#I have this visceral image of him from my favourite fic where | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

leonawriter · 14 days ago

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OK, so. I wanted to share some behind the scenes extras on my fic "Your Mission Is A Simple One."

Spoilers for the fic and for (vague-ish) parts of Slay the Princess if you haven't read it or played the game and want to!

CWs for Nov. 20th related stuff, and horror-themed temporary suicide references.

First off, the title itself! It's literally a wordplay on Slay the Princess. The name of the draft is "Your Mission is a Simple One: Kill Joker." I only shortened it because shorter, snappier titles seem to work better, but there was also a bit of how "Kill Joker" only works for the first part.

Next, and carrying on with the Slay the Princess references, is the fact that I wanted from the start for there to be a running thread of "Akechi goes in, shoots Akira, and then the next loop is affected by the previous one" with a potential outcome of all the Akiras he'd encountered having actually (somehow) been the same person, or subsumed into the same person, just like with the Hero encountering the Princess, killing her, and her becoming the Shifting Mound.

Also just like the game, I went with five separate scenarios for Akechi to go through.

The first is canon. Clean and simple. He's allowed to cover up and push down his feelings, numb himself, and get out.

The second time is similar, but the difference being (like how you can't repeat the first "good ending" in StP) he's aware. He knows that he's repeating things. I didn't show this in detail, but I figured that it'd be clearly implied, and since he's aware he's repeating, he's unnerved.

That unnerved state truly starts to show itself in the third run, where he quite literally makes himself look his deeds (Akira) in the eye. He can't move, and there are certain similarities here, where the gun is taken out of his hands, to my vampire fic Hunger For A Life, but unlike in that one the voice isn't inside his head; it's actually meant to be Akira, and it's Akira who takes the gun.

The loops don't reset with Akechi's death, they reset with Akira's, because as we find out later, it's Akechi's mindset that there's "no way out" of killing Akira (or his situation in general) that's keeping him here.

The next, fourth loop, is the first one to truly show that Akechi's choices in the past are affecting his present, with Akira referencing things he shouldn't know about (being disappointed in him for being unable to look him in the eye and do the deed, after everything they'd been through).

It also has one of the more visceral moments, with Akechi shooting Akira in the eye; even though I don't describe it in detail, the visual is given where most other times Akechi simply "shoots." This is a result of him slowly being psychologically unable to deal with killing someone he cares about over and over again, and unable to push his emotions out of the way.

The fifth loop has my second-favourite image from the loops, along with the fact that in order to get to the interrogation room at all the hallway almost literally "goes on forever." Because in Akechi's mind, it doesn't matter how much he doesn't want to do this, and how much he'd like to avoid it - he'll always end up there in the end.

And then he meets an Akira who has an eyepatch, which is the direct consequence of his emotional instability in the previous loop. This time there's no ambiguity like there was in the third loop; Akira taking the gun and taking over the role of who's in charge of his own death is explicitly stated. There's also a fair bit of homoerotic tension with how Akira is described as being "soft" and "tender" as he uses Akechi's hands to do the deed (aka, psychologically harming Akechi, and killing himself) because Akechi is either unable or unwilling to do it. This also hearkens back to Slay the Princess, where if you don't want to kill her, she'll often force your hand into it regardless.

It's at this point we reach the sixth loop, and no, I didn't plan on the Devil being number six. It just happened that way. In some ways, I counted loops one and two as a single loop, because they were basically the same.

Loop six is my favourite moment, because it truly shows who Akira is in this fic. H

He's the devil, he's completely in control, he's sitting on the interrogation room desk like it's his fucking throne! He knows damn well what's about to happen, and he welcomes it, because as Akechi says - Akira is an idea. He's a concept, And you can't kill a concept, because it'll keep coming back. Akechi, at this point, both because of everything before and everything he's feeling in that moment, understands that.

However... this isn't necessarily a good thing, because it also means he's starting to stop fighting against his situation, and is simply accepting his place in things.

Which leads us to Joker saving him at the start of the seventh loop (is it irony that he comes to save Akechi on the lucky, or heavenly, number? who knows!).

By this point Akechi is used to violence, and death, and can't see or understand anything outside of that - not too different from his internal thinking in P5R, and definitely close to his engine room thought process.

I wanted Joker here to feel confusing, and ambiguous - was this actually Joker, or was it another of the ones like Akechi had encountered? How much does he know? Had this all been a palace, or something else?

The fact that he's never referred to as anything other than "Joker" here in spite of Akechi knowing that it's Akira is partly to differentiate him from the many Akiras that got killed, but also to point out that this IS the real Joker, and this is, in fact, the Metaverse, before Joker points it out himself. Because while in the Metaverse, they only refer to each other by their codenames once they have them.

Talking of, Akechi talks often of Joker/Akira's eyes - they're dark, they're hard like flint, but they're also often warm (like hellfire). Usually, he can see them through the mask. His eyes are changeable, and shift with his moods.

Then we get to the fact that Joker knows the way out, which... is something that I've been wanting to play with in a(nother, technically) Akechi Palace fic - the idea that Joker is able and allowed to find a way out, because Akechi sees him as being able to do that.

But here, it's also the fact that he's... either in Akechi's cognition, or in actuality, able to almost shape the part of the cognitive world they're in to his whims. He either creates a door, or he finds one, which is meant to lead into a safe room. I never explicitly have them call it that, but that's what I was referring to when Akechi constantly notices it swirling in front of his eyes - it's the same effect we as the player have when we see the safe room shift between what the palace looks like, and what the room would look like in the real world. Akechi being both aware of that and so disoriented by it is meant to show both his deteriorated mental state, but also that this... is not a normal cognitive space.

For Akechi's breakdown, I have to admit that for the longest time, I wasn't even sure when the fic would be taking place! At one point it was post-canon, and at one point it was before Nov. 20th had even happened yet, so, either on or around Halloween, or in the middle of the month. I ended up choosing what I did - that it was a side-effect of their plan - because that worked best with the characterisation and the timing.

Because of that, though, Akechi hasn't yet reached his realisation that not only can he get out of the cycle, but he's better off out of the cycle, too. Where in canon he faced the Phantom Thieves and faced their sympathy, and then his cognitive self's truth (of Shido's opinion of him), here... in a sense, he's faced with how if he keeps following Shido's path that's laid out for him, he'll keep killing off the ones he loves, and killing parts of himself, too, such as his ability to choose his own path instead of a pre-determined one.

That doesn't mean he's happy about it, or that he'll be grateful, haha.

Joker explaining how things had happened was originally one block of dialogue, which I decided felt far too infodump-y. So I broke it apart, and added more of Akechi's own thoughts and reactions - and by doing so, it also shows that he has a somewhat fragmented mental state, too, as he has a hard time focusing.

Again, Joker is the one who finds Akechi, who gets him out. Oracle had her theories, but it's Joker and Joker alone who arrived. None of the other Phantom Thieves are here.

I want to point out that as an Akechi-centric piece this doesn't really focus on the other PT, but if I ever did do anything else in this world, I'd probably want to focus on them, because this must be fascinating to see from their perspective. Their leader is more and more cagey about certain things, is outright strange at times, and when they're all freaking out that they've "lost" Goro Akechi, Akira - who should still be recovering from the interrogation, mind! - up and disappears one day, only to come back with his erstwhile killer in tow, who seems very traumatised.

As he points out later on - his friends don't know anything he's been going through! They're clueless!

Joker's line of "Honestly, I'd like to see you try [again]" somewhat calls back to how he said something similar in "There's Something About Akira," a fic I did where he's a vampire, and when Akechi shoots him he simply gets back up and feeds from Akechi, stating that he "could have followed the plan, but he wanted to see what Akechi would do." It's that same masochistic thrill seeker tendency showing through. They match each other's freak in a not entirely healthy way. Akechi's "are you mocking me?" is ripped straight from that one Thieves' Den conversation with Sumire, too.

Akechi at this point, tries asking if he's had his heart stolen/changed. Joker dances around the subject, not giving an outright yes or no, because... technically, he has done thievery in Akechi's palace. It's just that there are a lot of things that would count as "ambiguous" here, such as: whether this is Akechi's palace at all, whether his treasure has been stolen, if (assuming this his his palace) it has been messed with... and honestly, I think I'd go with "Yes, technically, his heart was changed, but more in the sense that Futaba's heart was, or more accurately Sae's, since no treasure was removed."

The closest thing to "a treasure being removed" is Joker taking Akechi himself out of there. Arguably, it could even count. Akechi, however, doesn't recognise this, and only sees that Joker isn't carrying anything on him at the time.

This is where what I consider the arc words of the story first show up: Don't look back.

It's funny, but at this point I started thinking of it just as much as an anti-time loop story, in a sense. That in order to stop being trapped in a sense of always doing the same thing, you have to look to the future, focus on good things, and not look back. I was reminded of one particular story that handled this very well right up until it fumbled the end atrociously, and I've always felt that it was badly handled and needs a better ending.

"Don't look back" is also, in a sense, a reference to the song Life Will Change, with the lyric "can't hold on or life won't change." Akechi tries to hold onto his old manner of thinking (how easy it would be to kill Joker here) and all he does is nearly create a new loop for them both, before Joker reminds him to focus on him instead.

Originally I'd meant to have a chapter break here, to separate things out, but in the end I just lumped it all together for simplicity. I think it works better like this anyway, not having to wait to upload a second part, or anything.

I wanted to have Akechi make the connection between the Akira in the sixth loop and Satanael all the way back when I was working on some of the earlier parts. I think I got the loops and a few lines of Joker's dialogue done on my phone straight onto Tumblr, and after that it took more time and effort, which meant a lot of time thinking about later scenes.

"You're the devil, aren't you?" is meant as Akechi having a sense of realising that what he'd been through wasn't just a fever dream or hallucination or simple cognition, but something bigger, which is a big deal for both of them.

It's at the point I started thinking about this (and the start of the next scene) that I made my post about Morgana being Hope, and what that means for how he impacts the narrative in canon, because you'll notice that Morgana is almost entirely absent from the story this far; he isn't present when Akechi is being dragged into despair from the loops, and this current scene has him outright disappear right before Akechi catches Akira, before he can vanish into the crowd and be caught by Sae.

Akira, here, is conflicted; he's just defeated god, but he's shown his "true form" (at least, in one particular way) to the world, and more specifically to his friends. He's lost Morgana, and at a critical moment too, right before Sae comes to take either him or Akechi away. And then Akechi is talking about something Akira doesn't want to admit to, and doesn't really... want to talk about at all. One of the big parts of this is that he doesn't really have the hope that anything positive will happen as a result of Akechi seeing him and knowing him fully like that, so he simply hides.

He's also acting counter to what a wildcard should be. His desire to have Akechi simply turn around and walk away, pretending a nicer lie, isn't just a lead-in to Maruki's ideal reality but also a call back to how in P3 the bad ending was achieved through Minato choosing to allow everyone to forget that the Fall (Death coming for all) would happen, letting them live in blissful ignorance up to their deaths, and how in P4 we have Izanami whose fog of lies gets thicker the more the townspeople prefer to avert their eyes to the truth, choosing an easy story over a complicated reality.

That thread - that Akira himself is afraid and flawed - follows through into the next scene, February 2nd.

Since Akechi is alive, there's no doubt over that since he joined everyone sometime around the end of November/start of December. It would have taken a while for him to recover, but they wouldn't have started Shido's palace yet; part of that is also because without Akechi stating Shido's name in the call, they have less to go on, and with Akechi missing, they're focusing on him.

So, the onus of the tough decision isn't on him, but instead falls on Akira.

In a sense, having Akira be self-conscious to this degree in spite of being an "embodiment of the concept of Change" feels like an oxymoron, but it also makes sense - in the menu screens, one of them has him saying "Don't look at me like that" and there's also the lyrics to Behind The Mask, which talk of how he doesn't want to show his true self to anyone, and that he prefers to hide behind his masks. Akira here is aware that it's not feasible to carry on like this, and is aware that Maruki effectively granted him his "normal humanity" back, and is willing to fight - but until Akechi confronts him, in a sense he's using Maruki's actualisation for his own ends.

It's at this point that the roles are reversed from the start of the story. Whereas in the start it was Akechi who needed to be saved and reminded to look forward, it is now Akechi who is the strong one supporting Akira, who is (at the start of the scene) not Joker at all.

In another idea I've had in mind for a long time now, Akira's a fully artificial life created to be a Trickster. I played with the idea that just like in that idea, he wouldn't have existed before the Game, but ultimately decided to have him as someone who'd been human, and now wasn't. I think it's more powerful for it.

Ironically, in spite of effectively being entirely human here, Akira is still the scariest thing in the world to Akechi, again. Because here it's painfully obvious to him that Akira "isn't damning the world to be normal" but- he's doing a far more far-reaching version of an angel going "Be Not Afraid" just for Akechi.

Pointedly, I'd like to say that Akechi's own wish is to have a more or less normal life with Akira where he can just play games of chess in the attic, but also one where he can exit in the friend group without having caused irrevocable harm to at least two of them, so along with Akira's wish here, they'd end up the same as in the canon bad (ideal) ending if Akira had given in to Maruki.

Goro reminds Akira of their Rank 7 confidant, where he threw out the suggestion of Akira giving up everything he'd built to join him. In the game, you get less points if you suggest that you'd think about doing so (aka, Akechi does not want an accomplice route!). He's reminding Akira of the (canon) phone call after he's back home, where he basically says "I don't want you to change - I want to win over you as you are, the way you are." Here, he's re-confirming that this includes not folding for Akechi's own opinion.

I had Akechi's hand shaking as he's reaching to take off Akira's glasses because as much as he wants Akira the way he truly is, he can't stop being unnerved and scared himself; the difference is that he isn't letting it control him.

I also had Akechi use that phrase, "Show me your true form," because it results in him treating Akira like a Shadow, forcefully removing the mask he's put on and reminding him of who he really is.

