#It's so simple. No background. No over dramatic sparkles. Just them with their expressions and the love I feel for them. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ktheist · 5 years ago

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pretty girls don’t get hurt | m

synopsis. your mom has been asking you for a grandchild - not even a son-in-law but the baby to said nonexistent son-in-law! and your dad is hitting an age where he can barely work anymore. at some point you’re going to take over his position as the chairman of the family hospital but you know nothing about medicine. that’s where kim seokjin comes in. he’ll marry you and become the chairman so you can keep your ceo position and you’ll get a child out of him too. it’s like killing two birds with one stone.

except there’s one problem: you’ve never met the man and you need him to agree to the marriage first. okay, make that two problems.

muses. heir!doctor!seokjin x heiress!ceo!reader x best friend!heir!taehyung

words. 15.6k

contents. slowburn. sexual tension. impregnation kink. daddy/older men kink. viagra is involved lmao.

warnings. matured content.

verse. knj. myg. kth. pjm. jjk. jhs. story time.

“you want my what?”

seokjin’s jaw hangs loose, brows coming together in a show of frustrated bewilderment. it’s tells you enough that he heard you the first time but then again, you’re not asking him for dinner. you’re asking him for-

“your hand in marriage.” glossed lips curl upwards underneath the pristine white cup of hot coffee from the vending machine.

you watch as his widened eyes narrow. lips smack together and finally anger settles in the muscles of his hardening expression. “you’re joking.”

it’s understandable that he’d feel offended. even more so when it’s coming from a stranger who strode right into his office and introduced herself as the chairman’s daughter - the ceo. that’s probably the only reason he agreed to spare you his time - and you’re spending it for this.

it’d be a lie if you say you weren’t surprised that he didn’t know the ceo of the hospital he’s working at but judging from the way he treats you, like he has better things to do - lives to save, you know he’s that type of person. the mad scientist version of a doctor. doesn’t attend annual dinners. doesn’t take off days. he’s perfect.

“dad’s getting old and he needs someone to succeed him but i don’t know anything about medicine - i’m more of a businesswoman and the board wants someone of a clinical background to continue the tradition. if it were up to me, medical expenses would be much higher per patient but i’m also not a capitalist so i need someone on the field to tell me how things are at the hospital so we don’t overcharge nor do we undercharge.”

his eye is twitching at the end of your words and his jaw is clenched in suppression of agitation. at this point, you’re going to have to keep it short so not to drop the whole bomb on him before he himself explodes. “so how bout it? you marry me and become the next chairman and i’ll take care of all the non-clinical related matters. if you were to decline... i can’t guarantee things will remain the same after dad retires.”

“my break is over. it’s nice meeting you miss ___ but i hope we don’t run into each other again.” the chair screeches backwards when he stands up abruptly before you can even finish your sentence. he didn’t even check the time when he swipes his phone off the table and slips it right into his pocket. his words are as clear as day: this is the first and last time we meet.

“you still have ten more minutes, doctor kim.” for some reason he hasn’t stormed off - dare you say, he’s even taking what you said seriously - good. because you’re not here for a laugh either. you meet his heated gaze with ease. “i’m not sure you understand but you’re the cinderella and i’m the prince charming.”

you take out a single midnight scented card and slide it over to seokjin. “and this is a proposal, not a blackmail. call me when you’re ready to talk about the terms for the prenup.”

it’s been a week since you left your card with seokjin.

now, sitting in your office, the scene keeps replaying in your mind like a broken record. a scream erupts in the otherwise pleasantly silent room as you slump in your seat, hands digging into your hair as though if you rub your head hard enough, the memories would fade away. “taehyung, how did i even get that confidence? a prenup? he didn’t even say yes!”

the aforementioned man spares you a glance from the couch he’s lying on before going back to typing away on his phone. it’s probably yuju - one of his recent acquaintances. if you remember correctly, she’s the daughter of sbs’ ceo.

