. She was dressed in workout clothes. “Nice to meet you. I’m Marinette.”

“Marinette,” Cass repeated. “Call me Cass. Everyone does.”

“Um… Sure. You can call me Mari if you like?” Both Damian and Cass grinned at that, much to the french girl’s confusion. “Did I miss some joke?”

“No, Angel. It’s just that Grayson’s daughter is named Mar’i” Damian looked at his beloved’s expression.

“Oh. Oh…” The realization dawned on her. “Well, then what about… Nettie?”

“Nettie… Like it.” Cass responded.

“Cass doesn’t speak much.” The boy took it upon himself to explain. “She first learned to communicate through body gestures.”

“Maman told me. I can’t believe aunt Sandra left you with that monster. Maman told her some things though, so maybe next time you two meet she will apologize.”

“Mother… Apologize… Me?” The girl asked in disbelief.

“Maman is a very persuasive person.”

Cass didn’t speak about that, but a memory of the hug two of them shared yesterday surfaced at the top of her thoughts.

“Anyway, you wanted to get to know me? Well… um… I’m fifteen, soon to be sixteen. I love fashion and design and I make almost all of my clothes. I also practice some martial arts in my free time. I love sketching outdoors. There is this small park next to my parent’s bakery that I love to visit. In the past, I adored the works of Gabriel brand, but after the owner turned out to be a major bastard I kinda decided to just stick to my own stuff. What else… I prefer tea to coffee unless I need to pull an all-nighter, my favorite sweets are macarons and my uncle named his soup after me when he won the cooking competition.”

“Soup… good?” Cass decided to ask.

“Oh! It’s the best. Actually, maybe we could ask uncle Wang to cook for our wedding, Dami! Can we? He would be invited anyway but then people would get to…”

“Of course, Habibti.” Damian interrupted her.

“Wedding?” Cass had more questions.

“Oh… Um… You didn’t know?” Marinette doubled back. “Of course you didn’t know. Damian tried to keep it down and I ruined it. Please don’t tell anyone. I’m so sorry Dami! I forgot! I was just so…”

Damian, following the usual routine when Mari started to panic, pulled her to his chest, and hugged her. He whispered something low enough for Cassandra not to hear. She did notice the couple’s body language. Devotion and love.

When Marinette finally calmed, Damian let her out of his embrace. “Thanks. I still keep some of my… less desirable habits.”

“It’s no problem. At least I have an excuse to cuddle with you without my brothers’ merciless teasing.”

“Wedding.” Cass urged them. Her curiosity was peaking.

“Ah! Right. So basically Talia kidnapped me and decided I would marry her son and then we both woke up tied before the altar and she threatened to kill us and our families if we didn’t go through with it. And I was so scared back then. And T… And I had no way to do anything else.”

Cass saw her tense and stopped herself. There was more to it, but she didn’t drill. She would learn later. Or just get it out of Tim. He knew everything.

“Well, now we’re stuck and there is this weird spell on us that makes it impossible to cheat on one another. At least I assume it works both ways since Damian didn’t test it.” There was no doubt in her voice and her body showed complete trust. Cass was actually impressed.

“The bitch that my mother is,” Marinette wanted to scold Damian on the language he used, but then again, he spoke about Talia so he wasn’t lying, “used some old curse on us, probably from the time my grandfather was still young. We are tied together. But we made it work.”

“Magic… bad.” Cass scoffed.

“No!” Mari quickly protested. “I mean not all magic is bad. It all depends on who uses it! Besides, everything turned out better than I could’ve ever hoped.”

“Good. I… Like you.” Her cousin smiled. “Hug?” She asked.

“Sure.” Marinette nodded and before she knew it Cass tackled her into the couch, almost breaking her bones.

“Oooh!” a new voice cooed. Damian immediately whirled around with a small dagger that he pulled from wherever he kept it. Selina Kyle was standing there, watching everything.

“Tt. I don’t like being spied upon.” Damian scowled.

“Relax, lover-boy. I just came and I was curious where everyone went and who were the new people.”

“Oh. That’s probably my parents. Alfred kicked them out of the kitchen today. They will probably be relaxing in the garden since they rarely have a chance to just relax. They run a bakery in Paris.” Mari smiled at the newcomer.

“Really now? And you’re the unlucky girl that got stuck with the short, dark, and brooding?”

“Tt. I’m not short.”

“I don’t hear you arguing about the dark and brooding part.” Selina teased.

“Angel, meet my father’s fiancée, Selina Kyle. She is also Catwoman.”

“Oh. She is in on the family business then?”

“Tt. Yes. I don’t keep things hidden from my wife.” Damian kept scowling.

“Aren’t you a dutiful husband?”

“I’m not afraid to defend my wife’s honor with a sword, thief.” The boy threatened. Selina measured him for a moment.

“Good.” She turned to Marinette. “He will do. If he is causing you trouble, you can crash at my place.” She gave her a small square paper with an address before leaving.

“Um… What was that?”

“Tt. That was Selina for you.” Damian was still in a bad mood until Marinette snuggled closer to him.

------------

Around five, the guests started arriving. It was unanimously decided that the youngest couple would be the ones to greet their guests. And looking at the size of the table, there would be more guests than Mari assumed. Damian was now dressed in a flawless black suit with a matching bowtie and a white shirt. Mari chose to wear the red dress that she knew left Damian speechless every time he saw her. Her hair was let go and formed waves cascading down her back.

Jason was first. He came on his bike alone. While everyone dressed in something elegant, he opted for an oil-stained t-shirt and brown leather jacket, complete with black cargo pants and heavy boots. Marinette had to admit he gave a bad-boy vibe that told her to stay away. But she’s seen this with Ivan and she was pretty sure Jason was, in fact, a big softie once one got to know him.

Next to arrive were Tim and Stephanie. She wore a black and purple knee-length dress. It had no sleeves and hugged her form tightly. The design was several large squares of material sewn together so no two colors were the same. It was an interesting design. Tim wore a blue suit with black accents and a white shirt. They looked like a nice couple. And the boy looked almost awake, which was a success. Also, they were dragging a giant bag of gifts.

Shortly after, a small van pulled close and five people exited. There was an older couple, a joyful boy around their age jumping around them, and two people Marinette recognized instantly. You couldn’t hang around Alya and not recognize Clark Kent and Lois Lane-Kent.

“Tt. Jon.” Damian greeted the boy.

“Sup Dames? Hello fair lady.” He greeted them, happiness almost oozing from him. Jon went as far as kissing her hand.

“Could you stop with the flowers and rainbows?” Wayne growled.

“But it’s Christmas!”

“Tt. I know.” Damian was angry. Seeing it, his beloved grabbed his hand and squeezed it lightly.

“Hello Mr. Kent, Mrs. Lane-Kent.” Marinette greeted the adults, hoping to diffuse the situation before Damian gets too riled up.

“You must be Marinette. I remember Jon mentioning you when we talked about his trip to Paris.” Clark smiled. He then nodded toward the older couple. “These are my parents, Johnathan and Martha Kent.”

“It’s nice to meet ya, girl.” The man nodded toward her.

“Hi. I’m Marinette.” She gave them a smile. Just as the Kents went inside, another car pulled in.

This time, it was Dick with his wife, Kor’i, and daughter Mar’i. They all got out of the car.

“I still don’t understand why you insist on driving this thing. I could’ve flown us here twice as fast.” The woman had distinctively orange skin and her eyes were entirely green. Marinette instantly recognized her as Starfire. She wore a white shirt with bell-like sleeves that reached to her elbows and blue jeans that ended just above her ankles. Dick had a dark-gray shirt and jeans. She would classify their outfits as smart casual.

“Yeah, daddy! I can fly too!” To prove her point, the little girl rose a bit into the air. She was dressed in an oversized purple jumper that reached to the ground. She also wore white trainers. Her skin was less orange than her mother’s but the color was easily visible. And her eyes were also entirely green without any white. And she was flying. Her hair was black though, as opposed to her mother’s fiery red.

“Sweety. Come here.” Kor’i reached up and grabbed the floating daughter. The girl immediately nuzzled into her and smiled victoriously. She got exactly what she wanted. Marinette couldn’t help but giggle.

“Tt. I still find her annoying.” Damian scowled.

“I don’t know, she looks cute to me. And you already admitted that you love cute things.” To make things worse for her love, Marinette gave him puppy eyes and a bright smile. He tried to scowl, but couldn’t muster enough strength to oppose his wife.

Dick almost tripped over the car when he started laughing.

Since they were the last to arrive, Marinette and Damian returned inside to join everyone for festivities.

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Somewhere else, in a much darker place, a lone figure stood in an empty room. His clothes were dirty and torn. The light entered only through a small window.

“So you see? It was all a set-up!” He shouted.

From the shadows, another figure joined.

“But of course, sweetie. Of course.” They said in a patronizing tone. “I will of course help you.”

“You understand me. And what about… Marinette?”

“I don’t understand your obsession with her, but I can share.”

“Whatever. She will be mine!”

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Masterlist // Next

#damienette #Damian Wayne #Damian al Ghul #marinette dupain cheng #marinette x damian #maribat #maridami #arranged marriage AU #guardian!marinette #batman #maribat au #evil!adrien

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fiddlepickdouglas · 3 years ago

Text

Viva Las Vegas, Pt. 17 - With Him

Summary: Sunset Curve Alive AU, Willex, how will it go in the end?, 4.8k

@trevor-wilson-covington is the bestie who makes these lovely edits, we stan supportive friends

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16

One finger tapped on the strap of his fanny pack as Alex listened for the right bus stop to be called. If all those months since he’d seen Willie had been long, this past week had been longer. Especially since the news about Caleb had hit hard and every minute in the studio now felt like the band was precariously teetering on the edge of a cliff. He was going to try not to let any of that get in his way today, though. He’d made it to Saturday and Willie was only a few streets away, and he didn’t care what happened for the rest of the day - it was going to be good.

Finally he heard the next stop announced for where he needed to get off and he pulled the cord that told the driver to make a stop. Stepping onto the sidewalk, his heart bounced around in its chamber like the Tazmanian devil from Looney Tunes. He was glad that Willie lived in the basement of the apartment building he occupied because it would’ve been the worst if Alex forgot which room he was in and spent hours frantically knocking doors.

It was hard to tell if he was moving quickly or if his mind was just racing, but in either case, he eventually found himself at the door. For a second, he simply took a deep breath and ran his hand through his hair, trying to get a visual of Willie immediately pouncing on him the moment the door opened out of his head. It wouldn’t exactly be unwelcome, but Alex was realizing how desperate he was to be with him and was amazed at how it affected his imagination.

Lifting a hand, he made sure he knocked loudly. Soon after, the door opened, and Alex was greeted with shining brown eyes, silky, gorgeous brown hair styled into two braids, and a smile he could make home in. Willie.

“Hey, come on in!” Willie was saying, standing to the side and gesturing for him to enter. Crossing the threshold, Alex gazed at the humble space, taking in the details with heightened interest. “This is mi casa!” He began showing Alex around. “We’ve got the main living space, very cozy. The kitchen to your left, but no dining room so it’s all criss-cross applesauce on the floor - makes it extra chill. Bathroom through the back. The sink and shower handles will sometimes shock you, so don’t mind all the electrical tape.”

It was surprisingly accommodating for a dingy basement, and Willie had already made little additions that spoke volumes about him without words. A king size mattress sat in the corner of the ‘main living space’ on the floor with a small bookshelf beside it. The bookshelf only had a handful of cassette tapes and a Walkman lying on top, with a few sketchbooks on the middle shelf. Next to that, the dresser had a small collection of vintage soda bottles and a camera sitting on its surface. Glow-in-the-dark star stickers covered the ceiling above the bed. Even a couple cat toys could be spotted on the floor. Immediately, Alex approached the area where Willie’s desk sat surrounded by sketches hung on the wall.

“So these are your drawings?” he asked, although the answer was obvious. They were so good. Willie followed him over, the squinty smile still in his eyes.

“Yeah. Some are new. Most of them are attempts to recover what Caleb tore up.”

Alex looked at Willie apologetically, even though the loss of Willie’s previous work wasn’t his fault. Without warning, a pressure on his leg and the sound of loud purring announced Sheldon’s presence. The cat looked up at him and blinked slowly, already begging for attention. Heart melting, Alex bent down to pet him.

“Hey, Sheldon,” he said. “I forgot how cute you were!” He smiled as Sheldon rubbed his head against his hand with more affection that he’d likely seen from any other creature on the planet. Well...maybe there was one other that matched it. Alex had heard about how pets could take on the temperament of their owners, and suspected this was a clear example. “He’s gotten so big since I last saw him.”

“Yeah, he’s supposed to be almost two years old, if Escobar guessed his age right.”

Standing again as Sheldon pattered off, Alex returned his attention to the wall of art, looking at the pieces more closely.

“So which one is your dad?” he mused.

Willie untacked one of them and held it out for Alex to examine. “This one.”

Holding the edges carefully, Alex gazed in amazement at the detail Willie had caught. The edges were certainly less defined, but the scene inside the truck was so easy to visualize that Alex could almost feel the leather of the seats and the windchill from the window. He wasn’t sure what began burning in his chest as he peered down at the image, but it was profound and complex.

“I’ve thought about seeing if I could find him, but I think with my memory it’s kind of impossible,” Willie told him.

“He looks so happy here. I don’t get why you would end up as a foster kid.”

“Yeah, I wondered that too. Maybe he didn’t have a choice?”

Alex looked at Willie’s face, and he could tell half of him was lost in a world of what-ifs and other questions. He was always trying to seem so easy-going, and to an extent he truly was, but he couldn’t hide the constant sense of upheaval that rested on his shoulders. At least, Alex was picking up on it more, now that he knew the things he did. He may have been biased, but he couldn’t imagine anyone not fighting their hardest to keep Willie.

Suddenly his gaze was drawn to the unfinished work on the desk, and recognized it as a portrait of himself.

“Wow.” The word fell out of his mouth.

“Oh,” Willie started with a hint of shyness. “Obviously that one isn’t done, so…” He reached to put it away.

“You got that far off of memory, though,” Alex said. “I’m impressed. And you make me look good.” He offered an encouraging smile. “Maybe some time today I could be a model for you?”

Willie cocked his eyebrow, surprise and playfulness making an adorable combination on his face. It made Alex’s smile grow wider.

“Well, we’ve got a whole day ahead,” Willie said. “Your wish is my command.”

“Okay,” Alex said, leaning onto his back foot casually, one side of his lip curling with intrigue. “Well, I wanna see where you go around here. You seem to have a knack for finding the best spots. We can play it by ear.”

“What’s that one song with the one phrase?” Willie asked. “‘Any way the wind blows?’” He sang shyly, clearly playing down what Alex could tell was a nice voice.

“Bohemian Rhapsody,” Alex smiled. Willie’s job at the record store was at least giving him a good taste in music. “Don’t worry, you’ll know everything about the classics once you hang out with me enough.”

An emotion flashed in Willie’s eyes and after a moment Alex realized what those words were actually saying. He held his gaze, hoping he could communicate his intentions clearly, unlike the last time they’d seen each other. Willie swallowed, and his expression remained excited as he loaded his backpack and led them out the door, board in hand. Alex followed him, deciding not to question which direction they were going.

First, they made a stop to buy a bunch of apples. In classic Willie fashion, he went to a bodega, and this time he communicated with the cashier in rough Spanish. Alex knew he was showing off, and smirked at the notion that Willie enjoyed impressing him.

“So what do we need these for?” Alex wondered as they left the bodega. “Besides a ton of apples for lunch.”

Willie’s secretive smile made Alex raise an eyebrow.

“It’s a surprise.”

A little while later, they stood before the most unlikely place in all of Los Angeles: a horse barn. Staring at the building as if it loomed fifty feet above him, hands in his pockets, Alex gulped and a lump of dread landed in the pit of his stomach.

“Oh no,” he muttered apprehensively.

“Oh yeah,” Willie said, turning to him with a thrilled grin on his face.

Alex wasn’t exactly afraid of horses...he just had no idea what to do around them and therefore was not sure what to expect from them. Also, he would’ve worn different pants if he’d known this was on the agenda.

“I promise, they’ve got some really chill horses,” Willie tried to ease his nerves. “I’ve gone on this trail enough times. Don’t worry, you’ll know everything about riding once you hang out with me enough.” He winked as he threw back Alex’s line with a sly smile.

Unable to argue, Alex shook his head and used the hand in his pocket to gesture forward, signaling to Willie he was up to the challenge. He watched him practically skip inside and he had to jog to keep up after him. They signed in and then were led to two stalls.

Willie immediately gravitated toward a tall golden-colored mustang stallion with a dark mane, apparently both already familiar and happy to see each other. Alex watched him gently greet and essentially coo at it while comfortably stroking its nose and then feeding it an apple. He longed to have that sort of talent with other creatures, and simultaneously realized that he yearned to receive that same tenderness.

Once the horses were tacked up and one of the instructors had given Alex some brief pointers on how to ride, he found himself following Willie on a trail while mounted on a painted mare. The only philosophy he could adopt out here was to be gentle and not get lost.

“Not so bad, your majesty,” Willie called over to him.

An extremely nervous laugh elicited from Alex’s throat involuntarily, only making Willie laugh in return. Alex rode a little closer so they were nearly side by side on the trail.

“I’ve been here once,” he said. “I think I was about twelve? My mom thought that it would make me change my mind about taking ballet classes. We rode for maybe fifteen minutes before I got so nervous we had to turn back around and go home. Never made it through the full trail.”

“Man, that sucks,” Willie commented. “I didn’t know you did ballet.”

“Yeah, that and a few other types of dance. I was forced to quit a little couple years ago. That’s about when we got serious as a band, so I just found something else to bother my parents with.”

He could see the gears click into place as Willie came to a few conclusions about his parents and gave an emphatic nod.

“Well, I’ve always wanted to learn how to dance. That was the one thing Caleb had promised to teach me. He’s the worst, but he definitely knows how to dance.”

Suddenly, Alex remembered watching Caleb’s movements when he’d served him and the boys at the diner. Of course he could dance; everything had been fluid and smooth. All he could say to that thought was “huh,” at first. Then after a few moments: “I’ll have to teach you one of these days then.”

Willie’s eyes crinkled at the corners, happy at the prospect.

“Yeah, okay! Add that to our to-do list.”

Alex chuckled. They had a to-do list now. He bit his lip as he continued following Willie along the trail. It was a gorgeous day and in this area the sky was so clear compared to further inside the city. Greatly contrasting his experience from years ago, Alex felt himself become much more at ease and felt confident enough to take greater control of his horse. Willie pulled out his camera and snapped a few scenic photos every once in a while.

Eventually, they stopped at an outlook and Alex had to take in an awed breath. The view was clear for miles all around them. Green hills spanned the landscape in every direction with patches of city speckled in between. Even the ocean line was visible from there. How did Willie know how to find these?

“Hey, Alex!” Willie called, lifting his camera. “Say cheese!”

Turning to face him, Alex flashed a genuine smile as Willie captured him atop his horse against the scenery. He was usually pretty camera shy, but this time he really didn’t mind. Keeping memories like this actually felt important to him, unlike the many times he’d been forced to pose with his family at functions he’d also been made to attend. Those occasions had always felt so insincere - less about enjoying the memory and more about trying to prove their status as the polished, functional family everyone aspired to.

He saw Willie dismount for a moment and stretch his legs. Gripping the reins and looking around in uncertainty, Alex realized he’d gotten on before ensuring he could properly get off. Thankfully, Willie noticed and came up to him, hands raised.

“Okay, so just...carefully lift your foot out of the stirrup and swing your leg over toward me,” he instructed. Sucking in a breath hesitantly, Alex did as he said. “Alright, then...here.” Willie offered a hand for Alex to grab so he could slide off with ease. Landing on the ground, he leaned into Willie to gain his balance, and felt a congratulatory pat on his back. It took more restraint than Alex anticipated to not simply wrap his arms around him and sit like that for an indefinite amount of time. They had all day ahead of them; he didn’t need the sudden fear of losing him to derail things out of nowhere.

“Sorry if I look like a wimp about all this,” he said, letting go of his hand.

“Nah, don’t sweat it,” Willie assured him, shaking his head. “This is...this is new.”

His eyes seemed to take Alex in from head to toe and Alex could’ve sworn the charge in the air between them would buzz if they got closer, spark if they made contact. It was almost like that moment in front of Willie’s door the week before. For a few seconds they remained locked in that trance before Willie took hold of the horse’s reins and handed them to Alex.

“Technically this trail could take hours, but I’m guessing this isn’t all you’re interested in today,” he said. “What do you say we stretch our legs a bit and then ride back?”

Looking from the reins in his hand back to Willie, Alex nodded.

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

Opening his backpack, Willie handed him an apple and then bit down into one of his own. Taking a bite, it was one of the most refreshing apples Alex ever eaten. They walked the horses a little ways and tried to get good pictures of the different views around them. Alex asked to try his hand with the camera and get a few good shots of Willie. He didn’t consider himself a photographer, but he doubted when the photos got developed that they would turn out badly. The way Willie smiled made him seem like he was made of sunlight from the inside out.

As they rode back to the barn, Alex kept replaying those moments where he’d refrained from making a move over in his head. This had been strike two. If he continued on like this, he was going to hate himself for the rest of eternity, he was pretty sure. Was it some weird kind of side effect of the whole ‘Willie come back to life’ thing? Watching him affectionately say goodbye to his horse once they were ready to leave, Alex looked at his own horse and raised a tentative hand up to her nose.

The mare gazed back, patience gleaming in her eyes. He finally set his hand down on her nose and gently rubbed it up and down, smiling a little to himself. This wasn’t so bad. He could do this - it was just a matter of getting through all the barriers he made for himself in his head. Moving his hands from the horse’s nose, he stroked along her neck, and caught Willie smiling at him from the corner of his eye.

“You wanna try feeding her an apple?” he asked.

Thinking for a few seconds, Alex nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

Pulling one out of his backpack, Willie placed it in Alex’s palm.

“Alright, so hold it out in front of you like this…” He positioned Alex to offer the apple. “And keep your palm flat.”

Alex uncurled his fingers and after sniffing at it a little the mare ate it out of his hand. He could ignore the sensation of her mouth touching him because Willie still had his arm around his shoulder to hold him steady. They looked at each other, and Alex wished he could get a proper shot at Willie’s face at that angle with the camera.

“Looks like you’re gonna get the hang of this,” Willie commended.