"He drops the glasses onto the counter. They wont break - not from this." - that line is meant to note that although he's removing Akira's mask, it doesn't mean that he's breaking it. He's just saying "you can be yourself around me." Akira will be putting those glasses back on as soon as anyone else is around.

Akira collapsing in relief, along with his denial of himself (change) is also meant to be a metaphor of sorts for how he has a certain amount of self-hatred, and how he lacks confidence in himself. With Akechi looking at him in a clearly positive way, he starts to regain some of that self confidence - to quote Atsushi of Bungo Stray Dogs, "People need someone to tell them that it's alright to live." Akira gets that affirmation from the person he needs it from the most, and more than that, he gets affection and love.

I had Akechi awaken here because, well... I had to? Really, though, I couldn't simply brush past it, or say it'd already happened, and I felt that having him help someone else (especially another wildcard) out like this, would be a perfect way to have him awaken Hereward. Especially when in canon, he says how he feels not just "so alive" but also that he'll "sow chaos as far as the eye can see" - which suits how he looks at Satanael!Akira perfectly.

Anyway! If you've read all of this I hope you had fun with it, and you have anything you'd still want to ask about the fic don't hesitate to do so!!

EDIT: man I dunno how I forgot to put this in (I was tired!) but a big fun thing that's simply irrelevant to the fic but is still very true is that Akira, here, is very genderqueer. Like, I can see him at some point after he's seen and looked up on Loki, going "oh, same hat!" and turns up the next opportunity he can in a dress and heels. I mean. He IS an embodiment of Change! That absolutely includes not sticking to one gender expression just because it's expected of him.

#persona 5 #p5 stuff #leona fic #look it fits in here bc it's fic related #I also figured that I wouldn't bother waiting for anyone to ask about all these things I thought were cool

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angeli-marco-writes · 3 years ago

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Harry Holland - Polaroids

A/N & WC - I do not know Harry or the other people mentioned in this fic, nor do I claim to; this is a work of fiction. 3.9k.

Warnings - Swearing, mention of food, smut: depictions of oral (m+f rec), penetrative sex, use of toys, bondage & bdsm, photos being taken in the act, mild exhibitionism and definite voyeurism (not Harry or reader) 18+.

Summary - You and Harry have an exciting intimate life to say the least, and he rather enjoys taking photos of the two of you in compromising positions. However, in his sex-addled mind, one vital fact is let slip when he allows Sam into his room unsupervised.

“BUD, WHERE ARE THOSE PHOTOS you took of my food the other day?” Sam asks.

The sizzling of pancakes overlaps the conversation, and you mussing up Harry’s hair distracts him, his attention drawn to more important matters than his brother. Harry barely swallows his giant mouthful of food before speaking.

“By my bed there’s a huge pile, they’ll be somewhere,” he answers flippantly.

Flippantly.

Usually so cautious and so organised Harry lets one thing slip his mind for five seconds, and his life is going to fall through the cracks. His reputation will be utterly destroyed. Just with his brother, but it still stands. Sam is… more innocent than Harry has ever been. And Sam will also tell the others, and likely their friends…

“Remembered something, baby?” you muse sardonically from beside him, your hand halting its movements as you cup his jaw, turning him to face you.

The second his green eyes meet yours, you watch the world crumble in his eyes. You’ve never seen him scramble up from his seat so quickly. His bare feet slap on the tiled floor violently, thudding sounds echoing through the house as he blunders around, swinging around the banister with the force and elegance of an elephant.

“Sam! FUCK— Wait!”

“Don’t look in that pile of photos,” you add in a feeble shout.

It’s not like what Sam’ll find there is any secret. You’ve been together a long time, you and Harry, and everyone knows full well that you’re shagging, but that doesn’t mean you necessarily want them to know exactly what happens in the bedroom, in your most intimate, secret moments together. That’s sacred, even if it seems like sacrilege to so many.

No matter how quickly you hear Harry legging it upstairs, his lean legs carrying him up the stairs perhaps three at a time, his curly hair even more unruly than before from the exertion, you know he won’t be fast enough, and that Sam is an insolent bastard when he wants to be. You’ve lived with them all long enough and have had more than your fair share of near misses: no chance will you not be found out, this time you’ll be caught. Better than the alternative and the other times, you suppose, as you cram one more syrup-drizzled and strawberry-covered pancake into your gob, reluctantly trudging your way upstairs to the hive of fun.

It’s chaos by the time you get there. Dozens of artfully-taken photos spilled out onto your duvet, Harry’s freckled face paler than you’ve ever seen it, his hands tugging at his pyjama shirt convulsively while Sam stands on the other side of the room, his dark eyes wide, his expression agog, his jaw unhinged, staring blankly and pointing at whatever the most incriminating thing is he sees next. You just hope he doesn’t go ferreting through your drawers, because then you’ll really be in trouble.

“What… the fuck.”

You come up to Harry’s side, and wrap an arm around his slim waist, lending a weak, “Surprise?”

It’s their fault if they haven’t guessed, frankly.

You can’t draw your eyes away from the pictures, so many of them, all displaying different aspects of your sex life at varying degrees of explicitness. You can even recount the minutes and hours of pleasure that led to the photos, each occasion etched into your mind. Sure, you and Harry go at it a lot, but you don’t always go the extra mile, hence why these commemorative photos of your special nights are so treasured. And private. Or, were.

The first one… oh boy, that takes you back to the most far-out, extreme experiment you tried—the most recent, as well: just this past weekend. You’re still covered in rope burn from it, though that could’ve been prevented if you hadn’t writhed or wriggled about so much while in those bonds. The amount of attempts it took, the sheer number of YouTube tutorials you had to watch, but it was definitely worth it. The intricate patterns the ropes formed all across your body, creating braids down your back, suspending you prone with little movement in your arms or legs. It was heaven to have Harry tugging on the ropes, contorting you into new and wonderful positions for his own delightful access to all of you. Perhaps it’s not something you’ll gravitate towards again, but it was fun while it lasted, and it’s another thing to tick off your list of fun, kinky bedroom experiments to try. To be fair, even though the swathes of soft, rose-coloured rope, intricately woven around you were a lot, you certainly wouldn’t be averse to trying something else with rope. Less shibari, perhaps just normal levels of bondage. You can feel the skin on your arms prickling with heat: Harry feels it too, winding his fingers into yours, holding on tight as he struggles to suppress a smirk.

The next set is interesting, and rather common. Harry’s freckled, ring-less hand is unmistakable in the dappled light as it grapples with the handle of a leather whip, or a paddle, even his belt, bringing them down harshly onto your ass cheeks, already reddened with hand prints, purple from bruises. In one of them, your skin is even glistening with his release, and another, your hands are suspended behind your back. Harry’s always been one for spanking, and the rest of them know it. Even before you were sleeping together he’d playfully smacked your bum, and he certainly hasn’t stopped even with the sexual connotations it now conveys between the two of you. As though he can read your mind, he snakes a hand down and pats you on the bum; his wink telling you it’s just for good measure. Cheeky shit.

One in the dead centre brings shivers throughout your body. Not because it wasn’t fun or pleasurable, but because of the way it made you feel afterwards. Yes, you’d talked through it in thorough details—as with everything the two of you do—how it made you feel going in, throughout, and you’d got a safe word sorted, but perhaps you hadn’t discussed all the long term risks of it. The pretty pink collar, the satin blindfold… The whole subservient thing is a big turn on for Harry, and you played into it, you always do and you naturally fall into a position of less power in your relationship because of the way you are, but being degraded in such a way isn’t for you. You can’t help but feel a sting of shame ricochet through your heart. Harry must feel it this considering how reactive he is: he leaps towards the bed and snatches it up, shredding it before your eyes, chucking it into the bin, and curling another protective arm around you.

“Look,” you whisper to Harry, turning his attention elsewhere as you point to the bottom few: your favourite photos of all.

Despite the disarray, they’re all together, and they remind you of an incredible night. Your anniversary, and what a special day it was. Butterflies swarm you at the sight of them again, but it feels strange for someone else to be looking at them. Not that you or Harry are exactly in a fit state to be proactive about preventative measures now Sam’s seen them all. His eyes bulge from his face, his mouth going dry as he swallows viciously, suddenly having to shift his already apparently tight shorts. Again.

“You’re so sexy in those, baby,” purrs Harry.

He’s damn right, you do look incredibly sexy. And though the first one in the chronological series is you mostly covered, you can remember how hard his dick was at the sight alone, salivating, clenching his fists to stop from ripping the lingerie from you piece by piece. You wanted to put on a show for him that day: who was he to deny you?

On top of your bra, panties and stockings was a nightgown, and above that, a dressing gown. Each image shows you in a further state of undress. It was a deep burgundy lace set of negligée with soft satin straps that pushed your boobs together, lifting them up, the lace hooked together with a single eyelet on your spine, whereas the panties, though half covering your cheeks with dustings of lace, hid nothing while they sat high on your hips, revealing your entire upper thigh where a matching satin garter sat with tiny lace bows. The entire thing cost a fortune. You forked out a damn arm and a leg for what you got, even with a discount included with a certain toy you bought.

First went the dressing gown, letting it fall from your shoulders, allowing it to pool around your feet as you showed off the skimpiness of the silk slip in a series of flourishing twirls, much to Harry’s delight. Next went the slip, and you honestly wish you’d taken a picture of his face utterly agog—as you stood there in stockings held up by garters, barely there panties and a push up bra. There’s one shot of his rough fingertips playing with the trim of the stockings delightedly, like a kid in a candy shop. Next went the feeble scrap of fabric that you dared to call a bra, barely covering your nipples, allowing your breasts free, spilling into Harry’s awaiting hand. You remember the next part vividly, because he was just about to peel the panties off when you laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“I’ve got a surprise for you, babe.” you cooed.

His twinkling eyes grew as wide as saucers, and you dared to card your fingers through his curls as you settled yourself over his lap, letting him keep his camera in one hand while leading the other down, down, a little further…

He’s never since made a sound quite like it, so visceral and animalistic, so ready to devour you, to come on sight. He’s never been as hard as he was in that instance.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he moaned, a deep groan released from him the second his fingers slipped through your folds to find dripping arousal all ready for him. “Just—wait a minute…”

You followed his every instruction for the next few moments, finding yourself standing up in a good lighting position, Harry strategically beneath you as he snapped a particularly incriminating (yet oh so sexy shot) of your bare pussy in crotchless panties. Harry’s never recovered. He’s already openly admitted that he uses those particular photos more than any others to get himself off whenever you’re away from him. However, the creases and folded corners of one particular photo can’t be blamed on him, since that’s the one you use when you're away, two of his fingers plunged knuckle-deep inside you in those exact panties, from that exact angle, desperately trying to replicate the irreplaceably pleasurable feeling of him within you. He took a good few more than had to be thrown away. Spillages are awfully unfortunate… He fucked you that night with the panties, stockings and garters still on. Twice. Then without the panties, then without the stockings, then nude at last at some ungodly hour of the morning when he took you at last as the sun rose. You didn’t sleep a wink.

There are more of you with lingerie on, nightgowns and matching sets, scraps of silk and strange one pieces that took you hours to get on, but they’re bound to make a sort of book, stowed away neatly (mercifully) beneath his bed.

Sam still hasn’t moved from his state of paralysed shock, and though you should probably clear the photos up from where they’re dumped, you feel a filthy swelling pride within your chest, a glean of risk as you watch Sam rove his eyes over some more, these all involving toys. If only he knew where you hid them. One his eyes focus on is you with a thick purple rubber dildo deep inside you, a rabbit vibrator stuck to your clit. Your body is but a blur, writhing around for Harry, your hands cuffed before you and not released no matter how much you moved. Harry wouldn’t let you stop coming for what felt like hours: it was the first time you squirted for him as a cry tore from your heaving chest, drenching the bed with your fifth orgasm of the night. Harry vowed he’d be the only one to make you squirt after that, no toys involved, and he’s stayed true to his word.

There’s a few more, and Sam seems to be furrowing his thick brows at the sight of the Polaroids. Glass wands, spreader bars, clit suctions (that admittedly look like they’d be used in a spa for a facial). Poor boy is being corrupted...

Good God, you need to get those toys out again.

With his twin's attention diverted, you snake your hand down the front of Baz’s shorts, wrapping your fingers around his already hard member through his boxers: he seems to be enjoying this as much as you are.

You point out one of your favourite pictures, a debauched mess that shouldn’t be viewed by anyone else, frankly. Harry was reluctant about hurting you or pushing you too far, but you begged to be gagged. You meant just by a tie, maybe his bandana—which features in many images in many different manners: as a bind for your hands, tying you to the bed, keeping your ankles together, even wrapped lightly around your neck, but never as a gag—but he went all out. When you got home, he was waiting in his room with a leather-bound ball gag.

“You begged, baby,” he said, and you couldn’t refute. You had begged, but this was above and beyond. You complied with his every wish that night, and though you’d do it again in a heartbeat, Harry wasn’t a fan of not being able to shove his fingers or cock down your throat at any given moment. He liked hearing your whines and moans and hushed curses, prayers of his name. He also liked hearing your bratty, belligerent rebuttals when he took on a dominant role. You enjoyed it more than a little, but only now can you see how much of a mess you were, messy hair and tears spouting from your eyes, drool down your chin...

Given the chance of the slightest spark of stimulation, you’ll be coming on the spot.

There’s a scattered pile of the two of you in just about every position under the sun, every shape in the karma sutra, fucking both inside and out, al fresco sex beneath the big oak in the garden, anyhow, anywhere and everywhere you could fuck safely and privately, you would, and you didn’t even realise Harry had snapped some of these shots after consenting to him taking them at any time. Your eyes squeezed shut as you peaked, Baz’s palm kneading your chest, your skirt hiked up around your stomach while your jaw was agape, your pussy exposed and glistening slick in the mirror, penetrated by Harry’s cock. That was a good day, mirror sex, and definitely something you’ll try again. This time with your own mirror... There are a few snapshots of oral, perfect Polaroids of Harry’s nose nuzzled into your pussy, his tongue deep in your core, his lips on your labia, all of them for your sake whenever he goes away.