“boys are simple minded beings, give it another day and he’ll call you.” he casually assures, this time not even look away from his phone.

the sleek back hair and black button down underneath seokjin’s white coat flashes at the back of your mind. you don’t see that many doctors wearing something that needs ironing to work that often. sure there’s a dress code but your dad isn’t strict about it - all that mattered to him is the quality of one’s work. for all he cares, these doctors can come to work in pj’s. it’s you that had to make sure they don’t come in pj’s. collared t-shirts are acceptable. so are sneakers instead of heeled shoes. but kim seokjin was nothing less of button down, a well made tie and polished black shoes.

it shows that-

“he’s a man, not a boy.”

this time, taehyung’s fingers freeze on the screen before he turns his cheeks to you with an unfazed expression - as though he’d expected this but still got disappointed when he hears it. “so it’s his age? you wanna marry him because he’s nine years older than you?”

there’s something about the way he singles out the reason you decided it was seokjin, that makes you look away in shame. but you still force out a laugh in a last ditch attempt to brush it off but it sounds awkward in every octave. “ha ha ha ha what are you talking about? he’s the most eligible marriage prospect - that’s why.”

“there’s another one.” he points out. still unconvinced, “that suho guy - he’s also a fellow. also an only child-”

you speak over him,“-but his background is so-so. civil servant parents. went to an ordinary school. you think he’ll adapt to the pressure as quick as seokjin?” suho’s smiling picture peeks from underneath the documents you’d been reviewing before the flashback of your bold proposal comes and haunt you. it’s his resume along with every physician working at the hospital for more than eight years, that you’d obtained from your dad’s secretary. “you know whoever becomes my husband and assume the chairman position is gonna get chewed out alive by the board. it has to be him - it has to be seokjin.”

a sigh echoes from somewhere across from you as taehyung sits up, brows furrowed together as he rubs his head as if it’ll make the the problem go away. “yeah, but he left the social scene a decade ago. you think he’ll walk back in just like that?”

��his records have been nothing but remarkable. he sticks around and works overtime. he’s been one of the most consistent physicians that worked on every holidays. doesn’t take off days. basically a workaholic who loves his job way too much - he doesn’t need to enter the social scene. not when i’m his wife.” a grin spreads across your face by the end of it - all this time, you’d been reading the report about him but once you’ve actually put it in words, the chances of him saying yes seems to sound more real, “he’s gonna keep working as the chairman and ignore anything the board says. he’s perfect.”

“yeah, okay let’s say he is perfect and there’s no reason for him to say no except one,” taehyung pauses for a more dramatic effect, lips twitching upwards slyly as if he knows it’s already got you on the edge of your seat, “what if he has a girlfriend he wants to marry?”

and that’s when your world comes crashing down like waves against the rocks but you don’t like the smug look on taehyung’s face, “yeah but with his schedule, it doesn’t seem like he has one.”

“you never know - they could very well be living together. plus, it’s not like he has to report his dating life to the hospital and he seems like a private enough man to keep it on the low even from his colleagues.”

his words are barely registering but the longer the second stretches on with your thoughts running wild, the faster your heart seems to race. but one thing’s for sure. taehyung’s here because you’re supposed to be discussing the partnership.

“if you’re not gonna talk about work, then get out.” your eye visibly twitches - all of a sudden your best friend since you were in diapers’ presence serves more as a nuisance than a blessing.

“you’re mad, aren’t you?” a grin spreads across his lips before he bursts into laughter - he’s the only person that would laugh in the face of death, “man you’re full of ego - i guess you should be. i mean, if all else fails, he might just say yes because of your face, right, sparky?”

he’s using that nickname he used to call you when you were kids. your love - or as taehyung would put it, obsession for shines and sparkles in diamonds peaked at the age of ten thanks to your mom’s hobby of collecting dimes. she’d sold everything off after she got bored of them and needed space for the arts she bought - her new found hobby. but you remained true to your love for diamonds and symbol of riches and bought half of her collection.

over time, he starts using it less and less and only for reasons to get a rise out of you. where did that cute boy who called you sparky because he thought you were as pretty as the diamonds, go?

all he is now is a devil incarnate. with that height and silly grin of his, he easily antagonize you. and you always give in.