Alex looked back up at the horse, a little bit of pride swelling in his chest. “Yeah, I think I will.”

Later, they went to the beach at Alex’s suggestion. He was perched on the surface of a picnic table, posed as if he were looking off into the distance. Willie sketched with great concentration, having taken his hair out of his braids so he could run his hand through it. The late afternoon sun brought out all the best color contrasts in their surroundings - one of the things Alex loved about coming to the beach at this time of day.

“So I have a question,” Alex started, trying not to move too much. His tendency to talk with his hands kept getting him in trouble.

“Shoot,” Willie prompted him, not looking up.

“Did Caleb let you go to school or anything? Or did he provide any sort of education at all?”

Squinting, Willie looked thoughtful for a moment.

“So, after the accident, he told me that I’d had to be taken out of school,” he began, continuing to sketch. “Which makes sense, I guess, if I forgot everything. I remember some basic things, like math wasn’t hard to pick up again. Once I was recovered enough to go places, he just let me go to the public library and find whatever I wanted to read. But he always insisted on not having reminders of who I was before and said it was supposed to be helping me ‘become my own person’. He got rid of things like my school yearbooks and old journals and things. I didn’t think anything of it at first because he’d just called it useless clutter and I believed him. As soon as he decided I was fit enough to work in the diner and help out at the hotel, he told me to forget about school. Anything else I picked up was from watching TV, or listening to the radio, or something. Sometimes I’ll just remember I know something after hearing about it and it’s like it was just always there.”

Listening intently, Alex marveled at the whole thing. The fact that Caleb was not only negligent, but actively discouraging Willie from knowing anything, made him wish he could take down the man’s whole career. However, he figured Willie probably had a lot of his intelligence still untapped. If he’d been able to get away from Caleb and somehow create a life for himself in the span of a few months, Alex wondered what else he was capable of.

“What’s something you remember?” he wondered.

“I guess I used to be really obsessed with space. Just planets and stars and all that. I can spout off facts about Jupiter’s moons and stuff like that. Did you know that the moon Europa has a saltwater ocean under a layer of ice?”

Alex shook his head. “No, I didn’t. That sounds really cool though.” He thought of the stickers on Willie’s ceiling and smirked a little before reassuming his pose.

“I sort of wish I could remember being in school,” Willie was saying. “Everyone else seems to just share all of those memories and understand each other that way.”

Alex saw his brow furrow, and could tell he felt left out. He pondered on his own experience growing up in public school. There was almost no other way he would’ve met Luke, Bobby and Reggie if they hadn’t all attended the same schools. While he could easily critique and complain about it to no end, he knew it was a privilege.

“School is definitely hard,” he told Willie. “But I did get my friends out of it, and I guess that makes up for it. If it’s any consolation, you could just complain about Caleb like he was your horrible English teacher who thought he knew more about the subject of your essay, but you cited all of your sources and they proved him completely wrong.”

Willie laughed. “Why? Did that happen to you?”

Alex bobbed his head from side to side and feigned looking thoughtful . “Maybe.”

“I kind of like reducing him to a loser English teacher. He just sounds petty and sad.”

“That’s high school,” Alex confirmed.

Leaning back from his work for a minute to take it all in, Willie brushed a hand through his hair.

“Here, you wanna take a look at it?” he said. Alex hopped off the table and went to stand over Willie’s shoulder at the drawing and was immediately rendered speechless. The detail was impeccable, but Alex was more impressed by the feeling he got looking at it. Willie had managed to make him appear...handsome, and pensive, and fascinating, like anyone else could look at him and create a million unique ideas of who he was. However, it wasn’t anyone else looking at him, it was Willie, and what he’d captured felt like the truth. Alex couldn’t really explain what that meant, only that it was an honest representation.

“Okay, I know I said the one back at your place made me look good, but this is...this is unreal.”

He could see Willie trying to be modest, but the corners of his lips couldn’t stay down. Funny enough, he appeared even more unable to find words, and simply beamed as he looked back and forth between his sketch and Alex’s face.

A sudden impulse came over Alex, and he kicked off his shoes and pulled his shirt over his head, dropping it on top of Willie’s skateboard and backpack. Willie sat looking flustered for a moment.

“Wanna swim?” Alex nodded toward the waves, bidding Willie to follow. He didn’t wait for him to catch up as he immediately began running into the waves up to his knees. Alex knew his pants would be even more ruined the second he hit the salty water, but he didn’t care. Now the sun was beginning to set and the chill of the waves was refreshing, and he couldn’t express what he felt just then in any other way.

Willie tackled him from behind, climbing onto his back and nearly knocking him over into the shallow tide. Clambering back to his feet, Alex splashed water at him. They began a playful water fight back and forth, until they were both drenched. Eventually, Alex tried to catch hold of both Willie’s hands in an attempt to prevent being splashed anymore. He had the advantage of longer arms, but before he could get a tight hold of the second arm Willie’s leg swept under his and they both fell just as a large wave washed over them.

As the water pulled back, they sat in the sand in a tangle, laughing. All Alex could think of was how pretty Willie was in this light, hair swept back off his face with tendrils resting over his shoulders, sun gleaming in his eyes and constantly shining from the inside out. The laughter died between them and he caught a look in Willie’s eye that made him wonder if he appeared to him to be just as perfect in that moment.

This time his mind and body worked in sync as he lifted a hand and gently pulled Willie into a short, tender kiss. All the self-flagellation from earlier was washed away in one pure moment, and exhilaration moved into its place. It felt soft and sweet, just the way he expected it should. Just as quickly as he’d let go, Willie went in for another one, a little longer and a little deeper. One hand remained caressing his cheek while the other wrapped around his upper back. Alex couldn’t help smiling into another kiss; he was too happy to care about anything else. Hardly a week ago, this had been impossible.

As they let go, their hands came together and they looked into each other's eyes, both releasing a relieved chuckle. Willie looked at the rest of the beach behind them and Alex’s eyes followed, but at this hour there were too few people around and no one paying attention to them. Turning back to Alex, Willie sighed and shook his head with a smile.

“Wow,” was all he said, biting his lip.

“Yeah, I’d definitely do that again,” Alex smirked, until the joy in his chest converted it into a full grin.

A wave washed over them again and they both stood, shaking out their hair and trying to wipe off whatever sand they could. Heading back up the beach, Willie grabbed Alex’s hand so they could make their way up together. The sun was nearly set but Alex was sure it had just gone into his chest, bursting with excitement. Once they reached the picnic table, they gathered their things and Willie offered to carry Alex’s shirt inside his backpack on the way home. Thank goodness there were a few patches of grass so Alex could try to get a little more sand off his feet before putting his shoes back on.

“So how long have you been sitting on that?” Willie teased as he slung his backpack over his shoulder and they left the beach.

“Shut up,” Alex laughed, knowing he was being called out.

“No, really!” Willie bumped his side jokingly. “I want to know!”

Tilting his head back to try to remember, it didn’t take Alex long to give him the answer.

“Since day one,” he told him.

Surprise swept over Willie’s face as he looked at Alex.

“Seriously?” he asked.

Alex nodded.

“Me too.”

It was Alex’s turn to look surprised. Without saying another word, he took Willie’s hand in his and then kissed it before continuing back toward his place. The whole way they talked about all the different things they needed to do together in the future. Riding on more horse trails, dancing lessons, skating lessons, art modeling sessions, going to band practices and gigs, visiting the record store while Willie wasn’t working, etc. They both agreed that the entire day technically counted as a date, and all further plans would as well. Alex was reminded once again that he didn’t have a notebook to write things down in, and vowed to have one for the next time he saw Willie. Once they reached Willie’s door, they had already put their shirts back on and it was completely dark outside.

“Are you free any time next week?” Willie asked, still holding onto Alex’s hand.

“I wish I could say yes, but probably not. And as much as I’d love to give you my number, it’s really not the best idea.”

“Well, I could give you mine,” Willie said.

Alex shot him a confused look. Holding up a finger, Willie dug into his backpack until he found his sketchbook and tore off the corner of a page, quickly scribbling one down and handing it to Alex.

“It’s actually the one for work,” he said. “But if it’s what we can do for now, I’ll do it. Kyle won’t care.”

Looking at it for a minute and then stashing it in his now-dry pocket, Alex took hold of Willie’s chin and went to kiss him again. It was really hard to stop, but they soon broke apart.

“I gotta go,” Alex murmured.

Willie only nodded, squeezing his hand before letting go and slipping his own into his pocket.

“I’ll call you.”

“Okay.”

“Goodnight.”

Once again heading up the short set of stairs to the sidewalk, Alex rubbed his lips together, relishing in the taste of what he and Willie had just done. He couldn’t imagine anything sweeter.

#julie and the phantoms #jatp #fanfic #jatp fanfic #sunset curve #alive au #willex #willie #alex mercer #luke patterson #reggie peters #bobby wilson #julie molina #caleb covington #viva las vegas #with him #fiddlepickdouglas

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hauntedbythefanficsofmypast · 4 years ago

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Superchat September 10- Identity Reveal

Masterlist

Adrien and Marinette laid together on the floor. Marinette on her stomach sketching out a new design, while Adrien was on his back, head resting on the middle of Marinette’s back. Hawkmoth, or Lila Rossi, had been defeated only a week ago. It was the first time in eight years, that neither he nor she had to worry about an akuma. They both had Superboy and Robin to thank for it. The young men had joined them over half a year ago when the two had broken down and reached out for help from the League again. This time they weren’t told to stop with the pranks, no Robin was the one that answered their call. A few days later Robin and Superboy met them at the Eiffel tower, and discussed what they could do together. Although much of Chat and Superboy’s conversations consisted of just flirting. Adrien really had a thing for blue eyes, and while Marinette’s were like the night sky, Superboy’s were like a cloudless summer day. Over the six months they fought together bonds were quickly formed. Ladybug and Robin were the serious ones, and it left Adrien wondering if Robin was like Marinette. Serious as a hero, but a happy and cheerful person as a civilian. While Chat Noir and Superboy were the ones that while serious, could always find time to joke.

Recently though both Adrien and Marinette had been debating revealing their civilian IDs to the two of them. They both knew that no matter what, unless they told the two men that they’d never discover their identities. All thanks to the magic of the Miraculouses, the magic tricked everyone’s minds, even facial recognition. All to protect the Miraculous and the Kwami, that's why Adrien and Marinette never connected the dots even though they spent practically the entire day together.

“I think we should do it Princess.” He said softly sitting up to look down at her. “They don’t know that you’re the Guardian, just Ladybug, and I’m just Chat Noir. I think the least we can do is show that we trust them.” Marinette placed her pencil down sighing softly as she thought it over.

“Very well. I will tell Robin our identities and you can tell Superboy. Heaven knows that you two get along the best Kitten.” Adrien grinned as Plagg and Tikki floated over to them leaving the other Kwamis behind. The two shared a look before shaking their heads going to their chosen.

“So tonight?” Adrien asked with a grin still in place as he thought about patrol where they would most likely split up. “You know I love watching him fly besides me as I jump from building to building Bugaboo!” Marinette rolled her eyes, closing her sketchbook. “I can’t believe we are doing this.” She said blowing a stray hair out of her face trying to hide her smile. “Patrol is definitely going to be interesting.” She mumbled to Tikki, the Kwami just giving her an amused look.

“Well hello there Kitty-Kat!” Superboy said causing Chat to grin.

“Hello to you too Super-Hunk.” Chat said before starting off across the rooftops a destination in mind-Marinette’s balcony. That where he wanted it to happen, where he finally told Superboy his identity. Superboy laughed following after him surveying the streets together. “It’s been so peaceful since Rossi was unmasked. Ladybug and I don’t know what to do, after years of having to fight at a moments notice. It’s been relaxful knowing we don’t have some big enemy right now.” Superboy smiled brightly looking down at the blonde.

“I’m happy Robin and I were able to help you two. Also mad at whoever in the League ignored your first plea for help.” Chat leaned on the balcony taking a step back so that he’s out of view. Jon paused and looked down at him curiously tilting his head to the side. “What’s going on?” He questioned softly not recognizing the balcony. Which was understandable Ladybug and Chat made sure to avoid the Dupain-Cheng’s and Agreste’s at every moment with the other heroes.

“Ladybug and I are really thankful for your help. That’s why we came to this decision, I’m sure both you and Robin have realized that no matter what you do our Identities are hidden.” Jon nodded briefly voicing that it annoyed Robin greatly. “That's all thanks to our Kwami. Unless you tell you our Identities ourselves, you’ll never find them out. Which is why I convince Bugaboo that we should formally introduce ourselves. So! Plagg, Claws in!” Chat Noir transformed into Adrien Agreste, and Jon simply flew a few inches off the ground staring at him in shock.

“Oh my god, pretty model boy is Pari’s hot male version of Catwoman…” Adrien snorted laughing at Superboy who blushed slightly before grinning. “Well I can’t be out done! I’m Jon Kent, Robin is my best friend Damian Wayne!” Adrien smiled and waved for Jon to follow him as he descended into Marinette’s room, multiple mannequins spread out with finished and unfinished outfits on them.

“Ladybug is Marinette Dupain-Cheng, up and coming designer. Obviously I am her top male model. Although it's just until I finish University, plus I prefer modeling for her over my Father. Now, how does playing video games sound.”

“Absolutely perfect~!” Jon said excitedly flying over to the game station and grabbing a controller tossing the other to Adrien. “Bring your A game Kitty-Kat.”

“Oh I can Puuur-omise that Skyboy~”

@superchat-september2k20

#superchat #superchat september #adrien agreste #Jon Kent #mlb x dc #ml x dc #miraculoustalesofladybugandcatnoir #miraculous ladybug #miraculous fandom

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abbacchiosbelt · 4 years ago

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here, it’s 3 AM and i’m feeling wild so have a 10k word unfinished fic. key word is UNFINISHED, so don’t go in expecting a proofread work. some things will literally just say ‘ADD MORE’, lmao, but i thought i’d share this because i did put a lot of work into it, i just don’t think i’ll ever finish it...

it’s Goro Akechi / F!Reader. rated M for violence, some sexual content, and unhealthy relationships. i have not finished P5R and it wasn’t even out when i was playing this, so... yeah. with that in hand, enjoy i guess

Cancelled WIP [Goro Akechi x F! Reader ] 10k words, not proofed and not complete.

A familiar and delicious aroma filled the air as you entered Café Leblanc. Ren nodded at you from behind the counter as you walked in, hastily working to whip up several different blends of coffee. It was a lazy Sunday morning, and the ex-Phantom Thieves had decided to have a chill day, as Ryuji affectionately called it. An opportunity to spend time together was rare. Even if it just meant relaxing, being together would be worth it.

Ryuji and Futaba were already there. Futaba was tucked away in her usual corner, typing away at her laptop. She gave you a short wave from behind the screen. Evidently Ryuji had spent the night, still clad in a pair of pajamas while he flipped through a manga. He lifted his hand for a high-five as you took a seat next to him at the counter, which you gladly obliged. Morgana popped his head up from the seat next to you and stretched. You reached a hand over and gave him a chin scratch, eliciting a purr from him.

Between purrs, he spoke. “This still doesn’t mean I’m a cat.” “Yeah, yeah…” you replied, giving him one final pat. Morgana seemed satisfied and curled back up, keeping his head titled towards the door. “Morning.” Ren said, sliding a cup of coffee in front of you. You closed your eyes for a moment and leaned your head down, taking in the aroma. Perfection. You took a sip and grinned. “This is perfect. As always.” You took another sip of the perfectly iced coffee, which was sweet with a slight hint of bitterness. Just how you liked it. “You and Ryuji are the only ones who take it iced, so I’m glad I could perfect it.” Ren said. “Of course you could. Don’t tell anyone, but I think you make it better than Sojiro.” You winked in response and Akira chuckled. “Plus, you like us the best.” Ren laughed again before moving back down the counter to continue working on making coffee for the rest of your friends. Yusuke arrived next, a sketch book tucked neatly underneath his arm. He sat at the end of the counter and surveyed the scene for a moment.

“Ryuji,” he stated, opening up his sketchbook. “Don’t move. You don’t move either.” Yusuke said, pointing at you. You pointed at yourself, looking confused.

“I’d like to get a sketch of all of you today.” Yusuke replied, eyes already flitting back and forth between the sketchbook and the scene in front of him. “Hm, looks like I’ll have Morgana too. Ren will have to be later…” His voice trailed off and you could tell he was already in his own world. There was nothing else to do, so you intended to stay still for Yusuke’s sake.

A moment later Haru and Makoto arrived, arms linked together. They looked happy. They were the first of the Phantom Thieves to pair off, though you had noticed their glances and subtle hints of affection before they would admit to it. You had seen the same actions between Ryuji and Ren, though they were much more coy about it.

You were snapped out of your thoughts by Ann bursting through the door shortly after, arms stacked full of all sorts of sweet tweets.

“Can I get some help?” Ann cried out as a box of sweets wobbled on top of the stack. You jumped out of your seat to help, eliciting a loud groan from Yusuke and a snicker from Ren and Ryuji in the corner. You helped Ann set the sweets down and she gave you a quick hug before heading to the end of the counter to sit with Makoto and Haru.

“Sorry, Yusuke…” You mumbled, and he waved his hand in the air.

“No matter, I can start a new one. Would you care to sit there again?” He said, flipping to a new page. You nodded in response, ready to head back over before the door chimed again. You felt your heart jump. Akechi was invited today, of course, but he often showed up late. He looked nervous as he walked in the door. There was a noticeable silence before Ren finally broke it.

“Glad you’re here, Akechi.” Ren said, nodding towards him. The rest of the group greeted him as well, and you could see the tension drop from his shoulders. Akechi’s face lit up when he saw you, his stride quick as he made his way to greet you. Out of sight of the others, he lightly grazed your hand. You smiled at the affection.

“Sorry again Yusuke, but I think we’re going to sit in a booth for now.” You said sheepishly, feeling guilty about stopping his progress again.

“That’s quite all right. I think I’ve got a new idea anyways.” Yusuke replied, not taking his eyes of his sketchbook. You could tell he wasn’t angry, but you still felt bad. Akechi’s light touch on your hand again brought you out of your thought. You picked the booth closest to the stairs to sit together, Ren and Ryuji not far from the two of you. Ren gave you a curious look when he noticed Akechi was sitting on the same side of the booth as you, your face flushing. He had always known about the two of you. He was too observant sometimes.

You turned your focus away from Ren’s gaze and towards Akechi.

“I’m glad you decided to come today.” You said, smiling at him. He smiled in return, and you felt his hand lightly graze your thigh. Much to your surprise, he kept it there, fingers light against your leg. You were no stranger to affection from him, but he was usually reserved in the presence of others.

“I’m glad as well. I wanted to talk to you about something later…” Akechi said, his face turned towards you. It often seemed like he was in his own world. “Privately. But we can spend time here now, of course.”

“Sure.” You said, glancing over at Ren again. He had returned to making coffee for everyone, but you saw him give you a smirk. You stuck your tongue out at him and you saw him laugh as he turned away. You turned your attention back to Akechi, who hadn’t said anything more.

Akechi’s fingers began to tap out a rhythmic pattern on your leg under the table. Akechi was more nervous than usual today. You reached your hand beneath the table and wrapped your hand around his, giving it a light squeeze. He seemed to visibly relax next to you.

Sometimes you wished that he was more open with his affection. Before his change of heart, he had been possessive, desperate for your affection and attention. Akechi was careful now, treating you as if you were a precious treasure that could break any moment. Still, he made his affection known. A knowing glance. A whisper so quiet you could barely hear it. His fingers ghosting across your back. They were moments you cherished. Moments that you wanted, needed, more of. Stripped away from his charismatic persona was someone who was hesitant but wished so deeply to be loved. To be needed. The past few months with him had been wonderful, but things hadn’t always been easy.

[ It had been months since the Phantom Thieves had succeeded in their goal of saving the hearts of the public. To most, you were just a regular college student traveling the world. To those closest to you, you were an ex member of the Phantom Thieves. After stumbling your way (happily) into the group, your life had changed.

Goro Akechi was one of those changes. You had found something special with him – a bond so deep that you found it impossible to live without him. A bond so deep that even his betrayal against you and your friends hadn’t been able to split you apart. A bond so deep that he couldn’t swallow his betrayal, leaving him to break away from the bonds of his old life to return to you. And yet, the bond was frayed now, in desperate need of repair.

That’s how you ended up back at your apartment, Akechi standing nervously in your doorway after stopping you on your way back from class. It was a bit intimate, your bedroom and living room being the same area. It wasn’t new to you two – but it felt as if he was afraid to cross that boundary now. Your communication had been limited since the disbandment. You were afraid of being broken again, and he was terrified to lose you.

Akechi eventually came in and settled at one of the seats on your kitchen island. You noticed he was tapping his fingers on the counter.

“I have a question for you.” Akechi finally stated. You plopped down on one of the chairs in your living room, giving him a pointed look. “A question?” You repeated. He nodded before continuing.

“Do you trust me?” Akechi said, eye contact unbreaking. He was intense, as always.

You didn’t want to lie. It’s not that you didn’t want to trust him… but he had attempted to betray all of you before his heart got the better of him. It wasn’t a simple thing to forgive. He carried sins on his back that he would spend his whole life atoning for. And yet, if Haru had managed to forgive him for ruining her father’s life, the rest of the thieves knew they should try too. Your feelings for him made it even harder. You knew better than anyone not to give it away yet.

“No.”

He let out a sigh in response, pushing his hand through his hair. “I suspected as much.”

It wasn’t easy to reject him like this. The moments you had shared, still tender in your mind. The way he smiled at you. The way he looked at you with such adoration. The way he had broken your heart. The moments you had shared together bonded you for life. Akechi’s reveal, and subsequent change of heart made you wary. You weren’t sure how to begin trusting him again. And yet, you still loved him so deeply that you couldn’t imagine life without him.

“But that doesn’t mean I’m incapable.” You said. Akechi looked surprised. “Of trusting you, I mean.”

He didn’t say anything in response, choosing to look down at his hands instead. His fingers were still tapping.

“Let’s start over.” You got up as you spoke and crossed the short distance, stepping in front of him. You put your hand out. “Nice to meet you, Goro Akechi.”

He looked startled. You watched him hesitate, unsure of whether he should touch you. He paused for another moment before reaching his hand out and grasping yours. You had missed his touch, and by the look on his face, he had missed yours as well.

“Nice to meet you too.” He said quietly, letting go of your hand. You smiled.

It was a start. ]

“Goro,” You said softly, squeezing his hand again. “Are you okay?”