“Gonna recreate that one tonight,” Harry husks, pointing towards one image in particular of you sucking him off.

His huge member down your throat, you’d trained yourself to breathe solely through your nose, but the neatly trimmed patch of hair there tickled your nostrils. Harry’s talent for photography reveals your doe eyes were red rimmed, saliva trickling from the corner of your mouth matching the mascara tracks down your cheeks. You’ve never looked so fucked out, and Harry couldn’t believe you remained in that innocent façade, rosy cheeks and a coy expression even with his dick rammed down your throat, making you gag.

However, the one you’d like to recreate is one he picks up on, surreptitiously moving a hand to your chest, his fingers hovering over your peaked nipple.

“Reckon we can go again the second Sam fucks off?”

“Yes,” he eagerly exhales.

You don’t blame him, especially not when both twins are staring at the same image of your tits, pushed together with Harry’s dick between them, fucking your chest despite the fact his come already painted your chest in hot white strips, a beautiful painting you’d always wish to frame. He certainly has an obsession with your boobs so there are a couple like that, his hands all over them, the tip of his member tapping them, but the debauched one is by far your favourite. Similarly, there’s one of you tied to the bed, completely spread eagle, his dick resting on your stomach while your belly is coated in his come once again.

It seems, however, that’s what snagged Sam’s attention and has his face a ghastly shade of grey because it's so pale, is the one photo Harry never wanted anyone to see. You leap and snatch it up in one fell swoop, and Harry draws you into a bear hug within his arms, kissing your temple affectionately in thanks as you stow it away for safekeeping. Though Harry naturally carries the more dominant title in your relationship, you always like to shake things up, hence why this photo (and a series of others he already has hidden) depict Harry as your submissive. You walked around as the picture perfect dominatrix in stilettos, carrying a whip while Harry lay there with his hands bound, a blindfold on in some photos (you took them so they’re not as great, but he still looks damn sexy) with a vibrating cock ring wrapped snugly around his girth. He’s never come so hard or so much after you finally removed it and cuffed his hands to the bedpost and began to ride him. You can still feel the warmth of him climaxing within you if you close your eyes and clench your thighs.

“I promise I’ll touch you later,” boy do you hope he sticks to that promise he whispers while nibbling on your earlobe, “but Sam’s coming out of his daze in 3... 2... 1...”

“OH MY GOD.”

“Okay, I didn’t see that coming,” he remarks breathily, hazel eyes wide as he pivots, met with two incredulous stares. Tom’s cry wakes Sam up right on cue.

“Harry! What the fuck?!” Sam demands, his voice a bellow, horror and disgust and... something unattainable just emanates from him. “Why do you have three porn mags worth of your girlfriend down here? That’s fucked, mate.”

“No it’s not. We just like to have photographic reminders of all our... sexcapades.”

Sam is, unsurprisingly, retching, now finally turning his head away from the pile without even bothering to pick up.

“This was cool until you called them sexcapades,” Tom chimes, smacking Harry upside the head as he swaggers over to the bed, fishing a few photos up before tossing them back down.

Sam's horrified attitude doesn’t seem to be spreading thankfully, but you and Harry are understandably rooted to the spot, stuck to the carpet, just biding your time until this is over. Then again, you can’t really tell, since no one is saying anything. You nor Harry want to be the ones to break the silence, though, and you can tell with the furtive and expressive stares you’re sharing that his anxiety is increasing the more people are seeing this.

Momentarily, you think someone may remark about your silent communication, your fixed glances and speechless conversation, but instead, Harrison comes up to you both, a sly smirk etched onto his pretty model face as he clasps a hand around one shoulder of yours and one of Harry’s.

“Harry Holland, you kinky fucker,” he praises.

You definitely feel a swell of pride at that. And the fact that Tom is trying desperately hard not to look at you while also trying to hide how flustered he is, somehow still abhorred by the sight. Harrison’s intrigue is palpable, gnawing on his lower lip as his lithe fingers trace you on the polaroid's, whereas Sam? He can’t decide whether to cry or scream. Harry huddles in closer and cuddles you, ensuring you feel every part of him, just how much he wants this lot to leave to finally have you at his mercy once more.

“So you two are shagging,” Tom observes.

You and Harry nod between kisses.

“Dangerously.”

You nod again, though this time a little reluctantly.

You expect Harry to nestle down with you again, but instead he detaches himself, unravelling his arms, and shoulders past Tom and Haz. He gives Sam a death glare as he piles up all the Polaroids and shoves them deep in a drawer for him to organise later, away from prying eyes and judgemental comments.

“Really, though?” Sam bursts out, flailing his arms before grasping Harry’s collar. “I thought you’d just handcuff her and give her a smack at most, very vanilla.”

As much as he tries to fight it, Harry’s face flushes bright red, leaving no visible distinction between his forehead and hairline. “I think those photos, erm, tell a different story.”

He rocks on the balls of his feet, tugging himself out of his brother's grasp, only to fall into another, saved by Harrison’s scowl at Tom.

“Can you lot bloody get out? Please? I’d like some alone time with my girlfriend after that sodding invasion.”

“If you’re having alone time, we’re leaving the house for a while,” Tom jokes, “how long?”

You smirk, striding over to meet Harry, eyes fixed on him as you press onto your tiptoes, wrapping your fingers around his shoulder before kissing his earlobe. He wilts into your touch.

“Two hours should be enough time. Scram.”

They do, gladly, and you slam the door shut as their scurrying footsteps down the stairs recede. Harry’s grip increases around your waist, a growl escaping him as he pushes you onto the bed. You gasp when your back hits the mattress, his lips instantly attacking your jaw.

“Which of those polaroid's do you wanna recreate first, baby?”

—

It’s hours later, and you're all around for your weekly dinner at the Holland house. You and Harry, having some ‘business’ to attend to before leaving the house, are the last to arrive, and Paddy, poor unfortunate Paddy, has the delightful job of letting you into the house.

“Sam asked me to give you this,” he says barely before you’ve entered the porch.

Harry’s face pales as he unravels the small piece of paper bundled into his hand by his younger brother, but you could swear all blood drains from him the second the words sink in.

‘You took them, you lost them, you collect them. What would mum and dad say, Harold?’

“Harry, what’s happening?”

“That utter wanker stole the polaroids as revenge for scarring him. He’s hidden them around the house. We have to find them before mum and dad go looking. You in for the ride?”

“Only if Haz can join us tonight,” you tease, and after calling a hello to Harry’s parents, you follow him around the house, detaching all the pinned photos.

Harry's learnt a solid lesson today: hide his damn Polaroids better from now on, away from the prying eyes of his bloody brothers. But, he thinks with a smirk, by no means will the two of you stop taking them.

#harry holland #harry holland imagine #harold holland #baz holland #harry holland fluff #harrison osterfield #harry holland smut #harry holland x reader #harry holland angst #harry holland fanfiction #harry holland blurb #harry holland fic #harry holland x y/n #harry holland one shot #harry holland x female reader #harry holland x fem reader #harry robert holland #h holland

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mallowstep · 3 years ago

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okay, i got an ask about an alternative to the misty au where leopardstar helps rescue the mistyfoot and featherpaw, so tigerstar ends up punishing her instead, and here's my answer:

cw: sexual assault, parents/children being involved in sexual assault

I had a horrible no good about the Misty AU where Leopardstar helped them escape and....Tigerstar took one of her lives, then...sexually assaulted her while making Mudfur watch until he was sure she was with kits and then he told Mudfur: "Maybe she'll go the same way as her mother." (If this is too dark I apologize immensely.)

hello, anon. let's talk, shall we?

cursory things out of the way, i generally don't mind what people put into my inbox. that said, if you're unsure, you can always ask first. i try to answer "housekeeping" qs as soon as i can.

now, onto the ask itself.

god DAMN is this an idea. poor mudfur. he doesn't deserve going through this. nor does leopardstar.

but like. here's the THING. we were talking about tigerstar's power a while ago and -- he's actually not maximizing his usage of it.

see, he has a thunderclan pov. in thunderclan, leaders and deputies are supposed to be -- a team. that's why they're so often mentors and apprentices. because they're supposed to fight side by side. it's supposed to be a very close relationship.

if you read mtbnsof,

"They will be slaughtered," he said, and really, she should have learned her lesson, because he lunged again, and this time, it wasn't for her shoulders — it hurt, blinding, and her eyes shut — and opened. Squirrelstar was bleeding, but she was still alive. Rosepetal had tackled Bramblestar, before he could complete the blow.

that's like -- the model thunderclan deputy. you're supposed to pick a deputy who you are that close with.

that's (part of) why tigerclaw's betrayal hurts bluestar so much.

but in riverclan -- the leader represents all of riverclan, and the deputy is, their enforcer, perhaps?

they're still a team, and still one of the very close relationships, but you're more likely to see friends and siblings chosen, with the goal of -- balancing each other out.

a thunderclan leader and deputy should not publicly disagree. but a riverclan leader and deputy might.

so -- when tigerstar has stonefur killed, he's trying to prove that he has such power over leopardstar that she wouldn't even intervene to save her own deputy. which does work, but it's not the most effective way to control riverclan.

the most effective way to control riverclan would be to get both leopardstar and stonefur on his side, and then have leopardstar defer to him.

uh. so uh. what's the best way to do that, then? well.

tigerstar just has to threaten mistyfoot and the apprentices to keep stonefur obedient. "just has to" i mean ig what i'm saying is. if your family's lives are on the line, you're pretty damn willing to go along with things.

but -- how does he. win leopardstar.

he has kits with her.

because -- well First of All if riverclan's leader is riverclan, then the leader's kits are -- the future of riverclan. so if leopardstar has kits with tigerstar, then riverclan's future is tigerclan. yeah?

Second of All leopardstar is known to not want kits and not like toms, right? like -- riverclan leaders are under a fair amount of pressure to have kits because that is the future of riverclan.

and she's not leader for long enough for that all to play out, but she was the deputy for a while, and -- riverclan knows her. they know how she feels.

so. no matter how well tigerstar hides it -- riverclan will know that it's not voluntary.

and -- leopardstar is riverclan.

but like i just -- okay so god. this is. fljksd;lal;f; j. back on topic to the actual ask -- it's a very very interesting story. not something i Personally would write i don't think, because. i'm not sure i would do a very good job of it? i don't think i am -- sufficiently visceral, i suppose.

and this feels like something where. you'd want mudfur's realizations.

i think it'd be a punishment for him too, wouldn't it? he must have helped them escape. he must have known.

i think for me. like when i was writing "after the foxes have known our taste," one of the...one of the sections i was most -- invested in? was these two paragraphs.

"To talk." Leopardstar sits next to him, pulling herself in, like if she makes herself smaller, she will absolve herself of the guilt she carries. (And he knows she carries it. He was barely her deputy for a season, but he has known her his whole life. She will never say it — and because she never will, Mistyfoot will never forgive her — but he sees it in her shoulders.) "We used to be friends."

and then

Leopardstar nods, draws herself together. She looks like herself, again. Regal. Not for the first time, Stonefur thinks that Leopardstar would have made a more striking image on the Bonehill.

i think. leopardstar makes the decisions she makes for the good of her clan

(and oh, tigerstar would use that against her.

"Don't you care about the future, Leopardstar? There are no more kits in the nursery.")

and so in that moment with stonefur, she's...turning to who was supposed to be her counterbalance, and trading all of her pride and strength for vulnerability. and when stonefur -- not rejects her, but tells her he's not ready, she returns to Leopardstar of Riverclan.

but mudfur is her father. the moment of vulnerability with him in denouncement is

"Come with us," she says, pleading. She feels like a kit, begging her father to let her leave camp. "There will always be a space for you in RiverClan." "I thought I taught you better than that," he says, and there is warmth in his voice, like sun on water. "There is no point in keeping spent bones." Leopardstar cracks. She presses her muzzle into him, breathing his scent, past the herbs and illness that clings to him. "Please don't leave me," she says, even though she is the one who is leaving.

and -- while that's not misty au canon, there's a reason that at the end of "the blood is rare and sweet as cherry wine," mudfur tells leopardstar she has work to do.

because by the time mistyfoot and featherpaw do escape, leopardstar has already, in mudfur's eyes, transgressed far beyond the forgiveable.

but now -- his daughter is hurt. and she's -- does she want his comfort? or does she try to be leopardstar of riverclan?

yeah. that's. some good emotional stuff to dip into.

i have -- tawnypelt to explore these ideas with. uh. tbisrasacw contains. sufficient implications but -- mistyfoot's treatment is uncomfortably public.

that's gonna come up again later, i think, but in tawnypelt's first fic, which i'm still toying with official titles for, but has the provisional title of "see them starving in the street," but uh there's a few ideas that it tackles.

all of these tackle -- several ideas. "heaven and hell were words to me" is probably the most, singular plot line of the fic. there's a reason i started with featherpaw's fic and not mistyfoot's.

tbisrasacw balances featherpaw and mistyfoot, and atfhkot is sliding between all of these different cats with moments of what stonefur feels peaking through.

i'm still deciding if i'm publishing "i didn't care much how long i lived" (feathertail) or "like this morning reveals to me" (stonefur) tonight, but idcmhlil is about featherpaw's relationships to other cats, so it naturally pulls in a lot of ideas, and ltmrtm is mistyfoot from stonefur's perspective, which means it necessarily pulls in many ideas.

but stsits is -- one character, many threads. tawnypaw's want to be accepted contrasted with her instictive horror contrasted with her belief that there is no going back contrasted with grappling with the fact that her father is -- uh. mistyfoot.

yeah.

and i don't know. i think. if tigerstar were to punish mudfur via leopardstar, that's one thing. but another thing is like -- depending on his precise interpretations, he could -- force mudfur to. be on "his side."

isolate him from leopardstar.

after all, the reason tigerstar fosters mistyfoot and featherpaw together is because it allows him to win mistyfoot's unthinking loyalty. but tigerstar has all of riverclan to threaten.