“you’re supposed to be on my side and give me assurance!” you toss a balled up paper, aiming right in his face but instead of hitting the mark, he easily catches it.

“how’s this for assurance? you’re only gonna hurt yourself if you throw a ball like that.” he picks his blazer off the handrest and makes a beeline for the door when he senses the smoke coming out of your ears, “i’m late for my date, see you later!”

it’s exactly fifteen hours later that you receive a call from seokjin.

instead of meeting up at the cafeteria, he’d directed you to flower child, one of the most coveted fine dining restaurants in seoul two days after the call. it turns out he’d made a reservation - and you’re no fool to the long waiting line to get a table. he must’ve booked it some time after your first meeting.

he’s made some effort into putting on a black blazer and matching pants. hair styled to perfection. he may have cut his family off but he hasn’t completely abandoned the way he lived up till a decade ago. you allow yourself to check him out once - when he’d stood up at your arrival and pushed the chair for you.

thankfully, you’re not too underdressed. a creme blouse and grey pencil skirt suit any kind of formal setting.

“have you thought about what you want to include in the prenup?” you ask after the server leaves with your order.

seokjin seems more collected this time. or maybe it’s the incense and dimmed lighting that gives off a more suitable atmosphere to talk about marriage.

either way, you don’t expect the man to chuckle - a short, wistful one. as though he truly, honestly believes- “why would you want to marry an old man like me?”

you know what he’s asking: there’s got to be a catch. straightening your back and crossing it over your chest loosely, you decide to come clean - the full truth. “you’re only thirty-four but i won’t lie - you have a price on your head, doctor kim.”

the server comes back with a small cart and a bucket of chilled red wine. you wait until he pours a third of both glasses and goes away. but seokjin doesn’t appear all that eager for your elaboration - it’s almost as though he’s already known. or at least expected that much.

“your mother is willing to pay anyone who marries you a whooping ten million if the lucky bride brings you back to your family.” you watch as he studies the density of the wine, twirling the glass gently with a sort of tilt on his lips like a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “but i won’t make you reconcile with your family. i’ve told you my intentions - i need someone who knows the ins and outs of the hospital since don’t have any clinical background and it’d be easier if we were husband and wife.”

it’s in that moment that seokjin tears his eyes off the wine and captures your gaze. in the absence of the sunlight, those brown eyes appear more black, reflecting the dancing fire on the incense. you feel naked and bare as he wedges his fingers in and tear open the windows to your soul. “don’t you have someone you want to marry, miss___? someone you love?”

taehyung’s silly grin flashes at the back of your mind like a solar flare you can’t erase - all you can do is wait until dies out on its own. you don’t realize your unfocused gaze is directed to seokjin in the split second you wait for your thoughts to gather itself. redirecting your gaze to the wayward reflection in your own glass, you let out a breathy chuckle. “yeah, well.”

it’s pathetic and embarrassing but you can’t even conjure up proper words. instead, you bring the wine to your lips, preferring to taste the bittersweetness of the wine than that of your own reality.

all you talk about for the rest of the night is matters pertaining the marriage. what he’ll have to endure and what he won’t have to endure. he doesn’t need to attend any of the social functions even if you’re married. doesn’t also need to concern himself with matters about his family - it becomes tricky when his family catches news of their only son’s marriage and want to be there for the ceremonious day.

“i don’t know what’s going on with you and your family but they won’t be invited if you don’t want them to be.” you fix him with one of your smiles. a tilt in the corner of your lips and a languid flutter of your eyelids before meeting his gaze. it always works - takes away the essence of the conversation and makes them focus on you so if he wants to throw your words back at you, there’s a leeway you could escape to.

until you couldn’t.