He paused before responding, his thumb brushing against your hand while he thought. “I am... I’m just troubled by my thoughts today.”

You squeezed his hand again. Akechi often had unwelcome thoughts, as you had quickly learned. He was conditioned to be that way – to automatically assume the worst. To assume that no one loved him or cared for him.

“I love you, Goro.” You said, leaning into him. He relaxed into your side and placed a chaste kiss on your head.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You asked.

“Ah, I’m okay. Besides,” Akechi said, giving you a small smile. “We’re here to enjoy ourselves, hm?”

“If you’re sure.” You replied, smiling back at him. It was hard to get him to open up. He was guarded – your questions always deflected easily with his signature smile. When you had learned the truth from the mouth of the cognitive Akechi, you understood why he hidden himself away. When the two of you had begun your relationship, officially this time, he finally let his walls down.

[ The first time you went on a date with Akechi, you made a trip to Odaiba Seaside Park. It had been raining on and off, so you figured it’d be a quiet day. With the events of the past still fresh, you wanted to keep things simple.

Akechi had always seemed different with you. His voice was soft and sweet, free of anxieties. When he was with you, he took off the mask. It was a subtle change, but one you’d begun to pick up on. Before, he had hidden so much from you, his secrets and pain pulling him away from life. Now was a chance for both of you to start over, to experience each other as a whole.

The day had started off pleasant – a peaceful walk down the boardwalk with plenty of conversation. You could tell he was feeling at ease, and you were too.

As the sun began to go down, you and Akechi had decided to grab a bite to eat. The only stand still open was serving ice cream, which delighted you. After grabbing your cones, you made your way back down the boardwalk, hoping to find somewhere to sit. Akechi had started another conversation while you walked.

“Are you enjoying it?” He said, smiling at you.

“It’s delicious!” You replied, grinning at him.

Before you could ask him the same, a loud voice interrupted you.

“Oi, aren’t you that shitty detective?”

You looked up to see a group of people, now leering in your and Akechi’s direction. You looked to Akechi, his face still unchanged, but hand gripping his ice cream cone harder.

“Yes. Can I help you with something?” Akechi replied, his voice sharp. It was a stark contrast from his voice with you.

“We’re just wondering why you think it’s okay to show your face around here.” One of the young women in the group said, stepping closer to the two of you. “You’re real fucked up!”

You reached out to grip Akechi’s hand, tugging it gently. He didn’t move.

One of the men piped up next. “Yeah, and now you’ve tricked this dumb little bitch too! She must be real stupid to be with you.”

“Don’t you dare talk about her.” Akechi said, breaking free of your hand and taking a step forward. His face was contorted, eyes angry.

The group laughed, and Akechi tensed. Another member of the group spoke up. “What are you gonna do, little boy detective? You don’t know how to do anything!”

You watched Akechi’s hand ball into a fist. You took another step towards him, and glared at the group.

“Just leave. Please.” You said, trying to be polite, though you wanted to scream at them. You had hoped it would make them go away faster.

One of the women laughed. “Oooh, can’t even defend himself, he’s got his little girlfriend to stand up for him instead!”

“Why don’t you come with us, baby? We’re a lot of fun!” One of the men said. You could feel Akechi shaking now, trying to control his anger. You didn’t know what to do.

“L-let’s just leave, Goro.” You said, tugging at his shirt. He hesitated before he turned back to you, his face still laced with anger. The group leered and chanted at you, but thankfully they didn’t follow as you walked further down the boardwalk.

Akechi was silent as you walked, and you weren’t sure quite what to say either. You found a more secluded area and led him to it, turning to face him.

“Goro? Are you okay?” You said.

Akechi’s hands were shaking. “You think I’m weak. A coward.”

He kept his eyes downcast, nor daring to look at you.

“That’s not true.”

“But I couldn’t even say anything.” He replied, still looking away from you. “I’ve ruined things. This whole day.”

“Goro, please. It’s okay. Talk to me.” You said. He was still looking away.

You took a step towards him and he looked up at you, his eyes watery. “I failed you. Again. And I’m going to keep failing you, and you’ll leave like all the rest, and I’ll be miserable just like I deserve.”

“Goro…” You said softly. “Can I hug you?”

He paused for a moment. In times like these, he was usually berated or screamed at, told that he was better off not being in this world. But you had changed things for him, responding to his bursts of emotion with kindness and care.

He nodded, and you stepped forward, wrapping your arms around him. He was taller than you, but you felt him crumple in your touch, his face buried in your neck. You felt him shaking in your touch, his hands gripping the back of your shirt tightly.

“Shh… It’s okay.” You said. You were glad no one seemed to be around. The intimacy of this moment was something to be cherished. “You have me, Goro. I’m not going anywhere.”

You heard a sob choke out of him, muffled by your shoulder. He was still shaking. You led him to bench behind you.

“Let’s sit down for a minute, okay?” You said quietly. He nodded, and the two of you made your way to the bench and sat down. Akechi had been hesitant to touch you, afraid to let himself feel comfort.

“We could… We could still be close to each other?” Akechi said, sounding very unsure. You weren’t even sure if he asked a question. “If that’s okay…”

“Of course.” You replied, scooting next to him. His body was still shaking. You felt him slowly put his arm out, hesitating to wrap it around you. You looked up to find him studying your face. His eyes were still puffy, but the tears had stopped. “Do you want to talk more?”

He wrapped his arm around you. His touch was still light, but it made you happy. “Not right now. It’s just… you just look very nice right now. You’re just calming to look at.”

It was your turn to blush. You laid your head on his shoulder and heard him take a sharp intake of breath.

“Ah, I’m sorry Goro, I did that without thinking.” You said, quickly lifting your head. He was still looking at you.

“No, please… It felt nice.” Akechi said. “It’s just… I’ve missed you. So much.”

You laid your head back down and felt him squeeze his arm around you tighter. He leaned his head down towards yours.

“I don’t want to lose you again.” He said, lips lightly brushing your forehead. “Let’s stay like this. Just for a bit.”

You stayed there for an hour, bodies comfortably pressed together, silent. You didn’t have to use words to know that the both of you were making up for lost time. ]

Since that day at the park, you had made an effort to always communicate with him. To really understand how he was feeling, and to help him as best as you could. You couldn’t fix a person. No, that wasn’t possible. But you were doing your best to help guide Akechi through life now, encouraging him to seek help and begin healing.

“Are you okay?” Akechi said, startling you. You had been lost in your own thoughts.

“Just thinking about you.” You replied, leaning over to whisper in his ear. “And how much I want to kiss you.”

Akechi’s cheeks turned pink. He still became flustered from praise and affection, having gone so long in his life without it. You delighted in making him happy.

You wanted to fluster him more, but an exclamation from Futaba interrupted you.

“It’s movie time!” She said, picking up her laptop triumphantly.

“Wait, we’re not watching it on that, are we?” Ann said. Futaba had a fancy gaming laptop, but the screen was too small for all ten of you.

“No, no, Ren has a fancy surprise upstairs for us.” Futaba replied. Ren just hummed in agreement before taking his apron off, having finished making drinks for the group. Futaba rushed ahead of you, Morgana trailing right behind her. The rest of the group followed suit, leaving you and Akechi to follow behind. Akechi reluctantly let go of your hand and got up, but extended it again to help you up.

“Why thank you, my prince.” You said, giggling and taking his hand.

“Anything for my princess.” He replied, stifling his own laugh. It was silly, but you two had found pleasure in calling each other pet names.

When you reached Ren’s room you were surprised to see the changes – twinkle lights adorned all the rafters, and what used to be an old CRT had been replaced by a large flat screen TV. There was some sort of blanket pile set up in the middle, most of your friends already sprawled out. A salt rock was letting off a gentle glow in the corner.

“Wow, Ren, this looks nice!” You said. Ren shrugged, but you saw him smile.

“He wanted to make it fancy n’ all for you guys. Both of us pitched in to buy this awesome TV!” Ryuji said, giving Ren a slap on the back. Ren just rolled his eyes, but you could tell he liked the attention. Both of them sat back down together, Ryuji’s arm slinging around Ren’s shoulder. Not so subtle anymore, you thought.

Akechi sat down near the back of the room, patting for you to sit down next to him. You had other ideas as you plopped yourself in-between his legs, resting your back on his chest. You heard him inhale sharply. He leaned his head towards you, lips brushing the top of your ear.

“In front of the others?” He said, resting his lips on your ear.

“Mm. It’s fine with me. Are you okay with it?” You said.

“Y-yes. Very much so.” He replied. You twisted around to look at him and gave him a soft smile.

“It makes me feel safe.” You said. He hummed in satisfaction, snaking his arms around your waist.

Futaba stood at the front of the room and clapped her hands. You were happy that she felt so confident now.

“Alright, it’s time for our feature film. For today’s pick, we’ll be watching ZAW 2!” Futaba said, hitting play on her laptop and scrambling to sit down.

Oh no. You weren’t exactly a fan of horror movies, especially ones with lots of blood and guts. You shifted uncomfortably, already nervous. Akechi gave you a gentle squeeze. He didn’t know about your dislike of horror movies, and now wasn’t the best time to let him know.

The beginning of the movie wasn’t even safe – the screen was immediately filled by the image of a mutilated body and the sound of a loud scream. Why the hell had Futaba picked this movie? You looked around the room, finding some eyes glued to the TV and some joining you in averting their eyes. Makoto was stress-eating some of the chocolate Ann had brought with her. You glanced up and saw Akechi was watching. You didn’t want to ruin the movie for him.

The next scenes were even worse, somehow increasingly violent. You were staring at the floor now, your heart racing. You could have tried to tolerate it if there was a plot, but it just seemed like a cheap movie for shock value. You shifted your body so you could rest some of your face on Akechi’s chest, curling as close to him as possible.

He lifted an arm from your body to reach your head, his hand gently stroking your hair.

“Not a fan?” He whispered. You shook your head. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you.”

It was just a movie, but you felt reassured. He was always so gentle with you, his words never hiding malice behind them. He had always been gentle with you.

[ The first time you realized you and Akechi loved each other involved a grievous injury.

The Phantom Thieves had been in Mementos for most of the day, training and trying out different combinations of party members. Ren and Makoto had come up with an exhaustive list of combinations to try against different enemies, ranking them as they went.

You and Akechi had been in the party together multiple times today, both of you working together quite well. Though you tended to work well with everyone, something just clicked with him. Though the circumstances of his membership to the Phantom Thieves weren’t what you would call ideal, you and Akechi had made fast friends. He was always there to help you out, and you were always there to encourage him, inside and outside of battle.

And though you kept it hidden away from the others, you would often find yourself messaging Akechi late into the night, both of you unable to sleep. On hard days, you’d find him waiting for you after classes with your favorite drink, a dazzling smile on his face. Sometimes you’d even meet up and stroll through the darkness together, talking about whatever came to mind. You wondered if perhaps your bonding outside of battle is what made you two work so well together.

Ren had finally called for the last fight of the day, calling forth the two of you along with Ann. You were exhausted, but you knew everyone else was too. A few minutes later your party encountered a particularly tough group of enemies, Ren immediately calling out orders.

You had been hit a couple times, but not hard enough that you thought you needed healing. Akechi had insisted you heal yourself, but you reminded him of the limited rations the group had left. He reluctantly left the subject alone. The first two enemies went down thanks to Ann and Akechi. The last enemy left was enraged, its attacks suddenly hitting much harder.

“Just a little more!” Ren yelled. You watched as Akechi readied his Persona for a final attack and felt your heart jump when you saw the enemy suddenly rushing him, eyes ablaze.

“CROW!” You screamed, jumping in front of him without a second thought. You felt your body fly back, back slamming into the ground with enough force to crack it. The pain was immediate, searing and all-consuming.

Your vision was hazy, eyes heavy. You tried to move, to raise your hand, but nothing happened. You couldn’t even speak, a low groan leaving your throat instead. Pain bloomed from your chest, warm blood starting to seep from your injury. You tried to move again and your body burned, blood suddenly bursting from your mouth as you coughed.

You heard screaming, both your teammate’s and the scream of the shadow who had been destroyed. It was getting harder to see. Someone had come to your side, hands fluttering over your body.

“Hurry! HURRY!” You recognized Akechi’s voice, now strained and desperate. Someone else was beside you now, using whatever SP they had left to cast Recarm. You felt arms under you now, lifting you from the destroyed ground and cradling you to their chest.

“Oh god, please hold on. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Akechi said from above you, voice quiet and shaky. You felt something warm hit your face and realized he was crying. Ren quickly set a plan in motion to get you to the team’s doctor quickly, your body needing extra healing after how much damage you had taken. You wanted to reach up, to assure him you’d be okay, but you were weak. You felt your body start to go limp, Akechi’s voice above you again.

“Please, please stay with us—" He was saying more, but all you felt was endless darkness.

You woke up, body still aching. You wondered where you were, unfamiliar sounds and smells overwhelming you. It smelled… sterile. Your eyes were still heavy, fluttering as you tried to open them. You blinked, looking down at your body covered in bandages and hooked up to an IV. You remembered the screaming, the crack of your back as you had hit the ground and the feeling of the warm blood that covered your body.

It must have been bad, you thought. None of you had ended up in the hospital yet. Your thoughts were broken by a sudden voice.

“She’s awake!” You recognized Futaba’s voice, looking over to see her and Ren sitting next to your bed.

You tried to sit up, wincing as your body rejected the movement.

“Ah, don’t hurt yourself more! We were so worried.” Futaba said, she and Ren standing from their seats to move closer to you. You heard her sniff, watching as tears ran down her face.

“We thought we lost you.” Ren said, placing his hand over yours gently. You smiled at both of them, grateful they were here.

“I’m going to let everyone know.” Futaba said, digging her phone out of her pocket. Ren was running his thumb over your hand, his eyes downcast. You didn’t have any concerns about the gesture – his feelings for Ryuji were obvious. Instead, he seemed troubled.

“I’m sorry.” Ren said, looking back up at you. “I pushed us too hard.”

You simply looked at him, too tired to speak. You didn’t blame him. You squeezed his hand in response, trying to communicate your feelings. You sighed, your body urging you to go back to sleep.

“Rest, we’ll be here when you wake up.” His voice was reassuring, his hand still gently touching yours as you closed your eyes and drifted back off to sleep.

You were awoken this time by the sound of bickering.

“Shut up, Ryuji! You’re going to wake her up!”

“You’re going to wake her up with your loud mouth!”

“The both of you, quiet down.”

Ryuji and Ann, you thought. Morgana too. A quiet giggle left your mouth, followed by sudden silence.

You opened your eyes to find all your friends staring at you, eyes wide.

Haru spoke first, rushing to your side and grabbing your hand. “Oh my goodness, it’s so good to see you!”

You smiled at her and gently squeezed her hand back. Makoto joined her, placing her hand on your shoulder.

“We’re so glad you’re okay.” Her voice was soft, not as confident as usual.

“You idiots, you woke her up!” Morgana said, hopping up on the end of your bed. You could hear him purring. “Sorry about those two.”

Ryuji and Ann ignored him, walking over to greet you. Ann reached down to hug you gently and you leaned into her embrace as best you could, happy to see them.

Ryuji looked more awkward, his hand behind his head. “Thought you bit the dust for a minute.”

“Ryuji!” Ann said, standing and smacking him on the back of the head. “Not the time.”

Ryuji grumbled, pushing Ann over to wrap you in a hug. “Oi, she knows I’m joking.”

You weakly laughed and winced slightly under Ryuji’s hug, slightly too tight. Ryuji let go and you saw Yusuke hovering at the end of your bed.

“It’s good to see you’re okay.” He rummaged through a bag for a second, pulling out a small sketchbook. “I’ve worked on some things for you to look at while you recover. I know you’ll enjoy them.”

You smiled at Yusuke’s show of affection. Ren and Futaba were still there too, both of them coming to greet you once more. You heard a soft knock at the door, everyone’s head turning at the noise. Akechi stepped into the frame, his hands clenched tightly. You thought you saw a hint of anger on some of their faces. For what, you weren’t sure.

“Could I… come in?” Akechi said, his voice hesitant.

“Of course.” You replied, your voice hoarse. It was the first time you had spoken since you had woken up. Akechi stepped in, clearing his throat before he spoke again.

“May I have a moment with her? Alone?” He said. You saw Ryuji shoot Ren a look. Ren seemed hesitant, but finally grumbled a noise of approval.

Haru and Makoto reluctantly left your bedside, Haru squeezing your hand one more time. Everyone left the room save for Ren. He turned to look at you, placing his hand on yours again.

“Are you okay with this?” He said, looking intently at you. It felt strange. Why were they acting like this?

You nodded at him and he let go. He went to leave, pausing to look at Akechi. You couldn’t see Ren’s gaze, but the look on Akechi’s face told you it wasn’t friendly. Ren looked back at you one more time before leaving, gently sliding the door shut behind him.

Akechi stared at you for a moment before walking towards the side of your bed, eyes downcast. You eyed him curiously. All of this was so strange.

“Hi.” You said, smiling. He looked up at you, the hint of a smile on his face.

“Hello.” He replied. His hand hovered over yours, unsure. You moved your hand to touch his gloved fingertips, watching as his body relaxed. He laid his hand on the bed, fingertips still carefully pressed against yours.

Akechi was staring at you now.

“Do I have something on my face?” You said, weakly laughing. He didn’t laugh.

“You… I’m… I’m so sorry.” Akechi said quietly. You looked at him and watched as a tear slid down his face.

You were confused. You had no idea what had happened, other than the memory of the pain. “Sorry? What for?”

He looked startled at your response, body stiffening, his fingertips pulling away from yours. You missed the touch already.

“You don’t… remember?” He said, giving you an incredulous look.

“Not at all.” You replied. You heard him sigh. His hand was gripping your bedsheet tightly. “What happened?”

Akechi was silent, looking into your eyes again. He looked pained. “You took a fatal hit for me.”

Oh. You remembered it vaguely now, the fear in your heart when you saw Akechi was about to be hit. You suddenly understood why your teammates had looked angry – they weren’t exactly warming up to Akechi the way you were.

“I’m sorry. I should have been doing better, it’s my fault that you’re like this—”

“Akechi.” You said, interrupting him. You pushed your hand forward, fingertips touching his again. He didn’t pull away.

“It was my choice. I made a vow to protect my teammates. My friends.” You said. You were starting to get tired again. He opened and closed his mouth, unable to form a response. He just looked at you.

“I… I should have protected you, though.” He said, another tear rolling down his face. “You are the most precious thing in this world to me.”

His face suddenly turned pink at the realization of what he had said. You felt your heart flutter.

“Akechi… You’re important to me too.” You said, smiling at him. He smiled back this time, small and unsure. “You do owe me one though.”

Akechi chuckled. You felt warmth blooming in your chest, ebbing just a bit of the pain.

“Will you stay with me while I sleep?” You said. He nodded and reached to brush a piece of your hair back. The gesture was intimate, his touch light. You closed your eyes, letting your body relax as you tried to go back to sleep.

You felt Akechi slip his hand under yours, fingers gently sliding in-between your own. His skin was warm against yours. You realized he had taken his glove off.

You felt the warmth in your chest again before falling back asleep. ]

Another chorus of screams came from the TV and you curled even tighter into him. The movie was silent for a moment before a loud gunshot came from the screen, causing both of you to jump. You felt your skin begin to prickle, the familiar feeling of anxiety rushing over your skin. It was too much. You had to get out of here. You crawled out of Akechi’s lap and quickly went down the stairs, relief washing over you when the sounds of the TV were no longer loud. You sat in the furthest booth to drown out the sounds completely.

You had never liked guns. You didn’t find them appealing the way a lot of people did, and you had winced upon seeing your teammate’s during your first excursion to the Metaverse. What had sealed the deal for your feel was coming face to face with Akechi’s shadow, and the feeling of his gun pressed harshly against your cheek.

[ You wondered if your friends were going to have to drag your broken and bloody body out of the palace. You wondered if he would be able to handle it, watching himself splatter your brains against the floor. Maybe your thoughts should have been more urgent with the barrel of a gun pressed into your cheek, but hey, no one said looking death in the face had to be rational.

It could have been worse. Akechi could have ambushed you instead of joining you. Akechi’s help had given you the heads up on the majority of Shido’s palace. You didn’t blame him for not expecting to see himself there, twisted and full of malice. Even more, you didn’t blame him for not knowing how cognizant his shadow self would be – all the love he felt for you had seemed to turn to vile hatred in the mind of the other Akechi.

You hadn’t forgiven him, of course. But when he had texted you days after the betrayal in the Casino Palace, you couldn’t ignore the fact that he could help Ren. You couldn’t ignore the sobbing on the phone when you finally picked up, his voice panicky and desperate. And so, with Akechi’s intel and willingness, the plan the Phantom Thieves had set-up went into motion with one exception – the supposed suicide of Ren was not carried out violently by Akechi. Careful planning let the idea spread in the news.

Akechi had groveled at your feet when he finally saw you in person again. It wasn’t easy to accept his help – you would have refused if Ren had rejected him. Akechi had been eager to give every detail he knew, telling the Phantom Thieves the truth about Shido and his manipulation. Thus, the infiltration of the palace had gone smoothly, until you had reached the engine room.

All of you had split up to look around for clues. Everything was normal, until you found yourself on the floor, someone’s shoe digging into your back.

“Ah, the pet.” You recognized the voice – it was Akechi’s. But it wasn’t normal, no, this voice was laced with venom. Your struggling against the floor alerted the rest of the group, horrified gasps resounding throughout the room, something close to a growl leaving Ren’s throat. A moment later you were dragged up by your hair, a hard and cold object suddenly digging into your cheek.

“I thought you would have given up this vice by now.” Cognitive Akechi said, clicking his tongue. You felt the gun dig further into your cheek.

“The fuck is this, Crow?” Ryuji yelled. You saw him take step towards Akechi, who looked horrified.

“I don’t, god, I didn’t know this would happen.” Akechi stuttered out, panic laced in his words.

The cognitive Akechi tugged on your hair harshly, hot pain flaring in your scalp. A sick laugh bubbled out of his throat, and you saw your Akechi tense.

“You know, you were just a tool for him.” The cognitive Akechi said, pulling your face up to look at his. An awful grin was plastered on his face, eyes shining bright red. “Until he got too attached.”

“That’s not true—” You heard Akechi say, the cognitive Akechi interrupting him.

“What a fool you were.” His voice was practically a hiss now as he spoke. “You did all those awful things, and for what? To give it up for this?”