("You'll have my kits," he says, smirking. "Do you know why, Leopardstar? Because if something happens to this litter -- I'll take your worthless apprentice and kill her.")

he could -- turn mudfur. not actually, but make leopardstar believe he is.

("You deserve this," Mudfur says, and he is going to hell for this.

Tigerstar doesn't respond, and Leopardstar's ears pin back.

"Tell me, Mudfur, was her mother this pathetic?"

I'll take every last life from her, Mudfur, Tigerstar had threatened. Maybe I'll make you take one. Test me. It'll be fun to see her bleed again.

"Yes," he says, and Brightsky won't forgive him. I'm sorry, he thinks, but it's too late for that.)

i think -- in the misty au, tigerstar takes leopardstar's den. but he'd share it with her.

one of my favourite moments in tbirasacw is

She turns her head, meeting his eyes. He leans back, exposing his stomach, and Mistyfoot takes a moment to consider how easy it would be to tear him open. But she won't, and that's the point.

which you know. the forced intimacy and kindness.

(Tigerstar licks Leopardstar's cheek.

"Leopardfur," he purrs, his tail tucking around her.)

and more name shenanigans, because of course he would. if you've learned anything from this, it's that matthew likes contrasting kindness and violence, and matthew likes name shenanigans.

name shenanigans he would definitely pull mudfur in on.

("You'll call her what I tell you to call her," Tigerstar growls. He puts his paw over Mudfur's. "If I tell you to call her Leopardfur, you call her Leopardfur. You should be grateful I'm not telling you to call her a whore.")

i dunno What everyone would do when tigerclan was over. riverclan would have a Hell of a time.

leopardstar would probably appoint mistyfoot deputy and they'd -- grow closer together.

mistyfoot gave everything she had for featherpaw, and leopardstar paid the same price for the both of them. i think that is -- an apology in its own way.

(Mistyfoot sits with her when she gives birth. Mudfur reminds himself Brightsky was sick. That she did not die because of the kitting. Most queens don't.

Stonefur sits outside the den. Mudfur waits in his own, because he thinks he can't bear to know what he has done to his daughter.)

hm. yes. interesting idea to explore. i appreciate this ask.

#ask #anon #misty au #or adjacent #technically not misty au but like #it's related #it's relevant #if you're in the misty au tag you might be interested #leopard au #look it has an au tag now

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codedredalert · 4 years ago

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abandoned lawsan fantasy magic royalty arranged marriage fic excerpt

(Earlier this year, I made a deal with @yukino-ks that I'd trade x words of my abandoned lawsan bigbang attempt depending on their exam results. They got 2.6k off me and I've been terribly slow in getting an excerpt I can actually show people. (There's a reason I abandoned over 20k and several editing passes.) It's unbetad and WIP and just an excerpt of a longfic so it has some notes mixed in, but I finally have something I'm willing to let see light of day. Sorry I took so long, and congrats on doing well!)

Warnings: forced marriage, dark themes, magic coercion (I mean, Doffy exists), general background awfulness, but hey cute heart pirates interaction

The engagement ring sat heavy on Sanji's finger, warm with his own body heat and with the faint power of Law's magic. A pale blue stone on a white-gold band, the crisp blank sky of winter finally breaking, the white-blue of lightning, of a glacier cracking as it falls into the sea.

Law on the marble floor collapsed when the King Donquixote no longer deigned to puppet his broken body with the betrothal ceremony finished.

Absently, Sanji played with the ring, conscious of the feel of it against his skin, how it changed how he moved his hand. He wondered if Law was awake and about, or if he was still in the deep healing sleep that prompted his servants to close ranks and politely ask Sanji to leave. He wondered if he could ask, or if that would destroy the tentative sort-of friendship they'd started to form before the cruel proceedings of the day before. Sanji had followed his first instinct was to help, to kneel beside Law and help him bear up his weight on fractured bones, to help him back to his tower— it might have done more harm than good. Law was a proud man, and Sanji had inadvertently wounded his pride.

A knock on the door dragged Sanji from his thoughts.

"Yes?" he asked, dropping his hand to his side and standing. The person at the door merely knocked again, so Sanji opened the door.

It's Law, his hair messy and in simple sleeping clothes, dark, soft, and formless. His symbol is emblazoned across his chest in yellow. A hint of bruising and the peek of a bandage shows where the fabric drapes off Law's prominent collarbones.

A stab of pity and empathy and solidarity goes through Sanji, and the hand he has on the handle of the door goes numb as it grips harder, where Law cannot see.

"Come with me," said Law. He started moving away, giving Sanji space to enter the corridor.

Sanji raised a brow and the oddly visceral feelings evaporated instantly.

"Good morning to you too," replied Sanji, even as he followed and closed the door behind him. It melded back to the stone wall, perfectly hidden. "Go with you where?"

"Kitchens." Law's walking gait was slower and shorter than usual, and uneven though he still stood tall. It was almost like yesterday hadn't happened, except for the glimpse of pale metal and yellow stone on his hand.

"Oh, you're wearing it," came out of Sanji's mouth before he realised how stupid that sounded. He couldn't let his guard down just because his bleeding heart had gone out to Law when it turned out that the Crown Prince was very human behind all the rumours.

Law blinked at him in surprise, lifting his hand to look at the ring, as if he'd forgot it was there, like it'd always been there and he had only just noticed.

"Yeah," he said, looking away a bit too quickly. "This way."

===/\===

A set of heavy wooden doors opened to a cosy kitchen, packed to full with people seated at a long wooden table, laden with plates and bowls of sweet oat porridge, flatbreads, steamed buns, eggs and bacon and beans, with savoury rice porridge, with noodles— cuisines from all over. Sanji barely had a moment to take it all in as everyone at the table jumped up, cheering and clapping.

"Welcome to His Highness' lover!" someone hooted and loud laughter ensued, whistles and cheering resounded. Someone shoved a champagne flute into his hand and another someone all but dragged him to the bench where somehow the rest of the table squeezed to make space for him.

"Congrats on being a bad influence on His Highness," the redhead who dragged him to the table said cheerily as he squeezed his chair in to reach the table. "Bread roll?"

Sanji took one and it was good bread, a crust which crunched lightly under his fingers, soft fluffy insides when he broke it open and placed it on his plate.

"Bad influence?" asked Sanji, bewildered by the ruckus. He looked round for Law, and found him standing just behind his left shoulder. Law nodded, sipping from a bright yellow mug which he hadn't been holding a moment before.

"You defied Doflamingo," Law explained.

Oh, they had to be referring to the sarcastic backtalk Sanji had made when the giant pink-feather fashion disaster tried to get him to report on Law's comings and goings. So Law had been conscious for that. Sanji was suddenly very glad he'd decided to mouth off instead of try to pretend to play along. Besides, it had been a clever comeback.

"Anything that pisses off the King Asshole, or any of the assholes over in the Toybox, makes you alright with us," the redhead elaborated, dumping half a plate of greasy bacon on Sanji's plate.

"And if you can get our prince to eat, everyone will love you," the person seated on the redhead's other side said. It was the man with the white and black hat, who had taken a half-unconscious Law from Sanji and barked out orders to the other servants before politely asking Sanji to leave. He frowned as the redhead took the rest of the bacon, stacking the empty plate beneath his own. "And dammit Shachi, I wanted some."

"Not my fault your food scramble game is weak, Peng. Ask Ikkaku to pass some, there's another plate on the other end of the table," Shachi said unapologetically. The man in the hat rolled his eyes, but turned and yelled down the other end of the table for the bacon.

Sanji took a moment to process all this and looked back to Law.

"You don't eat?" asked Sanji, incredulous.

"I do."

"Coffee isn't food," Peng recited almost like a proverb as he put some bacon on his plate. He did not offer it to Shachi.

For a moment, Law didn't answer, and then pointedly, he sipped his coffee. It was so bratty and childlike that Sanji nearly choked trying not to laugh.

Peng rolled his eyes and looked to Sanji.

"You see what we have to work with?" he said, as if Law couldn't hear them. "The list of what he eats could be written on your palm."

Now if that weren't a challenge Sanji couldn't refuse—

"Write it down for me and give me free reign of a kitchen," Sanji replied. "And I'll see what I can do."

"You don't have to," Law started to say, just as Peng grinned and said "Done!", reaching over Shachi's plate to shake Sanji's hand.

Sanji shook on it, excited for the chance to cook again for the first time since coming to Dressrosa. Law rolled his eyes, but fondly. If he'd really wanted to, he could order otherwise. It was… nice, that he let this go.

"Do you think I could try some?" asked the huge polar bear toy seated on Law's other side. Sanji startled, still not quite used to toys talking, but Law's hand just went up to pat the toy bear on his nose.

"You can't eat, Bepo. Otherwise I have to operate on you again and wash out your stuffing." Law paused. "I don't know why you like it anyway. It's not like you can taste it."

"It looks pretty and everyone else gets to eat. I feel lonely."

Law patted Bepo on the nose again comfortingly.

"It's not that great," said Law. He finished his coffee.

Sanji resolved then and there to make Law eat those words with dinner.

===/\===

[More conversation, Shachi and Bepo are escorting Sanji back to his room. Originally, I had fun worldbuilding stuff about how much Law hates the tower and Bepo's origin story but it's not relevant in the excerpt.]

"What's that?" asked Sanji. In a short joining corridor between this homey servant's kitchen and the lonely tower and its rooms which lock from the outside, there was a space where he could see a sliver of sky, and a splash of colour below.

"What's what?" asked Shachi. Sanji gestured over the side of the open down to a sort of courtyard garden, with flowering plants grown in elaborate patterns so from the top down, they formed complicated motifs and images of a strange ship breaking the waves, a treasure chest and a heart.

"It's pretty, right?" said Bepo cheerfully. "His Highness does it himself, he moves the flowers around when he's had a bad dream. He says it makes him feel better."

There was space, paths amongst the flowers, a couple of benches and a small pavilion, along with the little pond and irrigation system and lights.

"It's Law's garden, then," said Sanji, an idea coming to mind. "Say, is there a table in that pavillion?"

===/\===

[Sanji cooks dinner for Law and they have a nice romantic dinner in the pavillion but Law Does Not Care about food and that is honestly kind of upsetting for Sanji. I had to cut my favourite part of the entire fic out and that hurtie just a bit.]

"If you've had enough of forcing me to eat—" Law said, and Sanji wanted to snap at that, but Law managed to finish his sentence first. "Do you want to take a walk?"

"I thought you had work to do?" replied Sanji, a little coldly, but Law didn't seem to notice. He shrugged.

"It can wait, I'll be up late tonight anyway."

They walk. The air is cold, and clouds roll through the courtyard sometimes, wisp and damp and cold. The courtyard meets the side wall of the castle, and on the other side is the steep drop into a distant dark fog.

It didn't take long to walk the entirety of the courtyard, small as it was. They sat on the lone bench, it was dewy with the condensation of the clouds and the rapidly cooling night.

"So, with all this, I take it you want to try and act like lovers," commented Law.

It was more a judgment than a question. Sanji stiffened, was Law going to make fun of him?

"Not with that attitude," Sanji retorted. His hand went to his pocket for his cigarettes. He lit one, agitated and feeling like the effort he'd put into making the evening nice was, all in all, a nett waste.

Law considered Sanji without taking any offence.

"I'm not interested anyway. Don't get me wrong," Law added quickly, a hand outstretched as Sanji sat straighter, half-way to standing and walking away. "You're plenty attractive, and if it's sex you want, I could show you a good time."

"You know the meaning of the word?"

Law ignored his interjection.

"It's the… other things," he continued calmly. "The holding hands and fancy dinners and being sentimental. I'm not good at that. I'm not going to stab you if you look at another man, and I'd prefer the same vice versa."

Sanji looked at him flatly.

"What."

"It's common enough around here that there's a proverb that... never mind, the explanation is too long. The point is, if romance is what you're hoping to get out of this marriage, I'm going to disappoint. I can put up with it a little bit but not for long."

"Why the marriage, then?"

Law's head snapped to him sharply. His expression made him look more angry than confused, though his tone when he spoke was confused.

"I told you, after the ceremony," Law said, as if he expected Sanji to remember every detail said when Law had been crumpled on the floor and bleeding through his engagement suit. "We both got signed away without having any say in it. I thought we had an understanding, and I'm surprised you want something more. I mean, it's…" He couldn't seem to find an adjective for it. "Well. it's something. That you want to try. I'm flattered."

"You couldn't refuse this marriage?" asked Sanji, processing this new information. If it were true, that made Law more a fellow prisoner than a bored and slightly sympathetic jailor. That changed everything, it meant Sanji had more allies than he thought. Still— "But you tried. That time before the betrothal ceremony. You told the King you're not marrying anyone."

"And that clearly worked," Law retorted snidely. His glowing yellow eyes were less friendly now. "So, is that what you thought of me? And all this— the aid, the kindness, the food— was this you bending backwards to keep me happy? So I don't call off the engagement and leave you to face your family's wrath for losing a valuable alliance?"

He was angry, and right. Some of it had been a little calculated, so what? Sanji had nothing here, no rights of magic to stand on, no support, and people who would die if he stepped one toe out of line. That didn't mean he couldn't want something, anything, to make the days more bearable. That maybe, though married to a man he'd never met before, he might have something which passed for love.

"Not… exactly. You already know my situation, and besides, I'm meant to be an insult," explained Sanji, grim. He hadn't expected to speak of this, and it was harder than he thought. "You're the Crown Prince, you should have married my sister, or at the very least the eldest son. Not—" the third son who has no magic to speak of. "Not me. So, you're right. I'm at your mercy. But you've been decent. So I thought. Well. We could be friends at least."