“it’s fine. i’ve been running away for the last few years - it’s time i face them head on.” he looks up from the steak he’s cutting - you still haven’t recover from the time he’d look at you in the eye and effortlessly tore your defenses like it was paper but there he does it again, splaying out your scheme like a dish best served hot, “besides, they won’t be invited but you can’t- no, you won’t stop them from showing up, right?”

it’s true. his family isn’t just any normal family. his father is a ceo of one of the most prominent cell phone companies in the world after all. you’d be invincible if you’re in good terms with your in-laws. or at least, if they think you’re on their side and want to help them get their son back.

but seeing as nothing gets past seokjin, you’re only left to either evade the question or full out deny it to keep your pride intact. either way, both options will only serve to confirm his suspicion - he may already know what you’re up to but verbalizing it is a different kind of pride-crushing. your lips curl into a smile - an irony of having been cornered in every direction from the man you thought you could wrap around your fingers.

but because your pride wouldn’t allow you to look like a fool and your ethics wouldn’t allow you to tell a flat out lie (half truths are alright), you decide the first option is much better. “there’s one more thing - i want to get pregnant within the first year of our marriage.”

or else, you’re going to end up like your parents - their bones weren’t as strong as they used to be by the time they got you and their souls were withered from the works they’d put on in their better years of their lives. your mother’s life was risked by the late pregnancy. still, they tried to love you better but there were things you couldn’t do with parents who were hitting 50 before you even reached high school. you couldn’t go camping or bike riding or fishing like your grandfather brought your father to.

it seems to have caught seokjin off guard when he stares at you with wide eyes a tad longer before dropping his head and chuckling to himself, “my, i don’t know if i still have it in me.”

and that’s how you know he’s messing with you - perhaps it’s his own way of reminding you that he’s too old for you and if he’s lucky, it’ll scare you away from the idea of marriage altogether. but the fact that he’s trying to make you give up means that he’s agreeing to the marriage. you let your lips curve into a smile, adrenaline rushing through your veins and into your very core.

you absolutely can’t wait to get married.

the marriage will be held within five months - it’s the earliest you can get. it’d be suspicious if you just suddenly got married without any scandal or news of dating the estranged only child of the kim family. you’ve already hired a reporter to follow you during your first three ‘dates’ - they may very well be the only dates you go on together judging from your packed schedule. it’s been almost a week since that dinner and you’ve made plans to appear in public together - your first date.

rapping your knuckles on the door, you wait for the light on the handle to turn from red to green - a signal that the owner’s allowed you access. “hey, you ready?” is the first thing you say, even though you know he’s not.

“miss ___, i’m sorry i was working and didn’t realize the time.” he seems to be genuinely apologetic - and there’s an x-ray film and some papers strewn over his desk to verify his claim. “i’ll freshen up and -”

his brows lift in surprise when you lower yourself on his lap just as he pushes the chair backwards to stand up. the usually gelled light brown hair falls over his face in a messy middle part and his button down is less crisped than when you saw him the first time. granted your first meeting with him was at noon - it’s not enough time for the demands of his career to dishevel him. it’s evening now.

his jaw slacks just the slightest bit, resulting for his lips to part - you’ve noticed their plump fullness and it’d be a lie if you said you didn’t wonder about how they’d feel on yours. the taupe acrylic on your thumb digs into the soft pink flesh of his lips before it travels to his chin.

“may i?” two words. and that’s all it takes for something lustrous to take over his eyes. you find yourself smirking when he stares quizzically as your hand leaves his face and brings his own between your lips. his fingerpads are callous from years of surgical training but they don’t tremble under the touch of your tongue. his digits are lengthier than you expect them to be. his middle finger hit the back of your throat easily before you can get them all in but he’s not the only one that’s received training.

you switch to his ring finger, tongue gently curling around it before you drag your teeth over the ridges of its joint. as a finishing touch, you make sure to lick the bottom of your lips all the while holding his gaze. then, you allow the smile to grace your lips as though nothing happened but the way you pretend to struggle to get up, causing your ass to rub against his arousal - defeats that false sense of innocence.

either way, his surprised expression turns to an amused one as he chuckles a low chuckle - an admittance of your victory, “my, i just lost, didn’t it?”