He kicked you in the side, and you cried out in pain. Akechi made a loud noise of protest, and you felt the gun press into your cheek harder.

“Shido was going to get rid of this, anyways.” He said, his faced distorted in a smirk. “And you, too. You meant nothing to him.”

“That’s enough.” Ren said, his voice low and dangerous. “Let her go.”

The cognitive Akechi laughed again, pressing the gun into your cheek again. “One move, and I shoot.”

You could feel your heartbeat pounding in your chest, chest heaving from panic. You were going to die, and there was nothing you could do about it.

“Oh dear, are you frightened?” He said, sneering at you. “I know. Let’s make it personal.”

The cognitive Akechi shot a devilish smile at your Akechi. “Come, then. Do it yourself.”

Akechi looked at you, eyes wide with fear. And then you looked up at your friends, some of their faces stained with tears. Makoto, though, had a look you recognized – determination. You were going to take your chance.

“Please.” You rasped out. You saw Akechi clench his hands into fists. “Please, Goro.”

“I can’t.” He said, his voice shaky. You met his eyes and gave him a hard look, glancing to Makoto next to him. You saw as he bit his lip – he understood.

“Hm, then perhaps I’ll make this drawn out?” You heard the Cognitive Akechi laugh and saw how Akechi tensed again. Akechi met your eyes, fear evident on his face. He took a slow step forward, and again, until he was within shooting range. He summoned his gun, identical to the one in the cognitive Akechi’s, and shakily lifted it, eyes meeting yours again.

The cognitive Akechi made a hum of satisfaction, lowering his gun from your face. A loud shot rang out and you saw the cognitive Akechi stumble backwards, groaning angrily. Makoto’s gun was in the air, smoke flowing from the end of it. The gamble had worked – the cognitive Akechi had been too self-assured, a trait he shared with your Akechi.

You scrambled away as fast as you could and heard another shot ring out, another horrible groan emerging from the cognitive Akechi. You turned back, looking between the two. Your Akechi’s gun was smoking, his hands shaking. The cognitive Akechi was on the floor, eyes wide and staring at you as he died.

It made you feel sick, stomach twisting in disgust as you watched the cognitive Akechi fade into black smoke, your Akechi collapsing to his knees. Your friends rushed over to you, smothering you in hugs and “Are you okays”, each of them talking over the other.

But it was Akechi you were concerned about. You silently got up and kneeled in front of him. A moment later you wrapped around him. He was sobbing, telling you again how sorry he was, how he didn’t want to be like this.

You knew he was carrying around years of pain and hurt, the sting of rejection from everyone in his life that was supposed to love him. He swallowed that bitter pill for years, poison seeping through his veins. He had to account for his own choices – you knew that. But you also knew that despite everything, he was worthy of more.

There was so much you wanted to say. Your heart was still broken – you knew this well. But in this moment, there was only one thing you could say to him.

“I love you.” ]

That day played in your head often, the memory of the cold metal against your cheek vivid and unsettling. It was only a few seconds later that you heard someone descending the steps, then a familiar voice softly calling your name. Akechi came to sit next to you in the booth, his arm wrapping around you.

“I don’t think I was enjoying that movie either.” He murmured, gently rubbing your shoulder. “Do you want to leave?”

Leaving would make you sad – but you had been unaware that today’s movie choice would bother you so much. Besides, on a lucky break, your group would be able to hang out next weekend as well. Time alone with Akechi sounded more appealing.

“Yeah. Let me just text Ren.” You replied. You sent a text saying you weren’t feeling well, but to tell the group you loved them and would see them next weekend. You heard Akechi groan when he saw Ren’s reply, which was simply a winky face emoji.

“Do you want to go on a walk before we go home?” Akechi asked, squeezing your shoulder. You nodded, and Akechi got up and repeated his actions from earlier. You exited the shop, locking the door behind you on your way out.

Akechi’s hand slipped into yours like it had a hundred times before.

Before, when you and Akechi had danced around the nature of your relationship, the idea of no one knowing what the two of you had troubled him deeply. Things were better now, as Akechi had taken the initiative to work on his unhealthy behaviors. Sometimes you’d still notice the way his jaw would clench when a stranger acted a little too friendly, or how his arm would wrap around you just a bit too tight.

[ It didn’t take you long to realize that Akechi was a little bit… possessive. You had been friends with Akechi for a couple months now – your late-night conversations now a norm, his presence besides you during fights a given. He was always checking if you were okay, and always wanted to be around you. You’d seen the slight grimace on his face when you talked to one of the boys in the group, especially if it was Ren.

You didn’t miss the way how sometimes he would say “my” before sweetly calling your name, or how he’d always take you to uncrowded areas to spend time together.

Still, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t you enjoyed his company. You saw through him the second you met – his artificial happiness was hiding a deeply lonely person. So, for the time being, you’d brushed it off as Akechi being insecure.

Once, Yusuke had asked you to model for an outfit he had seen in front of Akechi. By the look on his face, you’d of thought Yusuke had asked you to come over and fuck him. There was no romantic intent in Yusuke’s question – but Akechi was jealous. You accepted Yusuke’s request; you had no reason not to.

It had been a perfectly normal day with Yusuke. The outfit was an elegant, flowing white gown. Yusuke had you pull one sleeve down, exposing your shoulder. The dress hugged your hips and showed the curve of your chest, but in a way that you found sensual. It wasn’t anything you were uncomfortable with. In fact, you had felt beautiful, Yusuke’s small hums while he worked confirming that he was pleased.

During a break, you had sent a silly picture of you making a face in your group chat. Everyone had responded by saying how cute you looked, even with the silly expression. Akechi, however, had responded with something that slightly embarrassed you, a sweeping text of how you were the definition of beauty. The attention did make you feel good, even if his message had been cheesy.

You bit your lip, considering a risky move. Maybe you could send him a personal picture. Nothing too crazy – just a little more… personalized. The next picture you sent was just for him, a selfie of yourself in Yusuke’s pose. Your lips were parted, your hair wrapped delicately around your shoulders, bare skin peeking through. The picture cut off so you could see just the hint of your chest. It didn’t take long for a response.

Akechi: You look ravishing.

Akechi: But I am at work, you know. I can’t be looking at things like this, what would they think?

Akechi: Let me know when you’ll be done. I’ll pick you up. Be safe.

You smiled to yourself, knowing that you had riled him up a little. A moment later Yusuke came back, and you resumed the painting, having to fight to keep the smile off your face.

A few hours later you messaged Akechi to let him know you finished. You and Yusuke exchanged pleasantries before you went to wait outside, still dressed in the gown. The night air felt refreshing on your skin, the beautiful stars above you making it even better.

Akechi’s familiar black car rolled up a few minutes later. Akechi came out to greet you before you even reached the door. You noticed how his eyes had hovered at your chest before meeting your eyes. He opened the car door for you like he always did, and then climbed back in himself.

“Thank you so much.” You said, turning to give him a smile.

“Always. Someone as beautiful as you can’t be walking alone at night.” He said, smiling back at you. You just rolled your eyes, blush creeping over your face. A few minutes passed in silence as he drove, your eyes almost drifting shut to the soft music playing over the radio.

“Are you okay? He didn’t do anything weird, did he?” Akechi said, making you jump. His voice sounded a little off.

“Oh no, I’m fine. Just tired.” You replied. “Yusuke was the same as always.”

Akechi nodded at your response, turning his attention back to the road. A few minutes later you pulled up to your apartment, Akechi seeming reluctant to leave. Well… maybe you could invite him in.

“Do you want to come in and have a drink?” You asked. His face brightened immediately. Once you made it inside, you turned to find Akechi giving you a strange look.

“Is something wrong?” You asked. Before you could say anything else, Akechi had gently pushed you back into the door and captured your mouth in a kiss. When you didn’t pull away, he deepened the kiss, his tongue running along your lower lip. A small moan left your mouth, and you felt Akechi press further into you.

His hand had found its way into your hair, pulling you closer to him. He broke off the kiss for a moment, meeting your eyes. “You don’t know what you do to me.” He said. You recognized the lust in his, face flushed pink. His lips met your again in another fevered kiss, tongues exploring each other’s mouths. He pulled away again and you let out a whine of frustration, low chuckle coming from his throat.

“I can’t believe Yusuke had you all to himself today.” He rasped, voice low. He placed a soft kiss on your lips before continuing.

He trailed his tongue down your jawline until he reached your neck and started placing gentle kisses on it. You wrapped yours arms around him now, pushing his hips flush to yours. He pulled away again. “No one should see you like this. You’re too beautiful.” He whispered before returning to your neck. You could feel the noticeable bulge in his work pants, and you shifted yourself even closer to him. His lips pulled off for you a moment as he let out a strained moan before returning to his ministrations, lips now sucking and nipping at your skin.

He deepened his efforts, his bites making you shudder now. You knew you would have marks tomorrow. Really, you didn’t even know Akechi had it in him to do things like this.

“Goro,” You whined, and you felt his mouth leave your neck. “You’ll cover me in marks.”

He stood up and looked you into eyes, his free hand coming to rest under your chin.

“That’s the point, my dear.” He said, giving you one of those dazzling smiles. “Everyone will know that you’re mine.”

He pulled away, leaving you dazed. His words should have bothered you, but you were still in a state of bliss.

“Now,” he said, gently grabbing your hand. “I’ll get us those drinks. I’m sure you must be tired.” ]

But now, when you would remind him that you loved him and that you weren’t going to leave him, he’d apologize. You had helped him reroute his unhealthy behaviors to other outlets, reminding him that he needed to take care of himself too.

When his hand met yours now, it was a gesture of love.

ADD MORE

[ The first time you felt your heart break, it was because of him.

You didn’t want to believe it. No. NO. They were wrong. You pleaded with them, begged them. He would never do this to them. To you. Ren had put his hand on your shoulder, and told you that he was sorry, so sorry, but this is how things were. How things would have to be for the greater good. How the Phantom Thieves were going to be betrayed. You wanted to scream. But still, you held on, waiting with hope that they were wrong.

You held yourself together when you met up before the Casino infiltration. Your heart pounded when you looked at Akechi. He was acting normal, so normal that you wanted to shake him and ask him what he was doing. Was he really going to do this? Why? You jumped when you felt his hand graze your back, his voice soft.

“Don’t worry.”

You couldn’t even look at him, and he didn’t press you further. Did he know what you knew? No, of course not. He had been outsmarted, and he didn’t even know it.

Akechi had insisted on being on the team, and Ren conceded. You volunteered as well, much to Ren’s concern. Makoto had joined as well. He was right to be concerned – your fighting was off, your mind frazzled. He took you to the side and asked if you wanted to sit out for a bit, but you refused. Your nails dug into your skin as you spoke in hushed tones with Ren, pleading. Akechi gave you two a curious look.

If Akechi had wanted to say something, he didn’t. Instead, you watched as he took hit after hit for you during battle. You felt his gaze on you as you explored the palace, his hand occasionally brushing yours. Every touch felt like another dagger in your heart. How could he do this?

It didn’t take long to complete the palace. The calling card was sent as planned, and the dread in your heart felt even heavier.

The battle was tough, Akechi still taking hits for you, fighting as if it were his sworn duty to protect you. You wanted to cry.

When the treasure emerged, you allowed yourself a smidgen of hope, that maybe it wasn’t true. The group had to split, Ren giving you a knowing look as you insisted on going with Akechi. A look that told you it was true, that this was hopeless. You just grit your teeth and followed Akechi, his emotions still not betraying him.

He stopped, turning to face you. He looked sad.

“It’s true, then.” You said flatly, looking at him. His expression didn’t change.

“I’m sorry.” Akechi said, stepping close to you and wrapping his arms around you. You felt his heartbeat, quick and erratic. You wanted to scream, to hit him, but you couldn’t. You just stepped away, wrapping your arms around yourself.

“Why?” Your voice was hoarse, your eyes now on the verge of tears.

He was silent for a moment. “I can’t tell you that.”

“Of course.” Your heart was pounding now, every muscle in your body telling you to run.

“If you come with me, I can still protect you.” He said, his voice sounding weak now.

“Never.” You replied. You looked at him, fire burning in your eyes. You loved him, you hated him. “You lied to us. To me.”

“I—” He started, but you interrupted him.

“No. No.” You were crying now, starting to fall apart. “Fuck. Was everything a lie?”

He tried to step towards you again, but you pushed back against him. He winced at your rejection.

He opened his mouth to speak again, but you couldn’t bear to hear it.

“Just stop. STOP.” You cried out. You turned to leave and felt his hand grab your wrist, his grip tight.

“Please.” He said, his voice cracking. “Don’t leave.”

You turned to look at him, his hand still tight on your wrist. You looked at him, anger coursing through your veins. You loved him. You hated him. You couldn’t say anything.

“I need you.” He pleaded, trying to pull you closer. You dug your heels in, refusing to give him the satisfaction. “Only I can protect you.”

“You already failed, Goro.” You hissed at him, his hand finally releasing your wrist. You looked at him one last time before turning and running, his desperate shouts echoing behind you.

It didn’t matter anymore. ]

ADD A LOT MORE OOPS SKIPPING A BUNCH BUT I HAD AN IDEA FOR THE LAST PART

“Is this okay?” He murmured, fingers playing with the hem of your shirt. His lips were close to your ear, breath tickling your ear lobe. You nodded, but Akechi didn’t move yet. “Please, tell me what you want.”

You could feel his lips curl into a smirk against your ear. Devious bastard.

“Goro, please… t-touch me.” You said, voice wavering. He made a hum of satisfaction in response, his fingers dipping under your shirt now and hand running gently over your chest. Your breath hitched in your throat as he maneuvered his other hand under, his soft hands running freely over you now. His fingertips played with the edge of your bra.

“Do you want me to keep going?” He said. You nodded again. He didn’t press you for an answer this time as his hands slid underneath your bra, giving you an experimental squeeze. His fingers brushed across your nipples, thumb lingering over them. You felt him shift underneath you.

“Could I take this off?” He said, lips against your neck now. You felt safe like this, his body surrounding you.

“Yes.” You replied. His hands left your bra and moved to take off your shirt, gently pulling it over your head and placing it neatly to the side. He brushed your hair to one side, placing a kiss on the back of your neck.

“Ah, you’re wearing my favorite.” He said, pressing another kiss to your neck. “It’s almost a shame to take it off.”

“add more” You replied, twisting in his lap to face him. He was watching you with rapt attention as you moved your hands behind your back, unhooking your bra. You slowly slid it off, placing it on top of your shirt. He was speechless for a moment, taking time to watch your chest rise and fall.

“add more” You said, smirking at him. You turned back around, pressing your back against him again. He was warm against your back.

“You’re stunning.” He said, hands wandering back up your exposed body to caress you. There was no pretense with him in private. He said what he meant. For this, you appreciated him. He gently grabbed both your breasts again, fingers taking the time to play with your nipples. A squeak came out of you as he rolled your right nipple between his fingers, testing. You pressed your back into him, his hardness even more evident now.

“Do you like this?” He said, voice low. His other hand began to play with your left nipple, shiver jumping through your spine. You moaned quietly in response, and you felt his chest rumble as he chuckled. “I’ll take that as a yes, hm?”

#misc.txt #wip #persona 5 #violence cw #not sfw #goro akechi #UNFINISHED

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hermionemonica · 4 years ago

Text

Hiding it from her: Chapter 3

AO3

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Despite going to bed way late in the night, Kagami woke up on her usual time. She was tempted to skip the gym for the day, but she knew the physical exercise would help her clear her mind before the evening. And she needed to go to the fencing academy as well, she had not shown up the previous day without any notice.

The evening arrived faster than she would have liked it to. As the hour neared with every passing second, her anxiety reached greater heights. Even now she could not help but question herself if she was ready to face the man who she had loved with all her life, who had lied to her with a smile on his face, who had betrayed her very trust. Was she prepared to hear the answers from him?

Since last night she had been preparing in her head what to say. How to start the conversation so that there was no way to wriggle out of it. She needed to put an end to this, to settle this once and for all. If for nothing else, at least for her own mind's peace.

Kagami reached Adrien's apartment at 6:50 pm. As soon as she rang the bell, the door swung open and Adrien greeted her with a smile. Kagami hesitated before entering. She could not help but remember the last time she had come to this place. She breathed some determination into herself. There was a task at hand.

“Come in here,” Adrien pulled her into a room that appeared to be Marinette's working space.

“Are you sure I should be here?”

“I would not have called you in otherwise!”

Kagami looked around herself. The room was an organised mess. Absolutely Marinette. She walked over to the board set up on the wall, on which were pinned several unfinished sketches, quite possibly the ones she was working on currently. She noticed the little doodles and random words etched on the margins of the papers. Kagami smiled to herself, thinking of the eccentricities of the girl. But the smile disappeared in a moment, when she remembered what she had done to her. Her heart clenched painfully in her chest.

“Here you go.” Adrien’s voice brought Kagami down to her immediate surroundings.

She turned around to see him holding a dress in his arms. One of the most magnificent dresses she had ever set her eyes on.

It was a mid-thigh length dress with a maroon satin base. The dress flared out at the waist, and a black mesh fell over the entire bottom part. Details were embroidered in gold over the mesh. The same gold circled the waist like an ornate belt. It had a halter neckline, and the collar was accentuated with a golden border.

“Wow,” she breathed, “this is beautiful.”

“I know, right?” Adrien exclaimed with glee. “Now put it on, I'm gonna go outside.”

“Me?” Kagami was surprised.

“Duh, yeah! This was made for you!” Adrien rolled his eyes, shoving the dress into her hands. “Be quick now, we have other work to do as well.” Saying so, he ran out of the room, gently shutting the door behind him.

How hard would it be for Adrien to be a little less vague? He was making it really difficult for her to feel sorry for him.

This was made for you, he had said. Did he mean that literally or figuratively? Recent events must have addled her brain, she was looking too much into everything.

Kagami turned the dress around in her arms. It was a breath-taking piece of work. She admiringly ran her hand over the embroidery, feeling every stitch underneath her fingers.

It was then that she saw it.

Just under the belt, on the back of the dress was a very familiar pattern sewn in with the same gold. She had seen it enough times to recognise it instantly.

Marinette's signature.

That only added to her confusion. Marinette had made a dress for her, without her knowledge? And that was the one she was going to wear today, of all days?

She nervously moved near the door. Leaning against it, she called out “Adrien?”

On receiving no reply, she opened the door. Adrien was sitting in the drawing-room, and while she had a clear view of him, he could not see her because his back was turned to her. It appeared that he was talking to someone on the phone.

“Umm... Adrien?” She said a bit louder to get his attention. It worked.

Adrien turned around in his seat. His face immediately fell. “Yeah, I will talk to you later,” he spoke into the phone before ending the call.

“Is there a problem?” he spoke in a concerned voice, walking towards her. “Does it not fit you?”

“No, that's not it,” Kagami hesitated. “Adrien, are you sure I should wear this?”

A confused look came on his face, and then he burst out laughing. “Kagami,” he said, “will you stop worrying now? Just do as I say, okay? Trust me.”

Kagami was getting concerned, but about something else. Adrien still had the nerve to laugh? Was he losing his mind?

Adrien pushed her back into the room. “Now please hurry up, alright? And um, maybe do something with your hair to go with the dress, okay?”

It was all very strange but Kagami was left with no choice but to concede. Maybe this was Adrien's attempt at making her feel better about herself, of boosting her self-confidence. She stripped off the jeans and t-shirt and put on the dress. Standing in front of the mirror, she could not help but marvel at how good the dress looked on her. There was no doubt it was made for her; it was fitted to her measurements, complimenting her shape, skin tone and her eyes. Even though she and Marinette may not be on the best of terms right now, she had to praise her work.

There were some hairbands and bobby pins and other accessories on the table, but Kagami was really not in a mood. So, she put her hair in a short braid that hung over her left shoulder.

Kagami opened the door very silently. But she could not see Adrien anywhere. Panic began to bubble in the pit of her stomach, and she called out for him, “Adrien!”

“Just a minute!” his voice came from the room to her left. Kagami breathed a sigh of relief. She took a seat on the couch as she waited for her friend.

After a few moments, her ears caught the sound of a door opening behind her. She turned around just as Adrien was emerging from his room.

Kagami saw that he was dressed up as well. He was wearing a light green formal shirt and tailored black trousers that made his legs look even longer than they originally were. He was also wearing a salmon pink tie. His hair was brushed back, and it made his cheekbones look very chiselled.

“Oh my God, Kagami, you look... phenomenal.” Adrien's eyes were widened and his mouth was open.

“Thank you,” she acknowledged the compliment with a slight nod. “You look good too.”

“Thanks,” Adrien flashed her a grin. “Let's go then?”

Kagami nodded.

Adrien produced a pair of sandals for her that perfectly went with her dress. At this point, there were so many questions in her mind that she had lost the ability to even think for herself. So she just did whatever Adrien asked her to. It didn't look like she had a choice anyway.

When she sat in the car, she finally relaxed. She knew what was going to happen now. No more surprises, right?

Or so she thought.

Adrien pulled up at the side of the Liberty. “Here?” Kagami asked, because she was expecting to go to Luka's apartment. Liberty had been empty since Anarka went on tour with Jagged more than three months ago.

“Yeah,” Adrien said, typing away on his phone. “Do me a favour Gami, just go on. I'll catch up with you in a bit.”

“I could wait for you?” Kagami suggested.

“Uh, I think not,” came Adrien's response, which sounded a little weird. “Seriously Kagami, you know your way around. Go on now.”

Unsure, Kagami got out of the car. Adrien was right, she did know her way around this place pretty well, having spent a lot of her late teenage years there. Luka used to help her sneak out behind her mother’s back, and most of the time they would just chill on the houseboat. Luka would play his songs on his guitar for her. She had had her first kiss with-

No. Snap out of it, Kagami. This was not the time to think about all that stuff.

Kagami stepped up on the deck. Strangely, most of the lights were out. She began to doubt if Adrien had brought them to the right place after all.

Unconsciously, her steps had brought her to Luka's old room. Well, technically Luka and Juleka's old room. The room was dark, and presuming it to be empty, Kagami began to retrace her steps out of the room.

Just then she stopped. Someone began to play a guitar inside the room. A nostalgic, romantic tune. She spun around on her heels just in time to see the room be lit up in fairy lights.

And sitting on the bed, with a guitar slung over his shoulder, was Luka Couffaine.