It took a moment but Law's glare softened, pacified.

"Don't worry about that part so much. The insult bit— we know. Doflamingo thought it was hilarious. He wants to parade you around until you're the very symbol of the Germa and your father will be associated with you."

A pause.

"Not liking that much either, " Sanji said, voice flat.

"He has a shit sense of humour," agreed Law. "Your being fair-haired and a smoker is partly why he agreed, I'm sure. Or he wouldn't have forced me to give you that cloak."

Speaking of the cloak, Sanji remembered the package he'd put in his bag. He fished it out, and offered it to Law.

"You can have this back,'' said Sanji.

"You don't like your betrothal gift?" asked Law, but Sanji noticed he was quick to take the offered cloak in hand.

"It seems important to you."

… No answer, but Law draped the cloak around his own shoulders. It dwarfed him much like it had dwarfed Sanji. It seemed to be made for someone closer to the King's stature.

"I was under the impression you're not that fond of the King," Sanji commented.

For a second, it seemed like Law would not respond. Head bowed and eyes closed, with the great cloak around him, he looked small and lost in memory.

"His brother." said Law without opening his eyes, and he drew the coat tighter around himself with his hands. "My benefactor."

He brought the sleeve up against the white light of the garden lamp.

"See?" said Law, and his expression was so gentle that for a moment Sanji felt like he shouldn't have seen it, like it was some secret thing he had no right to. "The deep purple, almost black. It's hard to see, but it's there."

Sanji tore his eyes from Law's face to look at the shadows of the cloak. Sure enough, there were purple sparks, almost lost in the brighter pink.

"I see it."

"It's not a powerful type of magic," said Law, voice wistful. "I used to disdain it myself, when I was a child. This particular one is Silent Night— it blocks out noise to give the wearer a— a peaceful sleep."

Law's voice tripped over his words and he lowered the coat, curled over it, for a second he was so overcome with emotion he couldn't speak. Sanji averted his eyes, looking out over the gardens. The pale shapes of the white and yellow flowers in the white garden lights, and the distant moon. The flat blades of the leaves and the washed out mosaic tiles.

"This—" Law's hands tightened on the cloak in Sanji's peripheral vision. "Means a lot. More than you could know. ...Thanks."

It was awkward, but then, Law seemed the type unaccustomed to thanking others.

"You're welcome," Sanji said simply, and they sat together in silence late into the night.

#lawsan #trafalgar law #black leg sanji #opfic #one piece #heart pirates #bepo #penguin one piece #shachi one piece #you cant write law without talking about corasan it cant be done #my writing #mine #yukino-ks

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the-prophet-lemonade · 4 years ago

Note

Hello! I recently read A Cold Night for Good Deeds (and cried a lot, thank you) and I was hoping you could drop some sweet, sweet meta on me. Or just tell me about your favorite scene(s) to write! Absolutely loved the fic - one of my new all time faves.

hello hello! i have so much fic meta i could talk about, i hope you know you’ve opened a can of worms hahahahaha (and if there’s anything you wanna know, please do just ask!)

i’ll gladly talk about my favourite scenes though! i have a couple answers for this ...

1) chapter 14: sentinel finally has an emotional breakdown and magnus comes and finds him in the rain. this is one of the first scenes that i wrote for this whole fic and it’s one of my favourites because i just love seeing alec cry lmfaooooo and this is no exception, made even more satisfying for me by the horrendous build up to the moment, as we’ve gone chapter after chapter with alec compressing his emotions and trying to hold himself together. it’s cathartic to see him collapse, a true and despairing moment of weakness for him, and it’s made even more traumatic by magnus seeing him in this state ... and then saying those damning words to suggest he already knows sentinel is alec. it’s all very raw and messy and that’s the sort of emotional turmoil i love writing the most lol

2) chapter 10: sentinel and nightlock’s first kiss on the rooftop, overlooking the city in the drizzle. i love this entire chapter, but this scene is one of my favourites because it is this moment of absolute quiet amidst a lot of chaos and hurt, confused feelings. they’re hidden away from the rest of the world, the only two people in the whole city who understand each other quite so well, and there’s no question about the affection they have for each other. this was a really important part of the story for me, establishing how alec’s world is a mess, but not the way he feels for nightlock. he is *so* sure about that, and hopefully this first kiss feels gentle and natural and as easy as breathing. i think it’s very beautiful, and i really tried to make the dialogue bookmarking the kiss just as intimate as the kiss itself.

3) chapter 5: the entire church sequence where sentinel and nightlock really realise for the first time the horror that they’re up against. if this fic was a tv show (as it is in my head), this would be the first big “set piece” and i really wanted to encapsulate that within the scene: i worked very hard on the description, the look of this immolated church, the sounds, the smell, the unreality, and i think it feels like a very rich scene because of it. i was also really excited about writing some proper horror in this fic, and i think this scene is one of the most gruesome and horrific! the image of the dead super suspended by the arms above the alter is meant to be nightmarish and unsettling (and symbolic) (and is also imagery stolen from the angels & demons movie hahahaha) and i really wanted to push myself with writing something viscerally uncomfortable.

some honourable mentions include election night (ch 12) where magnus stays the night at alec’s apartment and he and alec have that exchange: “i think i’m bad at loving people” / “you don’t know that. you don’t know what being loved by you feels like” ... ooFT THE ROMANCE (this scene was also a very last minute addition to the fic, i think 2 days before the chapter was published, so i’m really extra happy with it!)

also the sentinel getting shot/waking up in magnus’ appartment sequence in ch 10 (hell, basically all of ch 10, it’s my fave overall chapter) ... it’s high melodrama ... and of course, we later find out that it’s especially important for magnus understanding who sentinel is ...

and also also the scene where nightlock saves alec from the pyro in ch 7 and then later in the same chapter, nightlock takes alec up to the roof of that really tall skyscraper and they have their lil date ... that scene is very colourful and vivid in my head and i like it lots! it encapsulates the feeling of the fic as i wanted it!

#long post #lucy replies #fic: a cold night for good deeds

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vampwrrrmistresslist · 6 years ago

Text

Sweet Lies 5

(A/N: This is not how dual citizenship between the US and South Korea works. Suspend your disbelief, dear Reader. Also, this is chapter 5 of an in progress fic, the links for which can be found on my mistresslist.)

Baekhyun’s eyes shone when he picked you up, looking appreciatively up and down your tempting figure. You were wearing a loose ice blue silk button down blouse, tucked into a figure-hugging, high-waisted, charcoal-and-ice-pinstripe pencil skirt that hit you just below the knee. Your thick, wavy hair was gathered over one shoulder, leaving the side of your neck bare to his gaze. You were grateful that you had taken the time to go thriftwhoring that morning, and were in clothes that made you feel more like the “you” you had been before you had given up. Charcoal stilettos that you hadn’t worn since university completed the look, but still put you an inch below him.

The small of your back was warmed by the delicate pressure of Baekhyun’s hand as he gently led you through the doors of the Mercier Fine Art Museum, where they were having an exhibit on The Modern Reclamation of the Power of Women topos, with paintings on loan from around the world. You wriggled playfully in excitement, beaming up at him when he looked down questioningly.

“I love museums,” you whispered confidentially, causing him to chuckle indulgently. “I haven’t been to one since I graduated. I’m so excited!”

He nodded, his eyes scanning the room before coming to rest on your face. “You really are a nerd, aren’t you?”

You went to punch him on the shoulder, but stopped yourself just in time, and let your hand fall back to your side. “Says the man who attended Vanderbilt and Cornell.”

“So, we’re both nerds,” he said comfortably, his thumb gently stroking the base of your spine. “Which exhibit would you like to see first?”

“The Klimt.”

He guided you through the doorway on your right, into the Klimt exhibit. You gasped softly to yourself as you both came to stand in front of Klimt’s The Kiss. “Oh! It’s lovely…”

Baekhyun spared the painting a glance, turning slightly to look at you while you looked up at the work in wonder. “Indeed,” he said quietly, his eyes tracing the delicate lines of your profile.

You continued to look at the painting, eyes moving back and forth as you tried to commit every inch to memory. “Klimt is one of my favourite artists.”

He nodded. “I prefer modern art, but I can acknowledge the appeal.”

You wrinkled your nose, glancing at him briefly, before turning your eyes back to the painting in front of you. “Modern art is so cold. So calculating. For the most part, anyway.”

“Not cold. Clean. Neat.”

“Well, you may just have to teach me to appreciate it. I can’t say that I do right now.”

He smiled, looking thoughtful. “That would be a pleasure. There are a lot of things that I would love to teach you.”

You grinned cheekily. “How do you know that I don’t know them already?”

He grinned mischievously. Reworking his query from the previous day, “So, you know everything I know?”

You tsked and pouted. “What if there are things that I want to teach you?”

He laughed loudly, then looked chastened when the security guard gave him a glare. “I learn well,” he stage-whispered, as he led you away from The Kiss.

You smiled up at him, allowing the soft press of his hand to guide you to Klimt’s next work, Danae. You bit your lip to hold back a squeal. “It’s gorgeous!”

He tilted his head, considering. “I think that I can appreciate this one a bit more.”

You looked up at him as he studied the painting. “What do you like about this one?”

He shook his head. “I’m not an art critic. I don’t really analyze it. I just…like what I like. If it strikes me as pretty, I like it. I don’t think about why.”

You nodded, looking back at the painting. “I can verbalize why I like it, but I agree with you. It all boils down to, I like it, because I like it. That’s enough. Taking it apart is just justification after the fact.”

“Well, now I’m curious. Why do you like it?”

“Mmm, first of all I love the juxtaposition, which you also find in The Kiss, of comfort and discomfort. Look at how she’s positioned. It looks unnatural, and cramped, but look at her face; it’s blissful. I also love the way he creates texture in his paintings. Look at the veil. Doesn’t it look real, like you could reach out and pull it from the painting? Another thing that I find fascinating about most of his work is the contrast of styles, within the same paintings. For example, her hair looks like a painting, but the veil looks real. The Kiss almost looks as if he painted the figures, and then put fabric, and gold overlay over them. Something about that contrast just pulls at something inside of me. I don’t know; I’m weird. I’m probably not making sense.”

“No, I understand. We’re drawn to opposites. Sweet and sour, light and dark, pain and pleasure. It’s not weird at all. I’m afraid that I think you’re quite normal, pet.”

“Give me time.”

You tried to hold in your excitement as you moved to the next painting, but a little bounce escaped, causing him to bite his lip to hold back another burst of laughter. You groaned. “Oh, now this…this is my favourite one,” you said, your hands reaching out to clutch air, as you make cute little grasping motions. You both looked up at Judith and the Head of Holofernes. “Do you know the story behind the painting?”

Baekhyun smiled ruefully. “Not really.”

You smiled up at him. “Well, it’s part of the Apocrypha, which are the books that didn’t make it into the Bible, due to their being of doubtful origin. Anyway, in the story, there’s this widow, Judith, who gains the trust of Holofernes, an enemy Assyrian general, by promising to give him information on the Israelites’ plans for battle. So one night, she goes to his tent, finds him dead drunk…and decapitates him.” Here, you smiled again, looking back at the painting. Almost reverently, you whisper, “She takes his head back to her camp, and the Assyrians, without their leader, flee in defeat.”

Baekhyun’s eyes roved over your rapt face, lit with a beatific smile as you recounted the dark tale. He smiled affectionately at you as your eyes took in the graceful lines of the painting. “You’re…kind of bloodthirsty, aren’t you?”

Your smile changed to an introspective one. You sighed, glanced back at him, and then slowly began to walk to the next exhibit. “Only to the deserving.”

He followed you, his eyes lazily trailing from your ankles all the way up to the crown of your head. He tilted his head thoughtfully. “Just my style.”

You both wandered through the rest of the Klimt exhibit before making your way over to the Caravaggio display. You gasped and hurried over to Caravaggio’s Judith Beheading Holofernes. “They have multiple versions of this in the exhibition?! Oh…” Sucking in a breath, you looked up in satisfaction at the image, biting your lip as your eyes took in the rich reds, and elegant chiascuro of the work.

Baekhyun came to stand behind you, replacing his hand on the small of your back, which you barely noticed, so enrapt were you with the painting. He looked up at the far more graphic representation of the tale. After a pause, “Should I be worried?”

“Are you currently planning to wage war against the Israelites?”

“It’s not on my to-do list.”

“Then you may keep your head.”

“Thank you.”

“I am beneficent in all my ways.” You paused, and then gestured to the painting. “Just look at that red. That is my favourite colour.” You suddenly shivered, the thin silk of your shirt doing nothing to insulate you against the glacial temperatures of the museum. Baekhyun looked at you in concern.

“Are you cold?”

“Of course not,” you bluffed.

He glanced down to see goosebumps sweeping across your skin, see the way you unconsciously hugged your arms around your waist in an unsuccessful effort to warm yourself. “Here,” he said, taking off his suit jacket and draping it over your shoulders.

“Really, I’m fine—“ you started, but then involuntarily closed your eyes, sighing in appreciation of the left over body heat from his jacket.

He raised an eyebrow. “Fine?”

You settled gratefully into the warm jacket. “Perhaps, I…was a bit…chilled. Thank you. Aren’t you going to be cold, though?”

“Well, I’m still wearing an undershirt, a shirt, and a vest, so I’m fine.” He looked down at you, looking up at him, your doe-like eyes blinking at him over the collar of the jacket as you burrowed into it, up to your nose. “You are so cute!”

You blushed, and looked down shyly. You started to thank him when you glanced into the next room, and something that caught your eye. You sucked in an incredulous breath. “They have Gentileschi?!”

Anticipating your next move, he gently guided you out of the Caravaggio exhibit into the Gentileschi room, where you stood between Judith Slaying Holofernes and Jael and Sisera one hand to your mouth, eyes hungrily looking back and forth between the paintings, as if unable to choose which to consume first. You decided to start with the Judith.

“Which version do you prefer?”

You sighed in contemplation. After a moment, “The Gentileschi, hands down. It’s the most visceral; it delivers the highest impact. Also, look at her expression compared to Caravaggio’s, and Klimt’s Judiths. Klimt depicted her erotically, while Caravaggio depicted her as almost timid, even as she’s right in the middle of beheading Holofernes. The expression on Gentileschi’s Judith is the most realistic, I think. Repelled, but determined. Also, look at her maidservant. I mean, she’s really getting in there. That’s loyalty. That’s teamwork.”

“I would like to revise my earlier assertion.”

“Oh?”

“You are weird.”

“Thank you.”

***

The sun hung heavy in the sky when you emerged from the museum. You divested yourself of Baekhyun’s jacket, handing it back to him with a grateful smile.

He took it from you, smiling as he eased into it. “It smells like you.”

You looked at him in horror. “I’m sorry!”

“Don’t be sorry. I like the way you smell. Like fresh cut lemons, and pretty girl.”

“What does pretty girl smell like?”

“You.”

“I should have seen that one coming.”

“You really should have.”

He guided you to one of the shaded benches under the trees. “Ah, it’s so hot!”

You leaned back on your arms, taking note of the temperature. “It’s not that bad, now that the sun is going down.”

“Wait a moment, I’ll be right back.”

While he was gone, you tipped back your head, soaking in the dying rays of the sun, and listened to the cheerful babble of the small brook that ran through the trees beside the museum’s picnic area. The leftover heat of the day seeped into your bones, making you feel like a lizard, and you were just starting to drift when–

“This is a pretty sight.”

You lazily opened your eyes to see Baekhyun standing in front of you with an obscenely large soft serve cone. You raised an eyebrow. “Where did you get that?”

“The museum cafeteria. I’m hungry.”

You smiled, ruffling his hair as he sat next to you.

“You know you’re going to help me finish this, right?” he said, eyeing you over the cone.

“I thought that you said that you were hungry.”

“I’m hungry, not suicidal. This thing is huge.” You snorted. “I wasn’t sure which you’d like, so I got swirl.”

“I like vanilla, but a little bit of chocolate with it is nice.”

“Perfect. I like chocolate, with a little vanilla.”

“Are you just saying that?”

“No, I really do like chocolate. And vanilla. And strawberry. And caramel. And–”

“I get the point,” you laughed.

He handed one of the spoons to you, and you both went to town on the rapidly melting cone, giggling as you tried to eat it before it dripped all over his hand.

“So, Baekhyunnie,” you started, as you casually licked ice cream off of your spoon, “Tell me more about Byun Baekhyun. The man, the mystery, the legend. Tell me something interesting.”

He thought for a moment, cheek pouched adorably with a store of chocolate soft serve. “I was actually born in South Korea.”

“What?! Really?!”

He grinned, pleased at having surprised you. “I moved to the US when I was 11, and I have dual citizenship.”

“That’s pretty neat.”

“I’ve never heard of my dual citizenship being described as neat before.”

You shrugged. “What can I say? I’m easily impressed. Impress me some more.”

“I’ve…served in the military?”

“Really?!”

He nodded, chest puffing unconsciously. “Mmm, right after high school. It’s mandatory for men in South Korea so, since I wasn’t willing to renounce citizenship, I just went back and did it.”

“What was it like?”

Baekhyun grimaced. “I, in my finite wisdom, decided to enter the Marine Corps, since that’s the manliest branch, right?” He laughed. “They kicked my butt so bad, I coughed up my coccyx.”

Your eyes widened. “They beat you up?!”

“No, no, nothing like that. It was just a lot more physically demanding than I had anticipated. To be honest, I’m glad that I did it, though. It made me a stronger person, I made friends that I otherwise never would have, and I learned a lot of useful skills.”

“What you did…when we first met…did you learn that in the military?”

He shook his head. “Actually, no. I have a fifth degree black belt in hapkido. I’ve been studying it since I was six.”

“Oh, wow. So you know how to kill me with a napkin?”

He tossed you a cheeky smile, and leaned forward until there was only an inch of space between you. “I’d rather kiss you to death.”

You turned away, face burning, as you tried to control a goofy grin. You raised your hand to gently punch his shoulder, thought better of it, and then dropped it in your lap. “That was so cheesy,” you muttered instead, trying to hide your amusement.

“You liked it.” He offered you the rest of the cone, which you turned down, not wanting to accidentally spill melted ice cream on your shirt. Shrugging, he opened his mouth and inhaled it in one go.

You bit your lip, trying not to laugh at his chipmunk cheeks as he studiously crunched.

He grinned at you, then stood to throw away the spoons and napkins. Returning, he held out his hand to help you off the bench, and then once again rested it against the small of your back, as he led you to his car.

You wanted to say something cheeky about way he had been guiding you about all day but, if you were honest with yourself, you really enjoyed it; you didn’t want him to stop.

He turned to you after you were both back in the car. “I was thinking that we could go down to the floating pier at Miller’s Park, and just chat a bit more, before I take you home?”

Nodding, you rested your hand on his forearm as he shifted gears. “I’d like that.”

***

You both sat on the swinging bench, your bare feet brushing softly over the cool grass as he used one foot to push the swing.

He looked down at your naked feet happily kicking in the air, as you swung. “You’re like a little gypsy.”

Shrugging, you said, “I like to be barefoot as much as possible. I can’t be tamed.”

He grinned, then nodded to your feet. “Is it nice?”

“Bare feet on soft grass? It’s the best.”

“Aren’t you worried of stepping on something sharp?”

“I have before. It’s not the end of the world. It hurts, you heal, and you get over it.”

“Shall I?”

“Please do.” He took off his shoes and socks, and gingerly rested his feet on the bare grass. “It’s nice, isn’t it?” you teased.

“It is nice.”

“See? I taught you something new.”

He rested his arm on the bench, behind your shoulders. “So…”

“Mm?”

“I was thinking.”

“Yes?”

“How about you go out with me again this Friday?”

“Okay.” He smiled in satisfaction. “Oh, wait, no! I can’t!”

He pouted, sliding his hand into your lap to wrap around yours. “Why not?”

“I’m supposed to go to a thing with my best friend on Friday night. Her boyfriend is out of town, but she has been wanting to go for weeks, and I can’t let her go by herself.”

He nodded. “You’re very loyal.”

“That’s my curse.”

“What about Saturday?”

You shook your head flirtatiously. “I don’t know. It depends. What do you want to do?”

“Spend time with you.”

“Hm. Sounds good. Count me in.”

“It’s a date.” He leisurely stroked the back of your hand with his thumb. “So, tell me about your family.”

“I just have two older brothers, Jameson, and Keegan. Well, they’re my half brothers, but they’re my brothers, you know? They’re annoying, overprotective, annoying, sweet, annoying, thoughtful, did I mention annoying?” You sighed. “I love them.”

“Do they help you with your dad?”

“No, they’re my mother’s sons, from her first marriage. Her first husband was a soldier, and died overseas. What about you?”

“I’m the eldest. I have three sisters, and a younger brother, all of whom live in various parts of the world.”

“Do you miss them?”

“A little.”

“I would miss my brothers terribly if they left the state.”

“That’s because you’re a delicate flower,” he teased.

You snorted. “That’s certainly not true!”

“A dainty bloom.”

“You can shut all the way up.”

“A fragile blossom.”

“How many synonyms are you going to go through?”

“That’s all I’ve got.”

You started to push him playfully, but then caught yourself, and lowered your hand.

He frowned. Tentatively, “I’ve noticed you start to touch me a few times, and then stop. What’s wrong?”

You shook your head. “You’ve noticed me start to hit you a few times, and then stop.”

“Why’d you stop?”

“You want me to hit you?” you asked dubiously.

“Well, it’s not like you’re about to punch me in the face. I like it when you’re playful. It’s cute.” You shook your head, and looked away, your expression shadowed. “What’s wrong? Did I say something wrong?”

“Of course not! It’s just…when I was younger, I used to be very physically playful—I was a tomboy. I used to love play-wrestling, and I would hit my brothers when we were joking around, that sort of thing. But one day, when I was 19, Jameson told me to stop hitting him–that it was unfeminine, that I was always so violent, and that he didn’t appreciate being touched like that. I was kind of surprised, considering he’s the one who taught me how to wrestle, and I had never hit anyone in anger. But…I said ‘Okay. I’ll never touch you again,’ and from that day to this, I never have.”

“So, your brother’s a jerk?”

You blew out a breath. “He was right. I shouldn’t hit people. It’s uncouth.”

He leaned forward, taking his hand from behind you and running it frustratedly through his hair, before curling it back around your shoulders, and pulling you almost imperceptibly toward him. “You weren’t going around pile-driving people. People give friends and family love taps all the time! It’s part of the human experience. And unfeminine? Since when is he the arbiter of what constitutes femininity? If he didn’t want you to interact with him that way anymore, that’s fine, but there are nicer ways to say it than he did.”

“Wow. You, uh, feel really passionately about love-taps, huh?”

He subsided, cracking his neck, and leaning back. “Sorry. I just…feel…a little protective.”

“Of me?!”

“Of course! I like you, and I don’t like seeing you upset. Listen,” here he lifted the hand that he had been holding, and used it to roughly tap his chest. “I can take everything you’ve got. You don’t have to feel inhibited around me.” His hand moved to your wrist, and relaxed, the weight of it causing your hand to open against his chest and slowly drag down.

You stared wide-eyed at your hand, splayed across his chest, feeling the firm muscles ripple under his clothes as he breathed. You were suddenly very aware of his proximity, of his arm resting lightly against your shoulder blades, of his heart beating under your palm. Swallowing involuntarily, you felt his eyes on your face, but you were too shy to meet them. So, you turned to gaze at the glittering light the gibbous moon cast on the water. You felt Baekhyun return your hand to your lap.

“So…” he started.

“So…”

“Is this awkward?”

You thought for a moment, then shook your head. “No. No. It’s…nice. I think I like it.”

***

90’s alternative blasted through the club speakers as Suzy wrapped her arms around your neck, slowly undulating to the beat. Your arms were around her waist, your eyes closed as you moved to the driving cellos of Rasputina’s Transylvanian Concubine.

You were two drinks into the night, and feeling pretty mellow as you danced to the sultry music of your childhood. A few minutes later, the song ended, and you and Suzy jumped up and down in delight.

“That was my favourite song!” you yelled, trying to make yourself heard over the stripped lo-fi drumbeat of Virgin State of Mind.

“I know! I didn’t think that they’d play the indie stuff, too!”

“That’s why this club’s 90’s Night is the best. You can even make requests. The DJ is pretty cool.”

“Oh, do you know her?”

“We’ve hung out a bit. I’ll introduce you later, if you like.”

You nodded, looking up at the DJ booth to look at the tall brunette, arms snaked with tattoos, silver nose ring glinting, side shave freshly cut. “Ugh, she’s so pretty!”

“So are you,” a smooth voice whispered, entirely too intimately in your ear. You shivered in distaste, involuntarily turning as hands reached around you to remove your arms from your friend’s waist, and spin you in the opposite direction. A tall, oily, middle aged man looked down at you. Well, down at some parts of you, anyway. His thick black hair was shellacked with product, and his shirt was half unbuttoned, showing a toned, but disturbingly shiny chest. He had probably once been handsome, but bloodshot eyes, and a fine network of broken capillaries across his nose whispered that dissipation had begun to take its toll.

“Sorry guy, I’m not interested,” you said, shaking your head, and removing his hand from your wrist.

Suzy came to stand behind you, wrapping her arms possessively around your waist, and resting her chin on your shoulder, her black hair falling in a curtain over your arm. “Sorry, this one’s taken.”

He held up his hands, grinning. “Oh, two for the price of one.”

Your temper flared. “No, none for the price of nothing. Move along, old man.”

He held a hand to his heart in mock pain. “Aw, come on, I just want to get to know you. Would you like a drink?”

“She’s fine,” Suzy said shortly.

“I asked her,” he said with attitude.

You raised an eyebrow. “I’m fine.” You rolled your eyes, as he looked you up and down, biting his lip. From which scum soaked swamp slogged this caricature, anyway?

“In that skirt, you certainly are!” You had let Suzy dress you tonight, and she had chosen a flouncy black lace mini skirt, over a long-sleeved black lace shirt, and thigh-high, lace-up leather boots.

You decided to take the high road. “Listen, whatever you’re looking for tonight, I hope you find it, but we’re not really interested in anything like that.”

He sighed heavily, shaking his head. “Alright. Take it easy.”

“You, too!” you chirped with false friendliness.

“Ugh, what a creeper,” Suzy said, as he sauntered off in search of fresh strange. You nodded, leaning back to confidentially let her know that you had to use the bathroom. “Alright, I’m going to get another shot.”

***

Your eyes scanned the crowd, looking for Suzy after you emerged from the bathroom. Darn her and her tiny, birdlike bones. You should start putting bells on her. Starting for the bar, you figured that you’d begin your search there. A strong hand grasped you by the wrist, and pulled you backwards. For a split second, you let it, thinking that it was Suzy, but you quickly realized that her hands were much smaller than the one that was tugging you. You turned to see the same greasy guy from earlier, a cocky grin on his face.

“Got rid of your little girlfriend, I see. Wanna dance?”

You ripped your wrist from his grip, hissing in anger. “I already said no. Don’t touch me again!”

“Come on, baby! Just one dance.” His eyes roved hungrily up and down your body. “I’ll buy you a drink.”

“I don’t want a drink!”

His eyes shot above your head as you felt an arm snake its way across your neck, while another slid across your hips, pulling you back against a very hot, very taut body that gently, comfortingly rocked you from side to side. Warm breath sighed past your ear, and you smiled in recognition. You leaned your head back against a broad shoulder, turning to look at look at the side of Baekhyun’s face, as he smiled darkly at the finally silent stranger.

“Is the old man bothering you, pet?”