Kagami was stunned into silence. What exactly it was that rendered her speechless was uncertain. It could be seeing Luka appear out of the darkness, or the pretty way the lights lit up the deck, or how ethereally handsome Luka was looking in that purple shirt (and that maroon tie that was exactly the same shade as the dress she was wearing). But at that moment, she lost all ability to think, speak, or move by herself. So she stood there, staring at the man in front of her, forgetting what she had even come here for in the first place.

“Hey,” Luka said nervously. Receiving no reply, he went on. “I am so sorry, my melody, for keeping you out of everything. I am really bad at hiding things, as you know. And since this isn't something I could have told you, I had to hide it from you. But turns out, I messed up big time, huh?” He let out a little laugh. Kagami was still frozen with the same expression on her face, so Luka decided to take the risk of walking a few steps towards her. “I really did not mean to make you feel left out of it. It's just, you know, I couldn't tell you. I know I did a bad job at it and you have every right to be pissed at me, but please talk to me, babe.”

“Wha- what's going on?” she finally managed.

Luka smiled, in that handsomely Luka way of his that made her melt into a puddle every time. It was only with a lot of conscious effort that she managed to hold her composure, although her cheeks felt like they were on fire. Thank goodness for the dim lights.

“Kagami, I love you,” as he spoke he kept walking towards her, “I love you so much. My life has been infinitely better since you became a part of it. There is nothing I feel luckier about than you loving me. You make me feel whole. The last twenty-four hours have been such a torture for me. And I never ever want to spend another moment separated from you, as long as I live.”

Saying so, he took a box out of his pocket and got down on one knee in front of her. He opened the box and held it up in front of her. It was a ring. “Kagami Tsurugi, my Dragon Queen, will you marry me?”

Kagami's eyes widened. “Wait,” she said, “what is happening?”

“I-uh, I am proposing to you?”

“And can you please smile a bit Kagami? You're ruining the shot.”

Kagami's head turned to the side to see who spoke.

“Marinette?”

“Yes, that's me. Now don't bother us,” she said as Adrien appeared behind her, “keep going.”

Kagami looked back and forth between them. “This is so not what I was expecting.” She clapped her hand to her forehead.

Luka stood up, concerned. “My melody, are you okay?”

“This is what was going on these last few days?” Kagami whispered, almost on the verge of tears.

“I guess I'm allowed to tell you now,” Luka rubbed the back of his neck, “Yeah, this is what I had been planning behind your back.”

“And you,” she turned to look at Adrien and Marinette in the doorway, “You two were a part of this?”

“Well yeah,” Adrien sounded just as nervous.

“Please don’t murder us Kagami,” Marinette said.

Kagami turned to look at Luka. “I am so sorry,” she muttered, before embracing him with all her strength. “I am so sorry for ever doubting you.”

“My love,” Luka wrapped his free arm around her.

After a while, she let go of him. “And I owe you an apology too, Marinette,” she turned to her, “Please forgive me.”

“I have no idea what is happening, but I forgive you. Although I have no idea what I'm forgiving you for. Please don't tell me later that you made me forgive you for eating my chocolate croissants, because you know I would never forgive you if you did that,” she ended with a fake glare, making everyone burst into laughter.

“By the way,” Luka said, with a smirk, “I didn't quite catch your reply back then?”

It took Kagami a while before she got what he was talking about. And then her face broke into a radiant smile. She grabbed Luka's face and pulled him down to her level to rest her forehead against his. “Yes!” her voice was both emotional and excited, “Yes, yeah yes! Of course I will marry you, my snake prince!”

“And now I got a perfect photo!” Marinette cheered on.

Luka put the ring onto Kagami's finger. It was a gold ring; the top of the ring was in the shape of a dragon's head with a ruby set in the place of its eye. Kagami gasped, making Luka smile. He then lifted her chin slightly to kiss her. Kagami wrapped her arms around his neck and smiled against his lips.

They broke off after a minute. “By the way, Marinette,” Kagami turned around in Luka's arms with a stern look on her face, “I am going to have a word with your boyfriend for confusing my brain all evening.”

Adrien laughed nervously, but Marinette blushed red. “Actually,” she spoke in a little voice, “My fiance."

“What!” Luka and Kagami exclaimed at the same time.

Marinette held up her hand to show them the sapphire ring that sat on her finger.

“When did this happen?” It was Luka who asked.

“This morning,” Marinette replied, “Right after I woke up.”

“Way to go, Adrien!”

“What?” Adrien raised an eyebrow, “You guys really thought I was going to let Luka beat me at this?”

Marinette playfully smacked him in his chest.

Kagami noticed that the shade of Adrien’s tie matched the colour of the dress Marinette was wearing, just like her and Luka. Oh. So this was the entire fuss about the dress.

“Let's take a group selfie?” she suggested.

“Hell yeah!”

#miraculous ladybug #my fic #hiding it from her #lukagami #luka couffaine X kagami tsurugi

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yukiobeyme · 5 years ago

Note

Hi! I saw your hc of the brothers reacting to a mc playing the harp. Do you think you could do hc with an skilled painter mc too? I study art, but due to a depressive episode i stoped painting, i started painting again a few days ago and remembered how much i enjoy it. Maybe due to the studys of the devildom she didnt have time for a while? Its ok if you dont want to or feel uncomfortable:)

Sorry, it took forever but hopefully, this suffices. It’s the longest thing I have ever written for Obey Me (5.6k words) The picture that is included is drawn by me, which is a painting that is featured in Detroit Become Human. It was in chapter 6 for Marcus, and the painting is human- hope. So, yea I hope you all enjoy and it’s just as good as the harp fic I did.

This is also like how the brothers try to help you with depression too because I need it lol. The first half is them noticing that you aren’t doing art anymore then you randomly paint then its the brother’s reaction though I don’t know if their reaction is long enough.

I am behind on requests but feel free to send stuff, I’m doing online classes so I have more free time and on my computer constantly. I think I’m finally gonna catch up on everything.

Trigger Warning for Depression and not necessarily Eating Disorder Otherwise Nonspecific but MC struggles to eat while depressed.

Art was something you always did. It was started as an innocent hobby, then you started to doodle on your assignments and notes. If there were paper and pencil around, there was bound to be one of your drawings on it eventually. In high school, you decided to take Art as your elective of choice, and during that time you learn what your favorite medium was and what your art style is. You found out you like paints the most; acrylics were the easiest for you, it was the most forgiving of the paints, watercolor you loved but it took work and concentration to do, and oil paint you practiced loved to hate. Oil was always so hard to work with, at first you always overworked the paint and left it looking dull and sad looking, but you were determined to get it right. Your final project was a huge oil painting, you took your time to plan and layout that painting. The topic you chose was the fall of angels, which you didn’t know much about. You knew about the Celestial Realm and Devildom, everyone does but it’s not like humans can walk freely in either of the realms. You debated back and forth if you should do a generic angel or if you should have more fun with it and recapture the fall of a true angel. Your research led you to learn about six brothers that fell around the same time. You recognized the first name easily, Lucifer; he was prideful and what everyone refers to the most powerful demon. He fell from Heaven after he became so impressed with his own beauty, intelligence, power, and position that he began to desire for himself the honor and glory that belonged to God alone. This pride represents the actual beginning of sin in the universe—preceding the fall of the human Adam by an indeterminate time. The other names, Mammon, Leviathan, Asmodeus, Beelzebub, and Belphegor didn’t seem to ring any bells, but you took the time to try and research each on. You decided to capture all their falls in one painting, they fell in the order of power. Lucifer would be the furthest one down the canvas and that’s why Belphegor would be at the top still within the clouds. The painting ended up looking amazing and still hangs on the wall in your living room, it was the first decoration piece you ever put up.

Fast forward to when you were whisked away to Devildom to be an exchange student. They were nice enough to give you time to pack things, only 15 minutes to pack a year's worth of things. You grabbed random clothes and stuffed them in a bag, you grabbed your favorite stuff animal and went immediately went to your desk where you kept all your painting supplies. You made sure to grab as many different colors as possible, all different brush sizes and your two sketches that could handle the paint medium. You decided to grab your phone and its charger though you knew it probably wouldn’t work in Devildom. With one last glance around your house, you paused and looked at the oil painting before telling the demon that you were ready to start this adventure.

Much to your surprise, you were met with faces that were familiar. Though it wasn’t because you had met them before rather it was because you studied their faces and bodies to paint them. You were flushed the whole time they introduced themselves and was even more flustered when you realized you would be living with them for the next year. If they noticed, they didn’t say much about it. You knew they noticed your stares though. You were studying their faces, trying to recall if you captured them right, if your references were accurate or not.

You tried to do some form of art every day, from doodles or painting. Usually, you would sketch something during your breaks and paint them once you were back at the House of Lamentation. The brothers knew you painted but you always requested to be left alone. This was the time you played the music you wanted and get lost in the brush strokes. It was your stress release, something you found joy in, the way you reconnected with your body.

But within a month of being an exchange student, your RAD work piled up and instead of sketching during breaks you had to start studying and doing work to ensure you stayed on top of everything. The mix of stress and not taking care of yourself led you down a spiraling depression. You gave up painting and daily self-care was sparse and very little. You stayed up late and woke up early to get as much work done as possible, food was on the small side and on the go food.

You had gone shopping with Asmodeus and grabbed canvases, the now gathered dust in the corner of your room. Somewhere still blank and others left unfinished, but you could never push yourself to pick up your paintbrushes. Sometimes you would pull out all your material and just sit and stare at the canvas until you gave up and left it alone. Soon the brothers decided to make a schedule so that you never alone and offer you different types of support that were unique to them. They never pushed you to pick up painting again, though they tried to encourage it and encourage you to take care of yourself.

Lucifer:

Lucifer noticed how your habits changed, while he never saw your finished art pieces, he saw bits and pieces. He noticed that you like to draw what was around you, he had seen you draw the RAD, the House of Lamentation, and even sketches of his brothers and himself. When you stopped drawing in the morning, he just figured you weren’t as inspired, but then the dark circles under your eyes formed, skipping meals or eating too little, and how you sometimes drifted in class.

He thought it should be his job to help you, but he didn’t know how. For the first time in centuries, he felt powerless. He decided whenever you skipped meals, he would find ways to get you to eat. In the morning if you skipped breakfast, he grabbed a fruit and a granola bar to hand to you. Or when you skipped dinner, he brought the food to wherever you were studying. He made the time to sit with you, while you ate, bringing work of his own to do. He would try to brush off as he simply wanted to work in a different area when in reality, he wanted to make sure you ate.

Finally, Lucifer would ask if you had drawn or painted recently. Your grimace told him everything, “No, I haven’t been inspired recently,” you shrugged it off hoping he would drop it. But instead, he poked and tried to get more information from you. You broke after a while spilling all the struggles you have been facing and how the stress-induced depression, you assured him you been through it before and you would be fine but right now it just felt like loneliness and darkness.

While Lucifer didn’t show it, it broke his heart to hear you say that. He figured you were stressed, and you seemed down, but he didn’t know it was too this magnitude. He did his best to support and encourage you in any way he could, hoping that it would help somehow. He offered to tutor you and help you with homework in hopes to lighten your load. He knew he should tell Diavolo, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. This felt too intimate to disclose to him, he felt happy and privileged that you shared it with him, and he didn’t want to break that. At least you were talking to someone.

Mammon:

Mammon was oblivious to how your schedule and habits changed. It wasn’t until Beelz mentioned that he hadn’t seen you eat yet today during lunch. Then it clicked how he hadn’t seen you as much or rather how he had to seek you out constantly to get the attention he deserved from you.

He started to pay more attention to you and something seemed missing from your stack of books but could never place it until he came to your room and say your sketchbook on the floor under all your books. It clicks he doesn’t remember the last time he saw you drawing or doodling.

He then noticed your tired eyes, your slow-moving, and you did skip a lot of meals or at very little. He totally increased how much he spent with you, even when you claimed to have too much work to do. He would simply sit at your feet and lean against you. You would occasionally drop your hand down and play with his hair. You noticed the increase of affection and time he spent with you and at first, you were annoyed with it but soon you enjoyed the quiet company. Once Mammon saw you were happy to have him around, he started talking to you about his random schemes; which never failed to make you smile and laugh. He soon made it his goal to make sure you were always laughing and smiling, he never wanted it to stop.

You didn’t disclose everything to Mammon, but you talked about your feelings to him. In some ways it was hard not too, having him so close but you couldn’t help but feel vulnerable. He comforted you to the best of his ability, sometimes he said the wrong things, but he tried and attempted to fix it.

He would surprise you with small gifts, one day at lunch he managed to get a yakisoba bread and you were surprised when he offered you the whole thing instead of just wanting to split it. You offered to split it with him and you wouldn’t take no for an answer. You both ate you halves outside, and you couldn’t help but cuddle up against him. When you finished your food, you gave Mammon a peak of the cheek. He flushed immediately and you hooked your arms together and walked to class with him. Needless to say, he bragged about it to the brother’s group chat and he was made fun of because of how he blushed for the rest of the day.

Leviathan:

Noticed the symptoms immediately, he had been through similar things. That there were times he stopped video games and anime or stopped finding the enjoyment from it. Though because he was constantly in his room, no one would notice.

He simply offered you silent support, making sure you were never alone or in one place for too long. He would try to drag you away for a quick game or anime or watch him play a game. You finally asked why he was spending more time with you and he would bashfully say while he didn’t know how you felt, he felt like he had been through similar things. It broke your heart to hear that and you pulled him into a tight hug. Later that night, you went to his room bringing tea for both of you and you both stayed up way too late talking to each other. It seemed like talking about it help life some of the pressure off you.

He said his door was always open to you, and while you didn’t always take him up on it, you occasionally when to study and watch him play whatever game he was currently playing. It was nice to have his company, even if you didn’t talk, it was comforting to be in the company that understood your feelings.

During class, he sat to your left while Beelz sat to your right. Levi made sure to nudge you if your attention seemed to diverge from the lecture and always offer you his notes if you missed anything. He also showed you places to hide in RAD, if you wanted to hide during lunch but his only request was you took food and ate it. He said he would prefer to hang out as well but respected your privacy if you truly wanted to be alone.

Would try and encourage you to paint or draw again. Asking you to draw him some character from his games or anime. You occasionally you would indulge in drawing whatever he wanted. Overall, Levi was your quiet support and you were grateful for it, to be able to sit in quiet and not to be asked what is wrong or must talk was a perfect escape sometimes.

Satan:

He was worried about you, he offered to take you to the library for a new place to study. He would read your textbooks to you. He would read it whether you were in his room, the library, or curled up on his bed. Though most times if he read to you on his bed, you would drift off to sleep listening to his voice. He would always smile whenever you managed to fall asleep, it comforted him that he was able to help you fall asleep.

Satan would find books about depression, but he was uncertain because it sounded to clinically and he doubted that it was really like how the book described. Though he continued to research, trying to find out ways to support you. Online forums and talking to the brothers about the things they were doing and what seemed to help you.

He would stumble sometimes but you couldn’t help but feel touched he tried so hard. When you say the help guide and books he had, you cried. You couldn’t believe someone would care this much about you and want to help you. He was there to comfort you and once you calmed down you thanked him and laugh, “I was wondering why your actions seemed straight from a self-help book, Thank you,” you kissed him on the cheek and gave up studying for the day to hang out and cuddle with him. He would ask what he could do to help, what things he did that helped or hurt you. You would drift off to sleep with a smile on your face.

When you weren’t reading together and Satan would play drama, especially Korean Dramas, something you introduced to him. He would play your favorite one, the one you have already watched together and that you have seen a million times, but still loved it and reacted to the story every time. Sometimes Satan would quote the show and act dramatically to make you smile and laugh.

But there were hard times with Satan, he was the Avatar of Wrath, after all, he would get annoyed at the situation, but never at you. He always made sure that you knew that, though occasionally he would say something that he would immediately apologize for it. He tells you; he feels worthless and helpless. He wanted to help you and make it all better, but he knew that isn’t how it works.

Asmodeus:

Much like Mammon, offered you comfort and affection. Whisking you away to get the newest coffee or tea at the café, shopping, bubble baths, and doing skincare with him. While you tried to protest, he was consistent, and most times was a success. He starts to offer to go the café to study for a change of scenery, offering to quiz you while you took the bubble bath, or doing face masks that you could put on and study for a bit while it dried.

“Stress isn’t good for your skin. Neither is not sleeping,” Asmodeus would tell you pointedly.

Never directly asked what was wrong, but constantly reminded you he was there for you if you ever needed him or wanted to talk. While you didn’t to it often, instead of talking to him you would seek him out to cuddle and of course, he never denied it. It was a guaranteed break for you and most times you fell asleep.

Whenever he took you shopping, he would drag you to the art store encouraging to buy art supplies, he ended up buying you new paintbrushes, paint, and canvas. Telling you there wasn’t any rush to paint anything, but it would just be there in case you hit inspiration. He would always joke that you could paint him or “paint him like a French girl,” and would flash you a cheeky grin. You would laugh and shove his shoulder.

Sat behind you in most of your class and whenever he had the change, he would give you affection. He would pass you notes constantly, sometimes it was drawings of his own. Sometimes they were beautiful and amazing other times he drew funny sketches. You quickly found out who drew Lucifer riding the unicorn and Diavolo in the dress. The funny sketches also included exaggerated drawings of the teachers or his brothers, which was so hard not to laugh in class so you could only turn around and glare at him, that didn’t last long before you broke out into a smile and shook your head at him.

Beelzebub:

Noticed you lack interest of food and lack of eating immediately. Was constantly bring you snacks and sharing them with you. He sometimes was sneaky with it, dropping it off fruit slices and sitting it beside you and leaving. Then coming back later to see the empty plate and he was beaming. Would study with you and sat near you in class, whenever he pulled out a snack, he would set it in between you, in hopes you would snack on his food.

Whenever it was his turn to cook, he would find out your favorite comfort food; whether it was something from Devildom or Human food. Trying to make sure the food was as appetizing as possible and mouth-watering in hopes to entice you.

Would always be proud whenever you ate and encouraged yourself to be a glutton sometimes. Beelzebub was also your teddy bear, always down to engulf you in a hug and study with you occasionally. He would also tell you stories and memories about Lilith, times in the Celestial Realm, or random memories that were simply used as a distraction or calm you down when you got too tense about your schoolwork.

Beelzebub would also be the one that read you bedtime stories when you couldn’t sleep, it always made you laugh. He would do the voices and everything, as you cuddle against him. It became a normal thing to wake up to see Beelzebub leaning against you bed, he would admit he was checking on you during the middle of the night and decided to stay just in case you needed him.

He always checked up on you and while he was the Avatar of Gluttony, he indulged you in other things than food. He gave you a lot of praise and even small trinkets he found while he was out shopping.

He was just always there for you and he had his alerts on specifically for you. He would always reply with lightning speed. He was also the one that came up with the idea to not let you be alone too long and create the shifts between the brothers. While it was annoying in some ways you couldn’t help but feel touched by their efforts

Belphegor:

Consistently offered and told you take a break and naps. He would drag you to the planetarium to study and while he offered to study with you, he would end up dozing off at some point. It always made you smile. You would go snag his blanket and tuck him in.

He would constantly wrap you up in blankets and cling to you like a koala, trying to make sure you were as comfortable as possible as you study. He even would offer you to use his pillow that he carried around. While you were hesitant, but you adored how Belphegor smelled and often found comfort in that. He would be able to help you learn about the stars and constellations. He could talk forever about it and often did. He knew all the stories behind them, what they looked like and could point them out.

Sometimes you would count the stars with him to fall asleep. Belphegor was known to tuck you in, he would kiss you on your forehead and whenever he found you asleep, he would join you. It was the simple things that made you feel a little better and loved. Never forced you to talk about anything, but whenever he noticed you were staring off into space, he would begin to ramble about everything and anything. Trying to ground you and bring you back to the present.

He knew where to find you whenever you couldn’t sleep, and you weren’t in your room and he told the other brothers but always told them he would go and comfort and hang out with you. You were in the planetarium, it where he went when he couldn’t sleep or felt restless. He would sit beside you and sit in silence, he usually had a blanket to drape over the both of you. You would lean again him and rest his head on your shoulder, bringing in his smell and feel some of your tensions melt away.

Finally, one random day, you had inspiration hit you. Asmodeus had bought you a canvas and it was huge, and you knew the painting had to be just right. You decided to paint it outside, thinking maybe getting some vitamin D would help as well. You gathered your art stuff before you headed out. You ran into Satan as you made your way outside, you flashed him a shy smile and he offered to help you carry out your things. You were in the garden and you slowly set up; Satan helped you set up before disappearing. You grabbed your pencil and started to sketch out your painting. You heard someone approaching you and it was Satan though he was carrying a book before finding a place to sit near you in the shade. You gave him a soft smile before you went back to work. Before you knew it, you were loaded up your pallet with all different colors and started to paint. You allowed yourself to get lost in the painting. Letting your mind go blank and allowing your hand to take over the paint strokes. You didn’t notice the crowd that gathered behind you, you were completely lost in the joy of the painting. Your smile only continued to go the more and more you painted, you remembered how much you loved painting; the tension in your shoulders started to release and you felt renewed. Once you were finished you stepped back to see the painting in the full picture. You looked behind you to see all the brothers behind you, looking at your painting.

“It’s beautiful,” Satan said setting his book down and the other brothers nodded in agreement.

“Thank you… for everything,” you started and continued when you saw the brothers confused looks, “For supporting me and reminding me to take care of myself,” you flashed all of them a small smile.

“It’s inspired by all of you. That you reached out to me and reminded me of the hope that it gets better, even if it takes a while or doesn’t feel like it ever would.” All the brothers looked touched, but your words and it was Beelz that pulled you into a hug first. Soon you were getting hugs from all the brothers except Lucifer who gave a nod, you knew that later in private you would get a quick hug from him later.

Lucifer:

Lucifer had a sense of pride in seeing you paint again. Seeing you so engrossed in your work and how confidently your paint strokes were. He loved watching how the colors swirled together and how the painting slowly came to life. He realized he could watch you paint all day; he would later ask if you were willing to paint him something for his office. He would let you in his office and look around to get an idea of the mood of the room and how much space you had to work with. When you finished the painting, Lucifer hung it up almost immediately. He whenever he was stressed and tense, he would find himself looking at it, following the swirls of the colors to calm himself.

He also adored to indulge you in more expensive paints, which always took your breath away. He would allow you in his office to paint if you wanted. Most times Lucifer was working on papers, but occasionally he would play the piano, soft melodies that were soothing. It became a tradition that once a week, you would go to his office to paint or draw. Asking his opinions on sketches and if you should follow through with them or change it up.