You lazily shook your head in negation, smiling up at him. His eyes dropped to you, and then he turned you around, your bodies in profile. You reached up, and lightly raked your nails down side of his face, leaving livid red stripes against the warm gold. He closed his eyes, jaw hardening against the slight pain. Seeing his expression, you stood on your toes, slipping your hand to cradle the back of his head, while wrapping your other around his shoulder, pulling him closer to you, so that you could gently bite the side of his jaw. Baekhyun growled low, and then lifted his head, bringing his mouth close to yours, snarling softly as you undulated against him, your open mouth sending warm air over his, as you returned the snarl. He lowered his forehead to yours, and all you could see was black, black, black as you looked up into his eyes. You smiled a wolfish smile and, in unison, you turned your heads toward the man who wouldn’t leave you alone.

“Any questions?” Baekhyun queried.

After a lengthy pause, the man came up with a response he thought the height of wit. “I didn’t want you, anyway,” he muttered, backing away, and quickly disappearing into the crowd.

You hid your face in Baekhyun’s chest, your body shaking as you tried, unsuccessfully, to hold back giggles.

“Shhh!” he admonished. “You’re going to blow our cover!” He pulled you behind one of the club’s carved pillars, holding you tightly as you laughed hysterically.

“Did you see his face?!” you guffawed.

“It was priceless!”

You stopped laughing long enough to imitate the man’s stunned expression, and you both doubled over, holding your stomachs, and whooping. You looked up at him, his mouth wide with laughter, and noticed how red the side of his face was. “Oh, wait, wait!” You lifted a hand to his reddened cheek, caressing the skin. “Did I hurt you?”

He smiled, “Nah, it looks worse than it is. I’m easily marked, remember?”

You nodded, but then another thought occurred to you. “What are you doing here?”

He looked around, and then gestured toward the bar. “You see my guy over there?”

Your eyes scanned the bar in the general direction of his hand until you saw a man slumped over with a drink in his hand. You nodded.

“His girlfriend just broke up with him, and…here we are.” He cocked his head, and sucked in a breath through his teeth. “By the looks of it, I don’t think that I’m doing a very good job of cheering him up.”

You playfully tugged at the lapels of his black jacket, then slipped your hand inside to pull him closer to you, your palm sliding over the warm silk of his black dress shirt. “You’re cheering me up marvelously.”

“Whoa,” he grinned, tapping your nose. “Someone’s been in the sauce. Feeling a bit tipsy, are we?”

You crinkled your nose, then pouted. “I’ve had two whole drinks!”

“I’ve had two whole drinks!” he mocked.

You laughed and then stomped your foot. “Don’t imitate me!”

“Don’t imitate me!”

You snorted, and swatted a hand over his jean-clad bottom. He grinned mischievously, looking at you sideways. “I guess I’ll have to give you back to him, huh?” you pouted. Just then Suzy walked up, looking between the two of you uncertainly. “Suzy!” you said, throwing your arms around her, and pulling her closer. You leaned over and whispered in her ear, “This is Baekhyun.”

She surveyed him coolly up and down, and held out her hand. “Suzy.”

He shook it with a charming grin, “Byun Baekhyun. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Suzy gave him a cold smile. “I’ve heard a lot about you, too.

You hissed, and bumped her with your hip, giving her a look. Be nice!

She looked back at you. I am being nice!

You pouted.

She narrowed her eyes, and then rolled them, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “Look, Byun, I’m sure that you’re a really nice guy, and I’m all ready to love you, but I have to tell you, if you hurt my best friend, I’m coming for you.”

Baekhyun smiled angelically. “If I hurt her, you have full permission to put your Louboutin so far up my butt, I taste shoe polish.”

Suzy grimaced, side-eyeing you. “Sooo gross. You two are actually made for each other.”

You grinned, and turned your attention back to Baekhyun. “Why don’t you invite your friend to hang out with us?

He made a face, and then said, “Let me go talk to him for a minute.”

You watched him as he walked off, eyeing him as he smoothly moved through the crowd. Leaning toward Suzy, you said confidentially, “I hate to see him go, but I love to watch him walk away.”

She turned to you. “You, my friend, are cut off for the rest of the night. You are such a lightweight!”

You gave her a brilliant grin, glancing at Baekhyun as he threw his arm around his friend. “Sometimes I want to sink my teeth into his bottom, like a peach.”

“I don’t want to hear about your perverted fantasies.”

Dreamily, “His shoulders are so wide, and strong. He really knows how to fill out a suit well, if you know what I mean.”

Suzy glanced toward the bar. “I’m not entirely sure that I do.”

“You know what else? I can’t stop thinking about how good his thighs would look in tight black leather pants.”

“Down, girl.”

“No, seriously, though, just look at them. He has the thighs of a mythical Greek hero.”

She squinted, then looked back at you incredulously. “Just what did they put in those shots?!”

“What’s so confusing is that he’s simultaneously so hot, and so cute. Have you seen his upper lip? It’s like a baby’s! It’s so pink and delicate. I don’t know if I want to kiss him, or stuff his mouth with sweets. I’m so conflicted.”

“That’s why I like you,” she said drily. “You really get to the heart of the hard-hitting questions of our age.”

“Okay, did I not listen to you wax rhapsodic about your precious boyfriend’s Adam’s apple?

“Valid.”

“Thank you.” You sucked in a breath, “I know that we’ve only been on two dates, and okay, maybe part of it is because he saved my life, but something about him is driving me crazy. He’s so perfect that it’s scary.”

“Everyone feels that way in the beginning. It’s called infatuation.”

You gave her a look. “Are you really trying to give me a psych lesson?”

“No, I’m just trying to be the voice of reason.”

“Isn’t that my job?”

“Which is why this is so scary!”

You laughed. “Don’t worry. I know I sound obsessed, but I’m just enjoying being in crush. It has been…years. I didn’t think that it was ever going to happen again.”

Her eyes softened. “I told you that it would.”

Sighing, “I know, but just someone says something doesn’t make it true. Especially if they love you.”

She was silent for a moment. Then, “Okay. Logic-Suzy is gone. Let’s perv.”

You turned to her, grinning. “He usually wears these three piece suits to work, and he looks so delicious that I just want to tie him down, blindfold him with his own tie, and—“

Suzy glanced up, eyes widening with panic, and then clapped a hand over your mouth. You mrphed indignantly. “Hi, Baekhyun! Welcome back!” she said brightly.

Your eyes widened as you heard his amused voice behind you.

“No, no, no, move your hand. I want to see where this goes.”

“Why doesn’t the earth ever open up and swallow you when you want it to?” you moaned, turning to him, with your head hung low in shame.

Baekhyun smiled sweetly, looking at you as if you were the cutest thing in the world. Leaning forward, he whispered in your ear. “Don’t feel bad. That pencil skirt that you were wearing at the museum caused me to have a few inappropriate thoughts of my own.”

You felt your face flame, and you floundered to change the subject before you could go into a full-body blush. “Uh…so…what about your friend?!”

He shook his head, and gestured behind him. You peered over his shoulder to find his friend had gone. “He decided that drinking his sorrows wasn’t the healthiest idea, so he’s going to go home, and drown them in ice-cream, instead.”

“Shouldn’t you go with him?” you asked.

“Nah. He mumbled something incoherent, but the general gist was that at least one of us should be happy.” He raised his eyes to look at both you and Suzy. “Are you hungry?”

You and she looked at each other, reading each other’s thoughts. Hours of dancing had made you both ravenous. She answered for the two of you. “Starving.”

He gestured to a booth near a quiet corner that had just opened. “Let me get us something to eat.”

Suzy raised an eyebrow. “I like you better, already.”

***

The table was littered with partially-drunken glasses of liquour, empty bottles of cider, and well picked-over dishes, most of which belonged to Suzy. You and Baekhyun slipped out of the booth, leaving a very unconscious Suzy to sleep off her alcohol haze. Before you could spirit him away to the dance floor, he took off his jacket, and laid it over the gently snoring body of your best friend, covering her bare legs. Your heart throbbed at the conscientious gesture.

“To be so tiny, she can really put it away,” Baekhyun whispered incredulously.

“That’s her charm.” You clasped his hand in both of yours while Shirley Manson’s voice purred seductively over the speakers. Walking backwards, you pulled him through the crowd, his eyes on yours as you guided him to the dance floor. Once you sensed a clear spot, you wrapped your arms around the back of his neck, pulling him close, and tilted back your head to look up at him. “…I lose what I love most…Did you know I was lost until you found me?…” “Do you have any idea how glad I am to see you tonight?”

His arms tightened around your waist at your whispered words. He smiled down at you, face full of satisfaction as his eyes lazily roamed your face. “Do you have any idea how glad I am that you’re glad to see me?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

His eyes darkened as he looked inward at some unpleasant memory. “Some people want to claim you, but still play around behind your back.”

You sighed deeply, swaying to the music like a slender reed in the summer breeze. “That’s not my style. I’m not built to cheat.” You scrunched your nose, and wriggled your hips, making him laugh. “I’m built for comfort, not for speed.”

“Good girl,” he said, firmly patting your lower back.

“So…is there a story there?”

“Isn’t there always?”

You leaned closer, gently caressing his jaw, and watching the emotions play over his face. “Tell me?”

He shook his head, eyes closed. “She doesn’t matter. You’re here, now.”

You tilted his head down, capturing his eyes when he opened them. “What about you, Baekhyunnie? Are you faithful?” “…You say that you’ll be there to catch me… Or will you only try to trap me?”

He leaned forward and nuzzled his nose to yours, causing you to smile. “I couldn’t cheat–wouldn’t even want to. I think that an unbreakable connection between two people is the most beautiful thing in the world.”

Your sigh of content ghosted over his mouth. You closed your eyes, letting his sweet words sink past your slight inebriation to touch the cold, dark place deep inside. “Stroke of luck, or gift from God? Hand of fate, or devil’s claws? From below, or saints above, you come to me…” You slowly shook your head. “What’s wrong with you?”

He raised his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, what’s wrong with you? You present as perfect, so I know that there has to be some sort of nasty little secret you’re keeping deep down in the dark.”

He looked away from you, and smiled. “I…like eating crackers in bed.”

You gasped. “Shameful!” Turning in his arms, you wrapped his hands back around your waist, rolling your body to the music. His breath hitched, and you smiled to yourself. “What else? You heard him swallow hard before continuing.

“Sometimes I open snacks and eat them while I’m shopping.”

“Do you still pay for them?”

“Of course!”

“Well, then, that’s alright.”

“I’m trying to confess here, pet.”

“What else ya got?”

“I’m stubborn.”

“You don’t say!”

He chuckled. “Well, what about you? What are your darkest secrets?”

You pondered. “Once, when I was six, I accidentally stole a candy bar…”

“You little criminal!”

You slapped him on the arm. “Shut up! I still feel guilty about it!”

“How does one accidentally steal a candy bar?”

“I thought that my dad said, ‘Yes’, when I asked if I could have it, but he was saying ‘Yes’ to someone else with whom he was talking.”

“That’s not so much stealing as a misunderstanding.”

“He threatened to send me to jail.”

“At six?!”

“Well, he didn’t believe in corporal punishment, so he did the most drastic thing that he could think of, to leave an impression.” You laughed. “By the end of it, he was ‘crying’ more than I was, at the idea of having to be separated from me, due to my impending jail time. So, we made a pact that he wouldn’t tell, so that I could stay with him.”

“Unsure if that’s adorable, or horrifying.”

“It’s a ‘look back and laugh’.” Baekhyun just smiled uncertainly. “I guess you had to be there,” you said awkwardly.

He spun you around, running his hands from your shoulders down to your waist, rocking his body from side to side to the beat.

“You’ve got some pretty sweet moves, there, Byun.”

“You’re a pretty good dancer, too.”

“Eh, just because these are all slow songs. What I lack in rhythm, I make up for in enthusiasm.”

He smiled, shaking his head. “Don’t try to distract me, pet. You were busy baring your soul.”

“Ah, yes. Let’s see…” You leaned up to whisper in his ear. “I cheated on an Econ exam once.”

He looked shocked. “Wow! I really am dating a criminal.”

You blushed. “I had to take first year Econ as a requirement for PoliSci, and I had no idea what I was doing, so…” You shrugged. “I cheated just enough to pass the exam–I wasn’t trying for an A, or anything. I even left a question blank. After the papers were passed back out, the professor called me up to the front–I just knew that I was going to be busted–but he just yelled at me for the question that I left blank. He said that he knew that non-Econ majors had to take the class, as part of their major’s reqs, so he took that into account when he graded, and would go easy on us. He told me that if I put anything, anything at all that related to econ, he could give me some points for it, but if I left something blank, he’d have no choice but to give me a zero. I skated by his class with a B-, and I’m still grateful for it. That man was a saint.”

“That was really nice of him.”

“I know!”

“You’re still a lawless hooligan, though.”

“I’m bad to the bone, baby! What’s it like dating a bad girl?”

“I don’t know. I’ll tell you when I find one.”

“Contrarian!” You leaned over and nipped his shoulder.

He laughed, his eyes shining. “What else?”

“That’s it.”

“That’s it?!”

“Those are my deepest, darkest secrets.”

He reached up to gently stroke your hair. “You are a good girl.”

Wrinkling your nose, you moved your head away from his hand. “Make no mistake, Byun. I’m not a good girl. I’m a nice girl. There’s a distinct difference.”

He pulled you a little closer, causing you to blush at the intimate contact, and you were thankful that the darkness of the club hid the heat in your cheeks. “What is the difference?”

“I pretty much always follow all the rules. But I don’t always enjoy it.” You waved a hand airily. “I keep my evil on the inside.”

“What rules would you like to break?”

“I wish that I could say what I actually think, instead of being polite, and politic all the time.”

“Everyone feels like that, pet.”

You flirtatiously pressed closer, letting him feel your curves slide against him as you slowly danced. Standing on your toes, you drew close to whisper in his ear. “Are you trying to convince me that I’m actually a good girl, after all?” This time, as you drew back, you had the pleasure of watching him swallow involuntarily at your query.

He raised his head, closing his eyes in an effort to stay in control. After a moment, he opened his eyes, and smiled down at you. “I think that it’s time for all good little girls to be in bed. Even you.” You started to protest, when he sucked in a warning breath. “It’s gone three, you’re tipsy, and I like you too much to co-sign your doing anything that you might regret tomorrow.” He stood, holding your hands, and waiting. After a bit of thought, you reluctantly nodded in concession, and he slipped an arm around your shoulder, and walked you back to the table where Suzy continued to peacefully snore. “How did you get here?”

“We took an Uber.”

“Excellent. I’ll take you both home.”

***

Baekhyun helped you carry a nominally conscious Suzy upstairs to her apartment, dropping her unceremoniously on her bed with a huff.

You led him back to the living room couch, saying, “Wait here,” as you returned to change her into pajamas, clean off her makeup, and tuck her in.

He watched you from the couch as you quietly closed the door to her room. Standing, he reached for you, saying, “I’ll take you home, now.”

“I think that I should stay with her tonight.”

He smiled wistfully. “You’re a loyal friend.”

“I just want to make sure she’s okay. Take care of her if she gets sick, or anything.”

Just then, you both heard a key in the lock. Turning, you saw Suzy’s boyfriend enter, and you skipped over to greet him with a hug. “Jongdae! You’re back!”

He patted your back tiredly, cautiously looking over your shoulder, at Baekhyun. “Yay, I’m back…” he said with markedly less enthusiasm. He straightened, smiling down at you, though his gaze kept flickering behind your shoulder. “I didn’t want to stay anothere night away from Suzy-Q, so I just drove back after the last lecture.” Seeing the question in his eyes, you introduced them. “Ah, so you’re the man trying to steal our little chickadee’s heart,” Jongdae laughed, ruffling your hair, as you unsuccessfully tried to push him away.

Baekhyun smiled, reaching out to gently card his fingers through your wild hair, carefully combing, and smoothing it back into place. “That’s me. And since you’re back…?” he looked at you questioningly.

You nodded. “Sure, you can take me now.” You turned to Jongdae, “I was going to stay with Suzy, after sending Baekhyun first, but since you’re here, I’m going to go home.”

Jongdae smiled at both of you, his eyes already starting to drift closed. “I hate to be such a rude host, but I’ve been going since before dawn, and I’m dead…”

You got behind him, pushing him toward the bedroom. “Go to sleep. I’ll see you later.”

He waved vaguely over his shoulder as he entered the darkened bedroom, quietly closing the door.

You and Baekhyun tiptoed out of the apartment, and down the stairs.

“He seemed nice,” Baekhyun stated as you both slipped into his car.

“He is nice. He’s an assistant professor of music.”

“Vocal, or instrumental.”

“Vocal. Like you.”

“I like him already.”

You snorted, snuggling down into the plush seat. You didn’t see Baekhyun look over at you, his gaze soft as he watched your face begin to relax into sleep.

***

You awoke still in Baekhyun’s car, your seat pushed back, his jacket over your legs, as he gazed out his window. Yawning, you sat up, and looked around. “Home?” He turned to you with a smile. “How long have we been here?” you queried.

“I wasn’t watching the time.”

You looked at the sky, noticing the imperceptible lightening that preluded the dawn. “Why didn’t you wake me? You must be tired!”

“I’m fine. Come on; let’s get you inside.”

He held your hand as he walked you to your door, guiding you up the steps as you practically sleep-walked across your porch.

You unlocked the door, and then turned to give him your farewell. After a moment, you realized that you were just staring at his chin, so you raised your head to look him in the eye.

He leaned closer, eyes sweetly caressing your face.

You watched him as he lowered his eyes to your mouth.

After a moment however, he seemed to come to a reluctantly made decision. He moved his head to your shoulder, wrapping his arms around you, and giving you a warm, all-enveloping hug.

You leaned into him, closing your eyes. His hold was so steady, so comforting. You could fall asleep just like this.

With a sigh, he released you, moving back just far enough to drop a chaste kiss on your forehead. “Goodnight, pet.”

#Baekhyun fluff #exo #baekhyun #Baekhyun scenarios #exo scenarios #exo fluff #Baekhyun angst #exo angst #Baekhyun fics #exo fics #Baekhyun fanfiction #exo fanfiction #exo fanfic #Baekhyun fanfic #Baekhyun fic #exo fic #dark baekhyun #sweet lies

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luminoustico · 6 years ago

Note

For End of the Year Writing Meme: All the questions sound super interesting so just use this as an opportunity to answer whatever questions interest you most

So funny story I put this in my drafts to complete in the quiet time of New Year’s Day, but then I forgot about it completely. BRACE YOURSELF.

A. If you could rec a piece of music to accompany one of your fics, what would you pick? Why?

Lies by Marina and the Diamonds, to accompany the latter half of Valse Melancolique. It’s a really good song to show Irene’s POV at that point, especially her reluctance to accept that the webs she’s spun are basically collapsing around her.

“I just want it to be perfect / To believe it’s all been worth the fight,” is the most relevant set of lyrics, IMO.

B. Who’s your favourite side-character from something you wrote?

I really enjoyed writing side characters like Rose and Finn, though Rose just edges it because I’ve been enjoying writing her in Don’t Complicate It. Finn runs a very close second.

C. Get any good comments on your stuff this year?

Sure! All comments are good comments, let’s be real. Unless they’re an obvious troll comment or those “update now!!!” kind of comments. Those aren’t so good.

D. Any drawings or pictures that had a big influence on your writing?

The artwork of the late 18th century and Roberto Ferri definitely influenced the tone of Valse Melancolique. Many scenes from certain stories were driven by a single image I had in my head as well.

E. Who’s your favourite main character you’ve written?

Though I do enjoy delving into Ben/Kylo’s psyche, I enjoy writing Rey more – she’s more enclosed, and I love chipping away at characters to get to their truths.

G. Where do you think you grew the most this year?

Towards the end of the year, I began to realise that writing can actually be fun like it used to be. I’ve been so aware of the way the world is currently that I’ve been convincing myself that my writing must have a message, or it’s not ‘worthy’. I need to understand that I started writing not to pass on any morals or messages, but as a release and a way to find enjoyment in the constant buzz.

H. How do you write? Paper, pen, computer? Music, no music?

All of those. I write on my phone, on my computer, on pen and paper. Music and no music, it depends. Most often I’m listening to a playlist/album which then stops and I cease writing an hour or so later realising I’ve been writing in silence.

I. What’s your favourite work you did this year? Why?

I’m always tempted to answer this kind of question with my most recent story. But I’m going to be really honest and say that star among the stars is a personal favourite. And it’s not just because of the pegging.

J. What are the best jokes you told this year? Any jokes you thought were funny that people didn’t catch? Vice-versa?

I’m completely blanking on this one.

K. Who have you killed this year? Why did they have to die?

Qui-Gon Jinn (to match with canon), Molly and Sherlock (hey it was a story based on Dangerous Liaisons, and I was reading classical Russian literature at the time of plotting) and Kylo Ren a bunch of times (metaphorically).

L. Which character did you most write about this year, and why do you like ‘em?

I wrote more about Rey. As mentioned before, it’s because I like chipping away at a character’s surface but also it’s because I really relate to her, especially in regards to her feelings of loneliness and her tendency to put on ‘a brave face’. Plus I really admire her compassion and her strength. I envy it.

M. Meta! Have any meta about a story you’re dying to throw out there?

Not particularly -- just headcanons and reasons behind why I write what I write. (I’ve never been very good with meta anyway.) I really like it when other people meta my fic, or pick up on something I didn’t! That is an AMAZING feeling.

O. Do you believe in outlines? Show us one!

I do indeed! I love my outlines. For some projects, I’ve got whole folders with docs labelled Initial Ideas, Plot Summary, Chapter Outline, etc. etc. I’ve got my notes app on my phone stuffed up to the gills with mini-outlines. I frequently use my story structure template, which is technically more for screenplays, but the breaking down into acts thing helps my brain figure things out.

P. What are your pet peeves in other people’s work?

When an author relies too much on UST and ruins the pacing. Like, an author drags out the first getting together because they believe that the anticipation is the only thing generating comments. If it’s right to have them bang, have them bang! The awkward morning after is a delicious opportunity for UST -- just a different kind. 9 times out of 10, your readers are there not for the smut because they’re invested in the story and like your writing.

Q. Quote three bits of writing you read this year. Can be your writing, or not.

Let’s mix it up.

“ “Why did you do that?” he demanded as they ducked into a side alley. “What part of ‘keep a low profile’ is difficult for you to understand?”

“I’m a good haggler,” Rey said through a full mouth. She didn’t have any idea what she was eating, and she didn’t care. It took so much effort to chew each bite instead of gulping it down whole. “He was trying to cheat us.”

“You didn’t haggle. You pushed.”

“I did not. Why would I knock him over in the middle of his stand?”

Kylo just stared. “You need a teacher,” he muttered. He watched her eat for a moment, his expression somewhere between thoughtful and disgusted, before taking a bite from one of his own skewers. Disgust won out. ” -- Symmetry and Black Tar by audreyii_fic. (Grumpy smuggler Kylo Ren, spunky scavenger Rey, canon divergence. Excellent.)

“ "Ben," Rey breathes once Kylo's mere inches away. It's the name Luke introduced him with, the only name she knows him by, and he's never bothered to correct her. Why hasn't he corrected her? The question flees from his mind as she closes her eyes and he leans down into the space between them, kissing her full on the lips. It's not gentle, he doesn't know how to be, but she opens for him the way the flowers she loves so much bloom in the sunlight. ” -- the surface of last scattering by diasterisms. (It’s the apocalypse, it’s exactly the right time to meet the love of your life, right? Read for utter devastation.)

“ Rey could spend hours in the Falcon’s inner workings. She’d spent so much time in the belly of hollowed-out Star Destroyers, which were horrific remnants of old worlds, cold and grey. The Falcon is alive, speaking a strange language she’s just about half-deciphered. Sometimes, on days where she misses the connection most and dreams of a boy reaching across the stars to find her, it feels like the Falcon doesn’t want to speak to her. It shuts down. Sparks spit at her, and mechanisms develop odd faults.Today, a jet of steam blows directly in her face, not harmful, but almost like a snarl of 'go away'.

Rey climbs out of the hatch, fetching tools. She works with that fault first.

“I’m not thinking about him,” she promises to no-one but the ship she’s looking after. ” -- If I was born as a blackthorn tree, by me!

R. If you had to rewrite one of your stories from scratch, which one would it be? What would you do to it?

Going to cheat here and head back to 2017. I’d rewrite Two Stars Aligned. What I’d probably do is make it a post-TLJ fic, where Rey and Ben decide to run away after getting involved in a secret relationship, but get shot down by the First Order -- after landing in Giaca, they become embroiled in Game of Thrones style politics and the ruling families, while the Resistance and the First Order conduct searches for them. I’d cut out the weird Force shit and make the redemption arc thing more organic by giving the whole story room to bloody breathe. Two Stars Aligned is actually the reason why I now try to stick to oneshots for exchanges and any anthologies I get involved in.

S. What’s the sexiest thing you wrote this year?

Sexiest thing written in 2018... It’ll have to be the pegging in star among the stars.

T. Themes, motherfucker, do you have them? What are they?

Feminism. Females being allowed to be as fucked-up and broody as the men they love, and perhaps, even broodier. Make women afraid of commitment, 2k19.

U. Any stories that took an abrupt U-turn from where you thought they were going?

If I were a blackthorn tree took a pleasing turn away from the initial outline. The initial idea was lots of secret trysts and stuff like that, but I much prefer the quiet romance with a note of hope at the end that it turned out to be.

V. Which story was the most viscerally pleasing to write? Tell us your narrative kinks.

Huh. Hm. Don’t Complicate It is turning out to be kind of fun to write; when I’m not allowing myself to be crippled by the brain goblins that is (they’re strong lately). It’s a combo of writing a trope/kink I’ve been wanting to write for ages -- A/B/O -- and remembering that it’s okay to have fun with it.

W. Who are your favourite writers?

@kylo-wouldnt-like-those-chips - @conchepcion (every time I think I’m out, she pulls me back in *shakes fist*) - @introspectivenavelgazer - @audreyii-fic - @kylorenvevo - ambiguously - @fettuccine-alfreylo and SO MANY MORE (this post is long enough already!!)

X. What’s your least favourite work of this year?

My least favourite has to be In Cars. It was an ambitious idea, which I didn’t really fulfil, I feel. Curse of being a perfectionist. I want something to be amazing. World-changing! Tear-jerking! I want Vestal virgins to weep golden tears over my words, already delicately transcribed onto ancient parchment by monks. Obviously, that’s an impossible standard, but I can’t help being cross when I don’t reach it.

Y. Why did you write? For fun, for a friend, for acclaim?

During 2018? Mostly for acclaim. It made 2018 a very difficult year for writing, and just a difficult year in general. I’m trying to make sure I have fun during 2019 with this stuff. Striving for perfection is a punishing task that no-one can ever accomplish because perfection doesn’t exist. Contentment does, though. As does happiness. And those should be more important.

Z. If you could choose one work and immediately finish it, what would it be? How would you end it?

I’d finish Sanctum, my priest Kylo fic. I’m split between continuing or rewriting anyway (the rewrite would include relocating the action to the medieval era, around the time Luther wrote that damned essay and pinned it to the church door). But I do know the exact image I want to finish on, which will remain whether I end up rewriting or not. It involves a name, a scrap of material and a rather fetching colour scheme.

Ooh. Cryptic.

#anonymous #answered #end of the year #did i just answer all these q's?#yes #i did #my ego is MASSIVE and i'm so sorry for that #long post for ts

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