Mammon:

He was taken back by how beautiful you looked as you painted. You were so carefree and happy; it took his breath away. He watched how your body moved as you painted, how smooth and elegant it looked. It was angelic, he was the only brother that dared to approach you; he would sit down on the grass and watch you.

He never formally requested any paintings from you, but you ended up painting him something anyway. You bought a copy of the magazine he was on the cover of and recreated it for him to hang up in his room. He was speechless when you gave it to him, you decided to do it more of an abstract with lots of colors. He hung it up on his wall and whenever he looked at it, he would smile and blush, it seemed so intimate that you painted him. That you probably spend a lot of time looking at his face to recreate it. He was greedy and craved watching you paint; for some reason, it was soothing for him and it made you happy so in turn, it made him happy.

Leviathan:

He watched in amazement, seeing you so shy and in a shy to being confident and standing tall. HE was in awe; his mouth fell open at some point. He felt like a child again, recalling how he has memories of having similar reactions when Lucifer did things. He followed you paint strokes, watching the painting come to life. When you turned around, he gave you the biggest smile, he was so happy to see you so passionate and happy with your work.

Even though the memory of being chased by Henry 1.0 was fresh in your mind, you decided to recapture him for Levi. So he could always have him hanging in his room. Levi was speechless when he saw it, he would whisper thank you to you. His smile made it so worth it.

Satan:

He found it super important to text his brothers that you were painting in the garden or about to start. The chat blew up with excitement. He grabbed a random book; he had no intention to read the book, but he didn’t want you to think he was staring at you. He sat underneath the trees near you and opened the book and started to pretend to read. He was amazing and honored that he could watch the full process of watching your painting coming to life. From the rough sketch, then the base paint, and then watching you add more and more color. When he saw his brothers come out, he raised one finger to his lips, to ensure they stayed quiet.

He didn’t ask you to paint him anything but asked if he could watch you occasionally. Which you mostly agreed to, though with more intimate projects you would tell him next time. You ended up painting himself something anyways. It was an old-world map, Fra Mauro map. It was made in Italy and even included the Garden of Eden. When he first saw it, he was speechless, he was excited though. This painting would go so well in his room, it matches the old-world library setting he had in his room. He was even more excited because he has a book about old-world maps that Fra Mauro is featured in it. The hug he pulled you into took your breath away, but you felt so happy because of his reaction.

Asmodeus:

Asmodeus was excited to see you painting again. He would be lying if he said it wasn’t attractive to watch you get lost in your art. While he was watching you paint, he couldn’t stop thinking about what other things you could paint and wondered if you would be okay with painting him like a French girl. Soon he disregarded the thoughts and simply appreciate the art in front of him, though he decided that you were really the masterpiece here.

Instead of painting Asmodeus a picture on canvas, you asked him to take off his shirt and lay down on his bed. You had brought your paints and paint brushed, while he was confused, he complied.

“This is going to be cold, sorry,” you gave him a heads up before you painted the stroke on his back. Asmodeus love it, you were turning him into a piece of your art. It felt intimate and precious. Though it was cold, and he complained and shivered, he was excited to see the final product.

Once you were done, you took a picture of your painting on his and yours D.D.D. You told him you combined two of your favorite paintings by Vincent Van Gogh, Starry Night but instead of the yellow stars, it was Van Gogh’s sunflowers.

Beelzebub:

He was the most excited out of the brothers, he was so happy to see you painting again. Seeing it come to life right in front of him, gave him a new appreciation for art. He could have watched you paint forever, you looked so carefree and relaxed. He didn’t know how much he missed your smile. After you were done and the painting was dried, he would ask if he could trace the colors. He would pull you into a huge hug and spin you around, making you cling onto him and laughing.

Beelz would ask instead of painting him something if you could have a paint night with him. You decided to pull up a Bob Ross video and follow it together. The results were dramatic, yours look close to Ross’ but had your unique style, while Beelz tried his hardest and it did resemble the reference paint. You started to giggle at his painting and before you knew it, Beelz took his extra paint and flung it at you. You let out a shriek before joining in, in the end, you both ended up covered in paint and laughing at each other.

Belphegor:

Belphegor was napping when his D.D.D started going off like crazy, he was annoyed until he saw that it was about you were about to paint. It gave him a jolt of energy to rush out to the garden. He was the last brother to get there. Standing behind you, he watched how your brush danced across the page and how your body swayed. You seem in your element and lost in your work. It was so relaxing to watch you paint, how the colors swirled together and just seeing how relaxed and happy you were seemed to rub off on him.

You knew you didn’t have to paint Belphie anything, but you couldn’t help yourself. You knew exactly what you wanted to draw anyways. You set up in the Planetarium and went to work to capture the sky above you. Belphie ended up joining you, he grabbed his blanket and sat behind you before curling up and watching you paint. It wasn’t long before you heard his soft snores behind him. You chuckled at him before going back to work. When you were finished you saw he was still asleep, you couldn’t help yourself. You crept near him with a paintbrush in hand and touched his cheek with it. He woke up immediately due to the cold paint, you soon were fighting over the paintbrush. You didn’t stand a chance against him, once he had the paintbrush in hand, he gave your cheek the same treatment. You both began to laugh and once you had calmed down, you showed him the painting you did for him. He pulled you into a hug, rubbing his painted cheek against yours to smear the paint even more.

When it was time for you to leave Devildom, you gave the brothers the painting. They tried to refuse but you wouldn’t take no for an answer.

“Please, it’s a way for you to remember me. You inspired me to do and it’s a reminder to have hope that I’ll be back soon,” you told them a little teary-eyed. You knew you were going to miss all of them so much, but you had a renew sense and passion for painting and the brothers and Devildom has inspired a lot more pieces as soon as you got back to Earth.

#obey me lucifer #lucifer obey me #mammon obey me #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #leviathan obey me #satan obey me #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #asmodeus obey me #beelzebub obey me #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #belphegor obey me #Yuki Writes!#yuki writes

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maximoffzinha · 5 years ago

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Sunsets

“ @leilei-draws said:Hi! I saw that you are taking requests, i was wondering if you could do Poe Dameron dating an artist reader? :)“

A/N: Thank you so much for the request! I really hope you like it! Word Count: 1257 words. Pairing: Poe Dameron x Artist!Reader

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: None :)

(A/N: The quote on the gif doesn’t have anything to to with the plot lol) °°°

You were calm. The evening breeze involved you in a pleasant way, a harsh contrast against the hot nights you spent in D’Qar. The war was over. The First Order was defeated, you could finally rest, you could finally live. Letting a small pleased sigh scape your mouth, you turned your eyes to the horizon once more where the beautiful and warm orange of the sunset greeted you and inspired you to keep working on the piece resting on your lap.

It was a simple sketch. The tall trees around the lake, the water would be reflecting the same orange tone surrounding you, and the shape of a landed X- Wing was just beginning to take form as you stroked the notebook gently. It was almost full already. During the fighting days you almost didn’t have time to practice your true passion. You loved the arts, you were studying it, almost finishing your degree on the Royal Art Academy of Naboo when everything turned into chaos.

The First Order started to grow quite fast, and while your heart was in the arts, you couldn’t stand by the atrocities being made. So, you dropped out, and joined the Navy Academy. Your family was quite wealthy, and while they didn’t like you abandoning an almost finished degree, they didn’t complain about having a pilot in the family, you could always make money on the royal fleet. Much to their dismay, you ran away, not wasting a single second on joining the Resistance, not hesitating on fighting for what was right. You didn’t regret that, if it wasn’t for that you wouldn’t have met Poe.

He was already a Capitan when you joined, quickly ascending in positions as the Resistance best pilot. You didn’t pay him mind though. Only a few words were exchanged between the two of you for at least 4 months before you were called by General Organa.

3 years and 4 months earlier…

“Good evening General. Pava said you wanted to see me?” – You entered the General’s office, and saw the dark haired pilot siting right across the woman.

“Ah yes, officer Y/L/N, come in.”- The woman said in a serious tone.

You couldn’t see his face, but you knew it well, after the mock posters featuring the handsome pilot were published inside the base it was hard not to know Poe Dameron. He seemed tense, but didn’t turn around as you approached the desk. “Well, it has come to my knowledge that you attended the Royal Art Academy of Naboo before enlisting on the Navy Academy, is that correct, Y/L/N?” “It is ma’am. Is there anything I could do to help using my arts background?”

She smiled at the young pilot’s quick thinking and nodded towards Poe.

“Commander Dameron is going to need your help on a small mission, we are getting information about a spy in our midst…”- at the mention of the spy Poe clenched his jaw. “ Our informant couldn’t get a picture or a name, but said they memorized the features of our little friend, so we need someone that can draw their face on a remote location while I go and get the description.”- He said looking at you, and oh boy, those eyes.

You only nodded, he was facing you now, and you found yourself lost in those dark orbs, now lighted up by the orange glow of the sunset that came from the window of Leia’s office only pulled out by the tiny smirk forming on his face, reciprocated by one of your own. °°°

You shivered a little when the wind caught up, a little colder now that the sun had set completely. You got down of the edge of the balcony of your lake house, and sat down on one of the couches there curling up and flicking through your sketchbook, it was not the same one you had in the beginning years of your Resistance years, but it was one Poe got you in the middle of a mission, still back in war days, before he was General Dameron. You smiled fondly at a messy drawing of a stick figure person next to a detailed drawing you did of BB-8, the messy handwrite above the sticky figure (that had a tongue out, thank you very much) also brought a smile to your face, Rey had drew herself next to her favorite droid and while both you and her had been a little tipsy when this happened she was proud of her job.

A few pages forward that was a unfinished drawing of Leia and Poe sharing one of, what you called, Space Mom and Child moment, Poe was sitting on the floor while Leia was in a rock that looked a little like a chair, he was looking up at here like a little kid, a dopey smile in his face, while she had a scowl on her face, her eyes though, you remembered, they were smiling as much as Poe. Behind them a myriad of colors, purple, yellow and the ever present orange.

“Admiring the greatest works of the greatest artist of the Galaxy again I see…”- You felt strong arms wrapping around her bare shoulders before she registered the words.

“They’re not that good Poe… It’s all blurred and stained on the edges…It even has a coffee stain…”

“It’s the greatest art ever, you can’t change my mind.” – He gave a small kiss to your neck before sitting down next to you and getting the sketchbook from your hands.

“Poe! Come on, I have an unfinished one! And Maker knows what I’m going to do with you if you get engine grease on that one…”- You threw yourself at him when he started holding the notebook far from you.

“Oh, come on, baby. I washed my hands! You know I did. Beebs was there If you want to ask him!”- He pouted when you managed to get the book again and going inside after giving him a suspicious look.

“How was your day?” – You called out making a happy sound when you noticed take out food at the dining table. “You are an angel, how did you know I was too lazy to cook today?” He walked inside and smiled, the smile getting bigger when you dropped your stuff to give Beebs some belly rubs, and he couldn’t help but grab the sketchbook once more and was blown away by the drawing. “B-baby? What’s this?”- They turned to him and smiled; “Is this… Is this what I think it is?”

“It’s you and me next to the X Wing… In front of our dreamhouse”- You tried sheepishly.

“Y/N, you drew Yavin 4… Why?”

“It’s on my mind since we went to visit your father… All that Nature, all that life, I never felt so at peace in my whole life, I never felt so inspired… And we had to go back to Coruscant… I missed the trees, and the Sunset… And well you.”- Poe got next to you and kissed you warmly, his hands cupping your face while your arms circled around his waist.

“As soon this is all settled down… As soon as I’m not needed… We will get a cosy house by the lake… On Naboo, or Yavin, or anywhere you want… And you’ll have all the inspiration in the Universe.”

You smiled into his lips while leaning in to another kiss, and you decided to still let him believe, just for a little more, that the sunsets were your inspiration.

#poe dameron x reader #poe dameron #poe dameron x you #star wars fanfiction #artist!reader #fluff

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jay-me-says · 4 years ago

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Things Were Different Back Then

CHAPTER FOUR: One Traitor to Another

Masterpost w/ more info on the fic | Note: all SBI-related relationships here are platonic!

The fallen king is considering tearing down the half-finished house…again.

He readjusts his sunglasses as he looks at the heap of oak and spruce. All things considered, it doesn’t look bad. It’s far from the worst thing he’s ever built, and it isn’t done yet. With a little more time, Eret could turn it into something amazing. It would make for a great home.

But it doesn’t feel right- nothing has. For over a month- a month- he’s been trying to build himself a place in L’manburg. It’s been a never-ending cycle of building, frustration, and destruction. Rinse and repeat several times.

With an aggravated sigh, Eret pulls out his axe and starts swinging, taking down the failed attempt block by disappointing block. Building a house should be so simple, especially when compared to the castle he’d constructed for his previous home, but nothing he’s tried has felt right to him.

The tower style he tried first had seemed too much like his castle, which he no longer belonged in. He wasn’t a king anymore; he had no crown. He didn’t even have the company of his flamingos. If he thought too hard about their soft, pink feathers and elegant legs, his heart started to hurt.

Another attempt had been made primarily of spruce wood, with a sloping roof and red carpeting. It had complimented the other homes and buildings in L’manburg, but that didn’t feel right either. It’d looked like the home of someone who truly belonged in the nation, not the home of someone who had turned their back on it. Even after a month, Eret didn’t feel like he fit in L’manburg. Or rather, he didn’t feel like he deserved to fit in L’manburg.

So, he tried about a dozen other styles. Oak wood and shades of purple, birch and granite, andesite and stone bricks. When those didn’t work, he tore them down and started fresh. Countless nights were spent in the tent with a lantern, drawing up as many new designs as he could think of. And when they all failed, he thought up more. Time after time, something about the house wasn’t right. It never felt like home.

Frustrated, Eret swings his axe harder than is strictly necessary. Mingo, who has been basking in the sun nearby for the past several hours, meows unhappily at the noise and retreats to the entrance of the tent, half in and half out of it. Sunlight catches the high and low points of her luxurious cream-colored fur, turning the pretty feline into an artist’s sketch. The only splash of color is the pink collar at her neck.

Eret takes down half the unfinished house before realizing he’s being watched. The feeling of eyes on his back makes the hair on his neck rise. Tensing, he turns and sees about the last person he would have ever expected to pay him a visit.

Bathed in the late afternoon sunlight, a pale Wilbur stands a few feet from Eret’s building site. He looks uncertain and nervous, hands sort-of-clasped in front of him as he fidgets with his fingers. Eret, panting somewhat after beating up his house, looks at him quizzically, too stunned for words.

After a moment of strained silence, Wilbur says, “H- hey, Eret. I, um…see, I didn’t know who else to speak to so, could you maybe spare a second? You look like you’re busy, though, so, uh…” he trails off uncomfortably and his eyes go to his hands, which are now still but tense.

Once he gets over his surprise, Eret says, “Er, yeah, sure. That’s fine. I’m not too busy.” He leans against the wrecked remains of the house and slowly slides down a half-destroyed wall until he’s seated on the grass.

Wilbur takes a few steps forward, then says, “You sure you won’t axe me?”

The comment takes Eret by surprise, the words seeping into him and filling his chest with a cold dread that quickly freezes his entire body, down to the tips of his fingers. Does Wilbur really think I would do that?

Then, he notices the faint smile on Wilbur’s face. The way his lips curl up, almost perfectly symmetrical, paired with the humorous glint in his eyes is a familiar sight. It makes Eret’s heart ache for a moment, reminding him of a different time. He’s joking, the man realizes. Relief floods through him, rinsing away the freeze. He lets a small smile of his own tug on his face. “Yeah, I promise.”

Wilbur sits down across from Eret, crisscrossing his long legs. Intrigued by the new presence, Mingo pads over softly and sniffs Wilbur’s knee. He must not have noticed her approach, because he startles. He jolts a little, causing Mingo to recoil in response.

Recovering, then gently holding his fingers out to the cream-colored cat, he asks, “Who’s this?” Mingo sniffs his knuckles tentatively.

Eret smiles lovingly at the fluffball. “That’s a gift from Niki. Her name is Mingo.”

Wilbur seems to connect the dots from the cat’s pink collar to her name, and his eyebrows turn up sadly. He makes a sound halfway between an “oh” and an “aw,” staring at the cat as she nuzzles his fingers, “Eret…”

The former king’s eyes sting, making him grateful for the sunglasses hiding his eyes. “Yeah.” After a pause, he says, “Niki came up with the name and everything, too. Said I seemed down and thought I could use a companion. It was really sweet of her.” And she had been right. Everything in Eret’s life changed after the Second Revolution. He’d lost his throne and his crown and had been thrust back into L’manburg’s ranks all in the span of a few minutes. He was glad to be back on his friends’ side (if he can call them friends still), but it’d left him feeling unstable and confused. Losing the companionship of his treasured flamingos had been the rotting cherry on top of everything. Mingo had created a constant in his life, and that was invaluable. He wasn’t sure he would ever be able to thank Niki enough.

There’s a pause in the conversation while Wilbur pets the cat and the two get acquainted. When it borders on being awkwardly long, Eret says, “So, what brought you here? I doubt you came to discuss the tragic story behind my cat.”

Wilbur looks up from Mingo and meets Eret’s eyes. “Ah, right. It’s…it’s about Fundy. And Philza.” A crease appears between his eyebrows, accompanied by a small frown. He fixes a stare to the ground in front of him. “It just that I- I don’t feel like I fit in my life anymore. Fundy is cross with me, constantly. I always say the exact wrong thing to him. And Philza, as amazing as he’s been this past month, I know he hasn’t forgiven me. I really…I really let him down. I did something unforgivable and then asked him to kill me. And I would’ve gone happily. That’s not exactly something a month of family bonding can repair.” His frown deepens as he finishes speaking, and guilt plays over his expression. He stopped petting Mingo at some point while he was talking, his hand frozen in a fist a few inches above her. She rubs her face against it like nothing is wrong, then trots off into the tent.

Eret sits in thoughtful silence for a long moment, absorbing Wilbur’s words and piecing together a response. “Trial and error,” he says at last.

Wilbur looks up at him again, and Eret notices some tears have left glistening tracks down the other man’s face. More threaten to spill over, collecting in his eyelashes. A second that feels fragile passes in silence. “What?” Wilbur asks.

“Trial and error. Like this house of mine. I’ve tried building it dozens of times now, but I keep messing up and it never feels like a place that’s meant for me. So, I take it down and I start again. And each time, I get a little closer to something I could live in and call home.”

Eret trails a hand by his side up and down the wreck of oak wood planks. When it comes to rest on his knee again, he says, “Talk to them, Wilbur . Talk to your son, talk to your father, and keep trying. You’ll keep messing up, and it’ll be okay. You just need to keep trying. You gave up for a while- you utterly checked out. Fundy has had an absent father and Phil had to watch the downfall of his son. You’re right, no amount of family bonding or apologies are going to fix that. But time and effort will. I think what they both need from you right now is a little more effort.”

For what must be the hundredth time in the past five minutes, the two lapse into silence. But this time, it doesn’t feel strained or awkward. Eret’s words have spilled a feeling of hope into the air. It replaces the frustration he felt earlier, making him eager to get back to working on his house.

After several silent seconds, a smile ghosts over Wilbur’s features. He gets up, straightening out his black jacket. The man walks over to Eret and holds out a hand, who looks up at him in surprise and confusion. “Want some help with your house?”

After spending the rest of the day helping Eret, Wilbur is utterly exhausted. But he feels strangely good. He’d turned to Eret because he had no one else to talk to, but now he’s really glad that he did. His words had given Wilbur an air of determination- and hope. When was the last time he’d felt hope? Actually, when was the last time he’d felt either of those things?

He stumbles up the steps to his home, ready to collapse in bed for the night. He expects a dark house (his son had taken after Philza’s early sleeping habits) but instead finds the kitchen lights on, casting a yellowish square of light on the stripped spruce log floor.

The strains of a conversation die in the air as he walks in and shuts the front door. Cautiously, Wilbur makes his way into the kitchen. Sat at the table are his dad and Fundy. They look tired, but relieved. Surprise sparking through his arms and chest leaves the brunette speechless for a moment. Then, he stammers out, “Did…did you wait up for me?”

The faintest flicker of anger flares in Philza’s eyes, just for a moment before they soften again. It reminds Wilbur of being scolded as a child for taking a practice fight with his little brother a bit too far. “No shit, kid. We knew you would be fine, but…well, we were worried.”

“I’m sorry.” There’s an unexpected weight to the words that startles both Philza and Fundy. Clearly, Wilbur is talking about more than just coming home late.

His dad tries to play it off. “I- it’s okay, Wil. Let’s all just head to bed and- “

He’s cut off by a light scraping noise as Wilbur pulls out a chair and sits at the table with them. He’s done pussyfooting this. No more tiptoeing through conversations or worrying his dad with sleepless nights or reading more than he talks to his own son. Wilbur grabs their hands, one of theirs in either one of his. He needs them to understand, more than he’s ever needed anything before.

“No. I’m sorry. I never said sorry to you two. I really, really am, though. What I put you through these past months, it’s not okay. I’ve been a terrible father and a terrible son. I’ve been absent and awkward, and I wanted so bad for it to just fix itself but that’s not how these things work. I did horrible things to both of you and I can’t keep going on without properly acknowledging that. I am so, so sorry.” He squeezes their hands. There’s a familiar sting in his eyes, so he turns his gaze to the wooden tabletop. Don’t cry, he begs of his eyes. Not right now.

The silence is deafening. Seconds pass in what feels like a year. When he finally can’t bear it anymore, Wilbur looks up at his family. He feels sick and relieved and guilty all at once when he sees the tears brimming their eyes. Briskly, Philza stands up, chair scraping rudely against the floor as he does.

The blonde man moves to stand in front of his son. Before Wilbur has time to register how terrified he is that he’s mucked things up further, his father is pulling him into a hug. He loses his grip on Fundy’s hand as he’s pulled up.

Philza grips him tightly, one hand holding his head. Wilbur’s heart soars and the tears break from his lashes. Waves of emotion crash through his chest and make every inch of his body feel heavy and light at the same time.

He grips his father tighter, absorbing the familiar smells. Pine trees and bread dough and the vaguest hint of smoke. It sends a pang through his chest, accompanied by nostalgia. Wilbur buries his face further into his father’s shoulder.

“Wil…oh, Wil. No matter what happens, you’re my son.”

Those words alone would be enough to make Wilbur break down completely if it were just them two in the room. But Fundy is still sitting at the kitchen table.

Fundy.

Suddenly desperate to see his son’s reaction, he breaks slightly from Philza, twisting in his father’s grip to look at the fox. Philza kisses his son’s head and gently lets go, taking a couple of steps back.

Fundy and Wilbur stare at one another for a moment. Wilbur swallows. It feels as though his whole body is being consumed by nerves and adrenaline. “I promise, I’m done floating through the days like some ghost of the man I was. I want to put in effort. I want to be a good dad to you, Fundy.”

There’s another beat of silence, then Fundy is out of his chair and practically throwing himself at Wilbur. In that moment, a weight comparable to that of all the world’s oceans lifts from his shoulders. His son’s arms feel like home and love.

Wilbur places his head neatly on top of the fox’s, gripping him as close as he can. Fundy’s shoulders shake and Wilbur’s heart breaks to know he caused his son so much pain. He rubs circles on Fundy’s back as he hugs him, just like he always would when he was a kid coming to Wilbur with a painful scrape or night terrors. And he knows, then, that Eret was right. It’ll all be okay, they’ll be okay.

‘

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venusxxlangdon · 6 years ago

Text

draw me like one of your french boys

warnings: smut, fluff, handjob, oral (female receiving, facesitting), praise kink, sub!Michael, Hawthorne!Michael, shy!Michael, female!reader

summary: reader is an artist looking for a live model for her new artwork. When she meets Michael, she realizes that the boy, who looks like a Renaissance painting, is exactly who she’s been looking for. They grow found of each other, and one day Michael asks her to draw him. Naked.

word count: 6850

Every artist experiences existential crises at least once in their lifetime, and if they haven’t experienced it yet, it means that they are about to. It’s an inevitable burden that occurs in everyone’s life, especially after they become successful and the dependency of other people’s opinion increases. An artist, who once created for the sake of the process itself, gets trapped in the idea of being liked by their audience. That’s what you were afraid most of all. To become a puppet whose only desire would be to meet somebody else’s expectations.

The sales of your paintings have increased drastically in the past six months and, as your manager kept telling you, it was high time to paint more. You started making new clients and getting offers for a personal exhibition, but it all felt like the weight of the world was forced on your shoulders. You wanted to rebel against it: tell your manager to shut up, and lock yourself in your studio, where you were alone with your thoughts and nobody told you what to do. It had always been your happy place with sketches all over the floor, your very first paintings hanging on the walls, a huge easel right in the center of the room. You loved the smell of fresh oil and ink, and two huge windows that offered a fascinating view of city skyline. How disappointing it was to come over one day and realize that nothing was making you happy anymore, and the main reason for that was right in the corner of the room. A big canvas of your last painting you had been struggling to finish. It was a drawing inspired by the early Renaissance period: a cherub in the rose garden, wrapped in a navy blue silk that was coming down his lean body in waves. The flowers turned out really beautiful, so delicate and precious with the drops of dew on the rosy petals. The problem was with the cherub. For some reason you couldn’t paint his face, and the blank space instead of its place was driving you mad. You wanted it to be special, and you had spent days trying to find a proper live model who could pose for you, but, unfortunately, all these handsome males, you tried to get inspiration from, lacked the innocence of an angel (especially that one guy who posed for you half-naked, when you were painting cherub’s chest, and decided to hit on you. You were quick to explain to him that the job of a live model wasn’t about hooking up with an artist and made sure that he wouldn’t appear in your studio ever again), the lightness and purity. Days went by, your manager started being really annoying, but you kept looking for that very special one, because you felt he was somewhere out there. Your intuition never deceived you.

It was a regular rainy afternoon when you found yourself sitting in a local coffee shop not far from your studio, thinking how bad you didn’t want to go there and face the unfinished painting which was some sort of a reminder of your inability to draw something decent. Another notification popped up on your laptop desktop, and you already new what it was gonna be about. One more email from Mallory.

“Y/N, Mr. Gallant called, and he’s expecting the painting to be done and delivered to his apartment by next Sunday. Get back to work, please”. You sighed disappointedly. Fuck this stupid time-management. You are an artist, a free-spirit and you will be done when YOU decide that it’s time. Having aggressively shut the lid of your laptop down, you stared through the window.

The rain was oblivious of your worries, as each drop bequeathed itself into a cooling air. You felt pathetic and unprofessional. Why everything had to be so complicated? Why did you let your perfectionism take over and prevent you from drawing a face of any model you could pick from a local model agency? It wasn’t even the artwork you’d hang in your apartment, and the man you were painting it for could care less about the face of a cherub as long it was pretty. You knew the answer to all of these questions — because you could never do things halfway — it was either all or nothing, even if it meant sacrificing set deadlines.

You rolled your eyes when your phone started vibrating with an incoming call.

“Yes, Mallory?” You didn’t even have to look at the display to know who was calling, Rubbing the bridge of your nose tiredly, you prepared yourself mentally for another lecture from your manager. “Y/N, you know I would really appreciate if you answered my emails” the voice on the others side was monotonous.

You sipped your coffee and winced, realizing that the drink had gone cold. Damn.

“I told you I was busy” you answered and looked around the coffee shop, thinking that the way you spend your time could hardly be identified as “busy”. Chewing on your bottom lip, you brought your gaze back to the window.

“Please, tell me that at least you’ve read my last email and you are familiar with the new deadline” you could picture the way Mallory adjusted her glasses, her thin lips pursed, and pale face grimaced with annoyance.

“Yes, I have” you mumbled in response and narrowed your eyes, as you noticed a group of boys crossing the other side of the street. They looked young. Really young. Maybe in their early 20s. Dressed in brown trench coats, they were jumping over puddles briskly, trying not to get their feet wet. Only one of them had an umbrella, so the others were trying to get under it. They were pushing each other with their elbows, playfully fighting for dominance. And then you noticed him. A tall guy who was trying to follow the running boys with his coat unbuttoned, so you could see his black and white uniform. There was a silk ribbon tied neatly around the collar of his crisp white shirt that made him look like he was straight out from some 18th century novel about a private boarding school. His blond hair, wet in the rain, sticked to his chiseled face with sharp, prominent cheekbones and pointy chin.

You literally got glued to the window, admiring him, and forgot that Mallory was still on the line.

“Y/N? Y/N? Can you hear me? The painting should also...”

You cleared your throat and understood that it was either now or never. You didn’t have much time, as the boys took their way down the street away from the coffee shop.

“Mallory” you harshly interrupted her. “I can’t talk right now”, you hanged up on her without even letting her finish the sentence. Her complains were the last thing you worried about when there was a gorgeous boy, who had the face of a cherub you were dying to paint, just several feet away from you. You grabbed your jacket and stormed your way out of the coffee shop. It seemed like your heart was about to beat out of your chest with an overwhelming excitement like a trapped bird. You have found him. You have finally found him.

Faster than the wind you ran after the boys hoping they didn’t go far. You saw the tall guy take a turn around the corner, and without even realizing what you were doing, you shouted at the top of your lungs:

“Excuse me, sir!”

He didn’t pay attention. “Shit” you thought to yourself and speeded up. Raindrops were running down your cheeks, and the wind was blowing right in your face making it extremely uncomfortable to run.

“Heeey!” you almost stumbled and instinctively put your hand out to prevent yourself from falling. Your purse hanged off your shoulder and nearly fell down in the puddle, but you managed to catch it. “Excuse me!”

Right at that moment the guy stopped and slowly turned around. With a slight confusion on his face he watched you slowly approach him, as you were trying to calm your heavy breathing. You imagined that you looked like a wet rat with your hair clanged to you face and smeared mascara — definitely not the most presentable look for the artist whose paintings cost thousands of dollars.

“I’m sorry? May I help you?” the boy asked. His voice was low for an angelic appearance like his. He looked even more handsome up close. The gray sky tinted his blue eyes beautifully, making them brighter. They were piercing at you cautiously, as he was trying to figure out whether he found you familiar. Even though his hair was wet, you still were able to tell that it was curly, as they were sticking to his cheeks in messy waves. You took a deep breath and tucked a piece of your wet hair behind your ear, but it didn’t make any difference to your look.

“Hi!” You smiled brightly. The only thought “it’s him, it’s him!!” was ringing in your head, making you grin like an idiot. Nobody could understand your delight at that moment. It seemed like sleepless nights, when you were eating yourself up for the lack of inspiration, have come to an end. If only this beautiful boy before you agreed to work with you! You would be the happiest person in the world. “I’m sorry for bothering you, sir. But I really need to talk to you...”

“Mikey!! What’s up, dude? Are you coming?” the other boys were calling him. He turned around and raise his right hand in the air.

“Just a moment!” he shouted back at them. He adjusted the collar of his coat bringing it up, so the rain wouldn’t get behind his back. “I’m sorry, who are you again?”

You realized that you should’ve introduced yourself first, but you were taken aback by the beauty of a real-life angel, so you couldn’t blame yourself for that.

“My name is Y/N. I’m an artist” he furrowed his eyebrows, not understanding how it was connected to him, “and I’m looking for a model” you explained. “I’m working on a painting...”, you paused, “of a cherub for a very famous client, but I can’t finish it because I don’t have a model whose face and I could paint, and you are exactly what I’ve been looking for”, you bubbled excitedly.

You could see the blush bloom on the boy’s cheeks. He parted his finely-carved, scarlet lips, but didn’t say anything. Only somewhat confusingly ran his fingers through his hair.

“I’m sorry, but I’m not a model”, he mumbled, lowering his eyes. You couldn’t explain the feeling inside of you as you watched him. He reminded you of Botticelli paintings. There was something ethereal about him: in the detached beauty of his perfectly sculpted face. He looked so fresh, so innocent, so pure, as if he was made of ivory and rosy petals.

“It doesn’t matter”, you hurried to assure him, “you don’t have to be one. It’s just...” you took a deep breath, thinking that you might have die if he didn’t agree. “I’ve been looking for a face like yours for months. It would be an honor to work with you...?” You heard one of the boys calling him “Mikey”, but you wasn’t sure what full name it stood for.

“Michael. Michael Langdon” he said, still smiling shyly. He drew his bottom lip between his perfect white teeth and looked at you through his lashes. “Look, I’m really fluttered. Thank you for your words, but....”

“Michael, we are going now!”, the boys shouted, and he turned his broad back at you one more time. It was pouring by now, and you knew that you couldn’t hold the boy any longer.

“Michael, please, think it over and give me a call, okay?” You took your business card out of your purse and handed it to him. “I’m offering you 50$ per hour. One session usually lasts up to 3-4 hours. Please, do the math and give it a thought”.

His doe-like eyes widened at your words. Not only he was blushing from your compliments, but he was stunned by the boldness of your offer, as if you were asking for something inappropriate.

“I-I-I’m really not sure...” he stuttered. You understood his reaction: how often does one gets stopped by a stranger who offers them to model for a renaissance-inspired painting? But you really, really needed him, and you were running out of time.

“Look, I’m not expecting you to answer immediately”, you said looking him in the eye, and noticed that he instantly looked away, blushing even more, “let me know if you agree by Friday, okay?”

The boys started whistling at Michael. He took your card hesitantly, his fingers were slightly shaking. He looked up at you and nodded slowly, hiding the card in the inside pocket of his coat.

“Alright, thank you”, his voice sounded hoarse, so he cleared his throat and repeated himself, “thank you”.

The corners of your lips twitched, but he didn’t return a smile, being too confused and embarrassed with all this unexpected attention to his persona. You watched him join his friends. They tapped his shoulder, as he approached them, and shoot you a curious look.

You realized that you didn’t even care about the pouring rain anymore. You were completely soaked, but the only thing you were capable of thinking was a gorgeous blue-eyed boy you just met.

xxx

The sound of the ringing phone disturbed the comfortable silence of a Saturday afternoon you were spending in your studio. You were waiting for Michael’s call yesterday, but as the hour and the minute hands of the huge clock on the wall stroke midnight, you understood that he turned down your offer. That’s why you found yourself in your studio on the following day, standing in front of the unfortunate painting and thinking that you needed to start looking through the list of potential models Mallory had sent to you.

“Hello?”, you answered the phone, noticing an unknown number on the display. A familiar raspy voice made your heart drop.

“Hi, is it Y/N?”

“Michael?” you turned away from the painting and sat down on sofa, placing your feet on a small coffee table.

“Yeah, hi”, he said, “I’m sorry I didn’t call you yesterday. Got really busy with school”. School? How old was he? “But I have been thinking about your offer...”

You hummed.

“Have you?”, you had to admit that you didn’t like the fact that he ignored your request to call you back by Friday, because it meant that he wasn’t the most responsible person, and only God knew how you were gonna arrange the appointments with him since he was incapable of planing his time. But then again, weren’t you the same way? For a second you even sympathized with Mallory who had to deal with your own irresponsibility 24/7 (but only for a second).

“Yes”, you could tell by his voice that he was nervous. You smiled at the memory of him blushing in the rain. “Well, I-I-I think I’m ready to try...” you swear you could ready to explode brighter than the fireworks on the 4th of July, but you managed to keep it cool.

“That’s really nice of you. Thank you, Michael. Do you have a pen to write down the details?”

You two agreed that he would come on Tuesday for 2 hours, so you could look at him properly and decide what exactly needed to be added to the painting. Then he could come 2 time a week for 3 hour session. You didn’t plan for the entire process to take too long, 3 weeks maximum. Thank God you had managed to persuade Gallant to give you more time. Actually it didn’t even take a lot of effort: last week, after you discovered Michael, he came came to your studio and got so stunned by the painting that he let you take as much time as you needed. If only all clients were this way.

On Tuesday Michael knocked on your door in time. Dressed in a loose cotton shirt and linen pants, hair clipped in a messy bun, you went to greet him. He was chewing on the inside of his cheek, awkwardly shifting his weight from one foot to another. Just like you thought, his hair was curly indeed. Crisp, golden locks were styled messily, covering a part of his forehead. He was wearing the same coat and holding a big leather bag in his hand. You stepped aside, inviting him in.

“Hi”, he said, blushing, and you curiously wondered if it was an uncontrollable habit of his.

“Hello, Michael”, you took his bag from his hands and carefully placed it on a table by the hangers. “I’m glad you came”.

He nodded. His long fingers started undoing the buttons of his trench coat. He carefully hanged it, and you noticed how elegant his movements were. He pulled the sleeves of his black sweater a bit up, exposing his delicate wrists. You definitely were staring, but not in a romantic way. You were observing him like a picture in a museum and wondering how you got so lucky to meet this precious boy. He was looking around cautiously, as he followed you into the studio, scanning the unknown environment with his eyes. You made your way to the center of the room, took one of the chairs and pulled it closer to the window, not far from the easel.

“Please, make yourself at home” you smiled at Michael. He looked amused, as he studied a huge painting that was almost of the size of the wall for one of your old clients who ordered it about eight months ago. You created your own version of the Miracle of the Bread and Fish, and really like the result. For some reason, biblical scenes always were your favorite to work on. “Would you like some coffee or tea, maybe?”

Michael looked at you and shook his head.

“No, thank you, I’m good”, his eyes were searching for a place were he could sit, and you pointed at the chair. He took his seat and folded his hands neatly, lacing his fingers together, so you wouldn’t notice them tremble. You watched him amusingly with your head tilted to the side. He was absolutely adorable.

“Do you live here?”, he noticed your gaze and smiled shyly, tucking a strand of his hair behind his ear.

You shook your head and turned away to take the painting of the cherub and carefully place it on the easel.

“No, I rent this studio for work purposes”, you nodded at the painting. “So what do you think?”

Michael was in awe. His ocean eyes were glistening with excitement, the tip of his pink tongue ran along his bottom lips nervously, as he said under his breath:

“Oh my God, this is magnificent”.

For a moment it seemed like he stopped being nervous and expressed his opinion sincerely. That’s what you adored art for: it made people feel different spectrums of emotions, all at once. It lifted the armor and left one bare, vulnerable, and unguarded. “I’m not sure if...”, Michael covered his mouth with one hand and than placed it back on his thigh, “if I’m good enough for posing for such a masterpiece”.

You couldn’t believe that such a stunning human being could doubt his looks. Michael’s appearance was worth being painted by the best artists all over the world. How come nobody told him that?“

“I think you will be just perfect for that”, you didn’t admit it, but making Michael blush was your new favorite activity. “But it maybe a bit tiresome to sit still for such a long time”, you instructed him, “you’ll get used to it”.

It was quite a disaster, you had to admit to yourself after some time. Michael just couldn’t keep still. He was constantly shifting in his chair, playing with his fingers, and always felt the need to scratch his jaw or toy with the collar of his sweater. During your first session your were doing sketches of his face, and by the moment your time was up you were practically begging him to relax and stop frowning. He couldn’t let go of his pressure and shyness.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N”, he pleaded, as he was putting on his coat. You smiled at him, washing your hands and watching him get dressed from the kitchen.

“It’s okay”, you approached him and gave him the money for his work, “thank you for coming today, Michael. I’ll see you on Thursday”.

Despite his surprised squeak, you pulled him closer for a hug. You needed him to relax for the sake of posing for the painting. The sessions might haven taken longer than you had thought.

xxx

It took him a while to start opening up to you. By your fourth meeting his hands stopped shaking and he no longer seemed to feel uncomfortable. He didn’t feel embarrassed to ask you to make some tea for him, and you learned that he liked it with lemon and one piece of sugar. As he sipped on it, watching you preparer the canvas and oil paints (you were done with pencil sketches by that time), he told you about his studies at Hawthorne school (Michael was twenty, and apparently, hated his birthdays. You found this fact absolutely astonishing, and made a side note to change this horrible omission), his friends, and his family. Turned out that he had a very troubled childhood, so his behavior started to make sense to you. Sympathy towards him grew with every session, and at some point you caught yourself thinking about him all the time. The thought about your meetings coming to an end made you feel extremely frustrated. Even though you kept reminding yourself that the relationship between you two had to stay professional, and it was wrong of you to think about him in a romantic way, but every time his blond mop of soft hair popped in the door frame you couldn’t hold in a radiant smile. It was impossible not to hug him and accidentally brush your fingers against his flushed cheek. He looked so damn cute.

You grew found of this marvelous boy, who turned out be very sensual, with a bright and vivid mind that generated ideas at the supersonic speed. He loved asking you questions about history of art, he was genuinely interested in learning about your favoring painters and why you loved them so much. He never stopped amazing you with his mindset, and his child-like innocence bribed you.

Another Tuesday night was traditionally spent in your studio apartment with Michael at his usual spot in front of your easel. You were working on the cherub’s eyes. Crystal blue and bright just like Michael’s. Your brows were frowned as you were trying to concentrate on the movements of the brush. The smell of oil paint was filling the room. You glanced at Michael to pay very close attention to his long eyelashes framing his eyes. That’s when you noticed a very strange look on his face. You couldn’t understand what was that. Confusion? Doubt?

“Michael, what’s wrong, darling?”, you asked him adding another brush stroke to the canvas. He slowly shook his head, trying not to move too much. From hours of watching him attentively you had learned his body language quite well. Now you could tell that something was definitely up, judging by the fact how he was holding onto the chair. His knuckles turned white. However, you proceed to painting, considering that maybe he was thinking of his problems or whatever there was on his mind.

“Love, please, look up for me”, you asked him after a while, trying to paint the patches of light in the eyes of the cherub. Michal started biting on his lower lip, but obliged your order and lifted his gaze. Suddenly it all felt like you were back to session 1, when he refused to relax. You put the brush aside and whipped the excess of paint off your fingers.

“Michael, please, tell me what’s bothering you?”, his face turned bright red at your question.

“Nothing”, he mumbled in response.

You sighed and took a step towards him. Carefully you took his face in your hands, forcing him to look up at you. You were glad that he didn’t shy away from your touch like he used to at the very beginning.

“Love, I can’t paint you when you look concerned”, you gently stroked his cheek with your thumb, and he instinctively nuzzled against your palm. It was unprofessional of you, you thought to yourself, but whatever. “You know that you can tell me anything”.

His eyes flattered, long eyelashes were casting shadows on his cheekbones in the dim light of the room. He wrapped his fingers around your wrists and carefully put your hands away.

“You’re gonna laugh at me”, he said, looking down at his knees. You frowned. Why was that? All this time you were trying to show him that he could trust you and you were his friend, and his doubts almost felt offensive to you.

“Michael, darling, I would never”, you assured him, watching him closely.

A broken cry escaped from his chest, as he hid his face in his hands. You started really worrying about him, was something hurting him? Maybe he wasn’t feeling well? You petted his head lovingly.

“I can’t tell you”, he sobbed, and looked up at you. The expression of his face was unreadable. Eyes glistened with salty tears, as he was desperately trying to hold them in. “It’s so e-emb-b-barrassing. You...”, he sighed, “you’re going to think that I’m weird. I can’t ask you for this...”

By that moment you stopped understanding anything from what he was saying. You wrapped your arms around him and brought him closer to you, resting his head against your stomach.

“Shhhh, baby”, you coed, running the fingers of your one hand though his hair and petting up and down his spine with the other hand. “What do you want, Michael? Please, tell me”.

You felt him tightening his hug and nuzzling into your shirt like a cat. He sighed heavily before he answered:

“I was thinking”, his voice sounded so small and vulnerable, and you started wandering what sort of a dreadful sin Michael was going to confess that made him so insecure. “Maybe you could draw me?”

He lifted his puppy eyes at you, and you looked at him confused.

“Baby, isn’t it what I’m doing?”, you chucked softly. Silly boy.

Michael closed his eyes and nuzzled back into your stomach. You had to listen carefully in order to understand his muffled words:

“I was thinking maybe you could draw me naked?”

Your fingers froze in the air inches away from his curls. At first you thought that you must have misheard him, but as his shoulders started shaking in anticipation, you realized that you had heard him correctly. Your heart started pounding, you could hear the blood ring in your ears. The most terrible thing , in the context of your unprofessionalism, was the fact that his words sent impulses straight to you core making a thin cotton of your panties wet. You cleared your throat, looking for the right words. Michael was terrified. He decided that if you had stopped playing with his hair, you got mad at him, so he squeezed his eyes shut, fighting back the tears.

“Michael...”, you started slowly, but he interrupted you.

“Y/N, I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have...I’m sorry”, he was talking fast, afraid that you could kick him out for his foolishness.

Multiple thoughts were running through your mind at that particular moment. Could you really draw him naked and manage not to lose control? Of course, it would be a wonderful sketch for your portfolio, but you doubted if it would be okay for you psych. The silence was making Michael feel even more embarrassed, so he started standing up from his chair, but you placed your hands on his shoulders to keep him seated. God, he was so scurrying all the time, it was almost unbearable.

“Alright, Michael”, you finally replied, hoping that he didn’t sense how hesitant you were about this decision, otherwise it would devastate him. A wide smile spread across his cherry lips.

“Oh my God, thank you, Y/N” he whispered giving you that look through his lashes you could never say “no” to.

You nodded and made your way to one of the shelves to get a sketchbook.

“Well,” you turned back to him, “get ready, and I’ll go find the fabric to wrap you in”.

Michael was eager to oblige. You didn’t expect him to want it so bad, but as he quickly stood on his feet and rushed behind the folding screen, you thought otherwise.

Unable to believe what you had just agreed to, you started looking through the rolls of fabric, trying to decide what color would suit Michael. Probably silver. It would look good with his skin tone and the icy blue of his eyes. You grabbed the fabric and approached the changing screen behind which you could see the outline of Michael’s body. You hurried to hang the piece over the screen and shook your head, as if it would help you to get rid of the indecorous thoughts.

“I think silver will look good”, you said to Michael, “just wrap yourself in it when you are ready”, you swore your hands were shaking. What, you and Michael suddenly switched personalities? God, how were you gonna draw him when you were blushing like a teenage girl?

“Damn, Y/N, you’ve worked with so many models. Get your shit together and breath”, you scold yourself.

“Okay, I’m ready”, you turned around when you heard his low voice, and your jaw dropped. Adonis in flesh. You stood there blinking dumbly trying to comprehend the view of his broad shoulders, taut stomach, and his creamy thighs wrapped in silver silk. If the fabric had been navy blue you would have thought that your cherub painting came to life. No less. You opened your mouth and then closed it without saying a word. Michal blushed and awkwardly crossed his arms, waiting for the instructions.

You coughed and turned your gaze away from him.

“Alright, get comfortable on the sofa”, you figured that a chair wasn’t suitable anymore. The boy laid down on a green velvet sofa you had bought for an extremely expensive price at one of the auctions, and at that moment you were glad that you had, because Michael’s pale skin looked even more fragile, tinted by the emerald color of velvet upholstery. He bent his long legs, carefully put them on the soft material, and leaned back on the pillows with his hands behind his head. For a second you forgot how to breath.

But as soon as you started sketching you felt relaxed. You let the pencil wonder around the clean sheet of paper, drawing the outlines of Michael’s body. He couldn’t stop smiling and looked genuinely happy that you’d let him pose for you. The skin of his cheeks and neck was in delicate pink hue, and he was biting his lips again. You wish you could bite them, too. Fuck.

Your brows frowned when you noticed that the silver fabric slipped off a little and didn’t look as good as you wanted it to be, so you put your pencil aside and stood up to fix it. Michael thought there was something wrong with him.

“Did you do something wrong?”, he asked worriedly. You wondered why he always felt the need to blame himself for everything.

“No, I just need to adjust the fabric”, you explained, without meeting his gaze. You tried not to touch his skin, as your fingers cautiously folded the silky piece, draping it in wavy folds. But the skin of his stomach looked so soft, and couldn’t help yourself and brushed it with just the tips of your digits. The muscles in his tummy tensed immediately, and you heard his breath hitch, so you hurried to take you hand away. Then he did something that sent the remains of your self-control straight to hell. Michael wrapped his fingers around your wrist and put your hand back on his stomach. Feeling enchanted, you slowly moved it to his abdomen and stopped right above the happy trail of blond hairs that went under the fabric. When you glanced at Michael, he was watching you in awe, his lips parted and his eyes wide open. It felt like his skin was burning under your touch.

“You like this, don’t you?”, the tone of your own voice was so low, you didn’t even recognize it. Michael gulped and nodded. His lids fluttered, as you move your hand to his chest.

“Please”, he murmured, licking his scarlet lips. He looked so soft, so innocent, and you wondered how beautiful he would look all wrecked and fucked out. You felt the adrenaline rush through your veins and the familiar heat between your legs. The last thought that came across your mind was “Fuck it”, as you leaned forward and pressed your lips against Michael’s parted ones. He let out a surprised mewl, but eagerly kissed you back. You felt his hands sliding down your waist to pull you closer against his bare chest. The fabric couldn’t cover the outline of his arousal: you could see the contour of his erect cock in the crease of his thigh. The tip of your tongue ran across Michael’s swollen lips, and he gasped into the kiss.

“You’re so pretty”, you said, as you broke the kiss, pressing your forehead against his. The look in his big eyes was completely dazed. You smiled and cupped his face in your hands. “Babe, are you with me?”

Michael nodded and pulled you for another kiss. You yanked his head by his locks and moved your lips to his jawline. Numbing on the thin skin, you decided to test the waters and slowly snaked your hand down to his cock. He moaned brokenly when you stroked it through the fabric. There was already a wet spot of his precum. You moved the sheer material aside and took a look at the long shaft with flushed head glistening with the pearls of his arousal. He squeezed his eyes shut, when you wrapped your fingers around the base of his cock and slowly stroke it.

“Y/N”, he pledged. He sounded so needy, so desperate. You formed a fist and started making circular motions with it around the head of his cock. Michael opened his mouth, but couldn’t say a word, lost in the sensation. You couldn’t take your eyes off of him. He looked like a painting with his boyish features, soft curls, and ripe, sinful lips he kept licking. You started stroking him faster, thrilled to take him apart and find out what his angelic face looked like when he was cumming.

“Shhhh”, you soothed him, lacing the fingers of your free hand into the strands of his hair and gently scratching at the nape of his neck. “My pretty boy”, you kissed his forehead.

Michael whimpered and pressed his head against your breasts nuzzling into them through your linen shirt. Holding tight to you, he carefully cupped your right breast and squeezed it slightly, making you moan and throw your head back. He was pleased with your reaction, as it got him braver, and he started unbuttoning your shirt, exposing more of your skin. You kept pressing feather light kisses to his closed lids, his cheeks, the bridge of his nose and his lips. His face must have been carved by angels from the finest marble. He wrapped his lips around your nipple and delicately sucked on it, drawing broken moans from your throat.

His hips were rutting against the crumpled fabric, meeting the thrusts of your hand. You stopped only for a second just to lick your palm, and wrap it around him again to resume pumping your fist.

“Y/N...”, he whined hopelessly, “I’m close”.

You knew that he wouldn’t last long. He was so young, you were surprised he hadn’t cum right after you kissed him.

“C’mon, darling”, you encouraged him, teasing the slit of his tip, “cum for me, angel. My personal cherub...”

You adored the way his lips twitched, forming a perfect “o”, the tense muscles of his stomach that spasmed in a convulsing pleasure, as he came all over your palm in white ribbons. You wished you could paint him this way. The picture of him cumming undone was forever imprinted in your mind. You smiled fondly when he looked up at you, feeling the warmth coil in the pit of your stomach.

“Thank you”, he whispered, and you chuckled at his boldness. His hands traveled up to your unbuttoned shirt and slid it off your shoulders, reliving your exposed chest to him. He caressed the nipples and leaned forward to suck on them again, swirling his wicked tongue around the hardening buds. “I think I owe you an orgasm now”.

You looked at him in surprise. He didn’t have to. You just wanted to make him feel good, but Michael seemed pretty determined.

“Could you, please, sit on my face?”, he blushed at his own words, but managed not to turn his eyes away from you. Such a polite boy.

You hissed through gritted teeth, and before straddling his chest you involved him in another passionate kiss. He shifted on the pillows, sliding down the sofa to let you straddle his chest in a kneeling position. You scooted forward until your thighs were on either side of his head. The gold curls were disheveled. Lowering your body, as your pussy made contact with his face, you moaned loudly. Michael placed his hands on your thighs and calves for your leverage. As soon as his tongue licked a wide stripe across your wet folds, you cried out, thinking you were in heaven. The feeling of dominance was alluring to you, and in no time you started drawing figure eights with your hips, rubbing yourself against his tongue. You were probably suffocating himself a bit, but judging by Michael’s muffled moans he was enjoying it. He used his fingers to help himself and spread you open, wrapping his lips around your clit. The gently sucking was alternated with him lapping on your folds.

“Good boy”, you praised him, and his whimpers sent delicious sensation to your throbbing core. You reached for your hair clip and took it off, letting your hair down in loose waves. “Just like that, baby, just like that”.

You thought that you lost yourself when his started fucking you with his tongue, stretching your tight walls with each thrust of it. Your legs started shaking not only from your attempts to keep steady, but from the mind-blowing pleasure the boy between your legs was causing you. He was devouring you, as if you were his last meal. You looked down at him and moaned at the sight of him all soft and flushed beneath you. The fact you were sitting on the face of the boy, who looked like a real-life angel, made your insides quiver. A really warm fuzzy feeling spilled inside you, making you scream out Michael’s name, as your orgasm pierced through every cell of your body. It was so good, to the extent of being extricating. Everything seemed unreal. Michael had let go of your thighs, and you bent over to kiss his mouth covered in your wetness.

You were laying on top of Michael, skin on skin, legs entwined, as you two were kissing lazily on the sofa.

“What are you going to do with all the sketches of my face after you sell your painting?” he asked, stroking your bare thigh.

You folded your hands on his chest and rested your head on them.

“I was thinking of using them for my personal exhibition”.

Michael’s eyes lit up with curiosity.

“You never told me about the exhibition! Y/N, that’s awesome!”

You petted his cheek, smiling at his reaction. Thanks to him you started to remember what it felt like to be grateful for every little thing in you life. Somehow, despite all the difficulties, Michael managed to keep his inner child safe and happy.

“Am I invited?” he wondered shyly.

“Of course you are, love” you rolled your eyes at his silly question. “You are my muse, after all”

Tag list: @lovelykhaleesiii @langdons-rep @babypinkstyles94 @sammythankyou @kaigitana @ms-mead @sebastianshoe @langdonsdemon @iloveziggystardust @chaoticevillangdon

People who might like it: @lvngdvns @icylangdon @ritualmichael @langdonsoceaneyes @ccodyfern @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26 @sojournmichael @wroteclassicaly

Amazing art by @theghostoflangdon

#michael langdon smut #michael langdon x reader #michael langdon imagine #ahs apocalypse #duncan shepherd smut

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curiouskrp · 5 years ago

Photo

“WELCOMING APT 5B TENANT, KIM YANI !

INFORMATION

age – 25 pronouns – she/her occupation – gs25 night manager moved into treehouse – six months ago

PERSONALITY: ISFP, THE ADVENTURER

positive –

artistic / passionate, obsessive, curious, imaginative, creative - over the years there have been many adjectives used to pinpoint yani’s ferocious obsession with the aesthetic, with knowledge and beauty. from painting to literature, film to sculpting, she’s busied overeager hands with innumerable past times. a bout of interest in sewing left over enthusiastic fingertips tinged in bloodied pinpricks, a season of interest in ceramics caked her nails in clay, a mishap with glassblowing burned her trachea and she lost her voice for a month. her home is her workspace now, awash in warm colors and soft sketched lines, photographs strung up on the walls to examine with less tired eyes later - she’ll exhaust herself otherwise, staring at her work until a hypercritical eye begins to pick apart every minute detail, every miniscule flaw. her medium of choice in the moment, and for quite some time now has been photography, both digital and film. she works mostly with still images but has embarked on some video components. she has had her art in a few minor installations and featured in gallery shows, but has never had her own exhibit or show.

charming / the most necessary to her success as both an artist and as a human being is the fact that yani is innately charming. warm, open, and bright she has an energy that is hard to resist. this is half by design, motivated by an obsessive need to be liked, which has prompted her to cultivate a sharp sense of humor and a dry wit to match. playful, hyperbolic, and creative, she can be a blast at parties or when in a group where she is able to play off the jokes and comments of others. however, leave her to her own devices in a one on one setting and she’s much more laid back and easy-going, preferring to let others steer the conversation. she’s got an easy grace and brightness to her disposition even when she falls into the macabre or dark, tinging it with a sense of humor.

negative –

unpredictable / yani is not the friend you call at two in the morning for help, unless you’re looking to get really trashed and/or are okay with being left on read until a bleary and misspelled “sup?” at 4am. it isn’t intentional. yani is a slave to her emotions, moods and whims taking over each step of her life as she allows circumstance to pull her rough and tumble through the narration of her story. she seems almost a slave to impulse, which she may grandiose-ly chalk up to “leaving things up to fate” but in actuality is an effort to remove agency from her own hands due to a paralyzing fear of making weighty decisions. while she finds herself empathically able to relate to and understand the needs, fears, and motives of others, she can easily become overwhelmed with this perceived information and find herself retreating without warning, lest she fail them in some way. her presence in life is both unpredictable and routine - she’ll flit in and out like a butterfly, appearing briefly to leave a mark before she retreats away again, always acting as if no time has passed. her personal moods are just as mercurial, vacillating wildly throughout the course of the day, or even across a number of hours. quick to anger and quicker still to apologize, she’s prone to impulse and erratic behavior that can be off-putting to those who prefer someone more stable and grounded.

fluctuating self esteem / if you’re being kind, you’ll describe yani as sensitive. a bit empathic, too easily swayed by the emotions and feedback of others. she has a distinct lack of guard up against the world, for all her fronting to appear otherwise. the jaded exterior lasts for only a moment before it’s smashed by the reality of a girl with a heart on her sleeve. she wields a biting tongue against this like a lackluster defense mechanism, as if verbally lashing out at others can counteract how easily, how readily she can be hurt by them. while yani would often rather die than verbally express her feelings, fears, concerns, or worries in any real way, they’re very easily apparent even to the untrained eye. it frustrates her, how easily other people can read her ups and downs, of which there are many. she vacillates between an obsessive egotistical pride in herself and a damaging, truly deep set self loathing that eats up her insides. in reality she has no idea what she thinks about herself, if she’s proud or not, and pulls all of her validation (as meager as it is) from external sources. thus, her self worth is immensely predicated on the actions, thoughts, and expression of those around her, leaving her incredibly vulnerable despite a veneer of a “devil may care” attitude that, in fact, persists long after the ruse is up.

HAUNT

how many ways can yani answer the question?

is she haunted by her own failures? by choking in the middle of the entrance exams for university, clutching her chest in a violent panic attack in the bathroom and leaving with the test unfinished, summarily ruining her chances for higher education in the country of her birth that year? is she haunted by wasting her teenage years on booze and cigarettes and skateboards? is she haunted by pining after men and women that would never want her the way she wanted them, who relegated her to her childhood past of knobby knees and awkward limbs and dirt smudged cheeks, sunburnt and freckled from the sun that crested over the mountains? is she haunted by the death of the one man who professed to love her, by the knowledge that she’d settled for him, had never been able to return the love he so generously gave her? is she haunted by the fear that she’d squandered her one chance of love and now it was summarily too late, and he was too far and too permanently gone, and she would now be punished for her ingratitude with years of nothing? is she haunted by her own propensity to run from the inevitable, to escape to distant locations only to realize her problems were still hers whether she be in paris or london or seoul?

it’s hard to say.

maybe, in the end, yani is haunted by herself.

HISTORY

i. birth is an uneventful affair. she isn’t a planned baby but she isn’t unwelcome either, youngest of three by enough years that her older brothers dote on her in the abstract but aren’t really fans of actually having her around. it’s sort of a theme. her mother hires a nanny and goes back to work immediately - she took time off with the boys and she’s not willing to do it again. her father is as distant as he was with the elder two, unsurprisingly.

yani grows up this way, chasing after affection and attention, calling out for the same things that were doled out to the other two so easily. she wants her brothers to play with her - dolls or tag, she’s not picky, she’ll take what she can get. they play hide and seek but she always hides, and they never seek, just let the little girl coop herself up in the closet for a half an hour, or until she dozes off. eventually she stops asking.

ii. she grows into the hand she’s been dealt. she wears a tan like a shield, testament to hours spent outside in the sun, relentlessly scrambling over the landscape. they live on the outskirts of a little town on jeju island, and the sun and surf and sand and rocks and mountains are her company. she takes after her brothers, athletic and enthusiastic, seemingly immune to the scraping of her knees and the scabs on her elbows, bruises on her shins.

yani feels the freest on the skateboard she inherits from her brother - or, more specifically, steals from his room when his interest in girls and his worry about entrance exams takes over his free time. in this way she learns two things: she can only rely on herself, and that she must always, always take that which she desires.

she spends hours on it, rolling through town to the ultimate displeasure of the ahjummas who sit outside the town hall and gossip. a girl should be more demure, she should be more careful, she’s going to hurt herself or someone else, they say, but yani is past the point of craving approval now. or at least, that’s what she tells herself, disregard is a shield she equips, straps it over a soft heart, hardens herself by hoping for little and expecting even less. when you expect the world to let you down there is a freeness in being proven correct when it doesn’t surprise you by being anything but bleak.

iii. high school treats her well. there are only so many other kids in town, so it’s not like there’s enough trouble for cliques. not when they’ve all known each other from birth. there isn’t much reason to come to the little excuse for a city, unless you’re a tourist or you’ve got a burning passion for the fishing industry, and even then there are better choices in destination. she studies well enough, but yani is prone to distraction. her attention wanders and she spends plenty of time staring out of the window, as opposed to anything else. but she’s clever, and when she does apply herself she catches up just fine.

there’s a certain sadness to a decaying rural town, and the older yani gets the heavier it weighs on her, this realization that there are no opportunities here, that the only chance for a viable future any of them have exists in some ephemeral elsewhere always slightly out of reach. it’s the cycle of poverty in action - the jobs are manual labor or hardly impressive, few remain in the town, the aging population is setting the community up to collapse in on itself, but what is anyone able to do about it? so they drink or they fuck or they whine about it, anything to carry on the way they always have. from this town yani learns denial and resignation, in a bizarre blend that ought not be properly possible.

iv.

whatever chance she had of success in school goes down the drain with truancy and delinquency, with smokes stolen from the corner store and beer she convinces neighborhood oppas to buy for her with their ids. she gets what she wants and she doesn’t look back, morality a luxury she can’t afford and frankly doesn’t try too hard to squeeze in anyway. she loves boys that don’t love her back and she chases a high that never quite seems to satisfy. climbs a little bit higher, goes a little bit further, to fill herself with the seratonin and the adrenaline that seem to evade her.

when she finds out, in the dead of night, half drunk with her best friend, who has never seen her the way she’s wanted to be seen, that his older brother - her boyfriend, her second choice, because he sees her the way her best friend refuses to look - is dead, in a car crash, her word falls apart. it crumbles.

yani deals with her tragedies and her uncertainties in the way she has been taught. she denies it even unto herself, buries herself into distractions. it gets harder, immeasurably, when her two best friends leave for the military one after the other. she submits an application, a portfolio. it’s a long shot, but she makes it. she leaves, on a plane, in a search for more ways to bury her heart.

it’s so easy to find them in a city like paris. in drink and drugs and then maybe even in boys and girls. she finds her redemption in sex and adrenaline and in petty, stupid actions. she is a terror on two slender legs, she is weaponized femininity and a cutting tongue, she is every bit of sharp wit and killer instinct wrapped in a devastatingly pretty package. the last distraction, the most enjoyable and the most wholesome, comes in the form of an old film camera. she buys it with money she’s picked out of the pockets of men who lean to close to her in clubs, men too old to promise her the things they do, who line her pockets and give her gifts in the hope that she’ll be foolish enough now to offer her youth to those leeches, those vampiric men that wait so eagerly and desperately to drain her dry. it’s another way to put a distance between herself and the world; observer and artist, not integral, not intertwined. she can expose the truth of the world without involving her own truth in it, betrays herself in a thousand tiny ways.

vi.

it is so terribly easy to get what you want in a city like this. there is always someone willing to give it to you, for a price of course. yani learns to play this game, to divorce herself from her own reality, to compartmentalize. she feels like a hundred different girls. she feels like a line of glasses on a counter, each varying levels of empty. she feels like she could shatter in a moment, or sing beneath a touch, or neither, or both.

she feels like they can sense it on her, the sins that paint her skin. she rots herself with alcohol, nicotine, prescription pills designed for someone decidedly not her. she wears herself down with long nights, early mornings, insomnia that clings to her, a weight that settles heavy, drags her down. her moods are mercurial, she tears through the people around her like a storm, intent on destruction, pausing for the briefest moments of calm before the winds pick up once more.

she falls apart this way, bits and pieces at first, and then all at once, like a spaceship reentering orbit too quickly, she is engulfed.

vii.

in the end she stays there, in france, for a little longer. longer than she’d intended. money starts to run out, her feeble language skills are put to the test. it’s sheer luck that lands her a job at an art gallery, luck on top of luck that gets her through an accelerated program. in the end, she spends two and a half years in france, eventually returning to her dismal little rural town. returns with a degree from france that means very little besides “you didn’t make it into a korean school” and “you dedicated your life to creative pursuits that will provide you with nothing.”

she returns with her camera, with a few years of gallery experience, with a couple thousand dollars saved and very little in the way of confidence or strength. she has dreams she barely dares to dream, thoughts she can hardly expose herself too. with a portfolio and no direction, no idea what to do with herself, for herself.

viii.

by the time she gets back, one of her friends is out of the military at last, the other long gone for seoul. she spends two months in the little town before she can’t handle it anymore. has photographed every inch of the decaying rural landscape, the town left forgotten by progress, by the government, by the future. her collection on the state of the town, deemed a cutting photojournalistic insight to rural korean poverty, becomes a minor sensation and is picked up by a gallery in seoul. it’s the boost she needs to relocate, flees the town that made her, that funded her flight, to head for the city, to lose herself again.

seoul is much the same as any other city. she wanted it to have answers that it doesn’t. she hates her apartment, a half basement decked out in mold and wrinkled vinyl flooring over the thick pipes of the ondol. she drags herself through the day to day, gets a job and does what she can to keep herself afloat. takes pictures, sells them, does what she can. it’s unfulfilling. she’s frustrated. her friends feel distant and she feels thoroughly disconnected from the world around her, floating as if on the currents of the ocean.

viv.

the treehouse offers a chance at a community, the selfsame thing she has done so much to avoid, so earnestly distanced herself from - lest anyone figure out the great pretending of her life. that she’s not half the person, half the artist she wants to be. she lives a life steeped in imposter’s syndrome and unspoken words, preserving her thoughts in notebooks and photographs, fragments of time and feeling captured without explanation, left for the viewer to infer.

#cu bio #cu kang seulgi #cu isfp

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