“whatever do you mean?” you blink, lashes fluttering with feigned innocence.

articles are starting to pop up after your personal reporter uploaded hers. it’s not enough to shake the world but it’s enough to catch the eyes of secretaries which in turn tell their bosses and as a result, your phone’s been blowing up and your own secretary has been taking calls since this morning.

“___, you’re leaving already?” taeyeon cups the mouthpiece of the phone she’s been on for the last five minutes, alarms going off in her eyes at the thought of your absence. you don’t blame her - from the way the conversation seems to be going, she might just drag the whole telephone all the way to your desk and make you answer them.

business proposals must be pouring in. you feel bad for your secretary but to be frank, the instant ringing as soon as she held up the last call - has been bothering you to no end as well.

you grin sheepishly, “i got a meeting with dad.” it’s just a coincidence that your dad called you to his office today - he usually does every once in a while just to ask how you’re doing and lament about having to handle your mother’s random burst of hobbies she’s getting into ever since you moved out.

looks like nobody’s noticed the ‘rumor’ yet from the way the workers in the administration department bows and greets you on your way to the office. granted, these people are too devoted to their work to pay attention to the latest business scandals but you expected at least one person to be blowing up the group chat with pictures of you and seokjin’s first date.

there’s a familiar figure leaning against your dad’s desk but no trace of the elder man - he must have went to the washroom or something. you thought it odd when taehyung’s eyes fall on you without the usual grin he would usually offer whenever he sees you - like reflex. at first, you assume his own date with yuju probably didn’t go very well.

“hey, loser. this is the first time you’re here earlier than me.” you fix the man your own grin, happy to be able to see not one but two of your favorite persons. taehyung’s been coming over to play at your house since forever. it was normal for your dad to invite him to his office and take you two to lunch now that you two have grown up.

...until you notice your dad on the couch and another person sitting adjacent to him. it’s easy to miss people when they’re sitting down and easier to have your eyes focus on taehyung’s tall frame.

the tension almost crushes your lungs as soon as you walk through the door. it becomes apparent all too soon that taehyung tried to warn you with his eyes to not be your usual idiot self. now, you’re paying the price for it as all eyes fall on you.

the third person in the room turns his cheek towards you - seokjin. he offers a too polite smile as you come to a stop next to the couch he’s one.

“daddy?” all of a sudden, you’re a child in a room full of adults and calling your out to your dad, as if it would somehow make him explain this situation you just walked in.

the elder man releases a long drawn sigh before speaking, “i’d like a word with my daughter and doctor kim, if you don’t mind, taehyung.”

“sure, uncle.” the aforementioned man offers one of his gallant smiles, pushing himself off the desk without taking out his hands from his pockets.

you grab onto taehyung’s arm as he’s about to pass you - pleading with your eyes for him not to leave you, a mere ant, with the elephants in the room. that’s when his serious facade falls through and he’s grinning at you like a brother would to his sister when he knows she’s going to get in trouble with their parents. your temple throbs with a burst of rage but before you can say anything, he’s already out of the door.

the sweetness of the tea mrs. nam served is tasteless compared to the tangible tension in the air. it’s become apparent that while the more tech savvy staff remain clueless of your updated dating status, your father, is not.

be it as it may, guess you should give credit where it’s due - seokjin’s expression is free of any tautness. it’s perfectly neutral - it’s frightening. you know for a fact you’re not saved from a hard line on your glossed lips and a crease between your brows.

“i heard from my wife that you two are dating.” the elderly man finally breaks the silence.

he’s addressing your mom like that so to make it known that he’s talking to seokjin too - and you’re not the only one in hot water. but seeing as it’s your idea and your proposal, it’s also your responsibility to respond-

“that’s correct, sir.”

-but seokjin beats you to it. it’s not just his expression but his tone is completely at ease. almost as though he’s faced tense situations like this one too many times.

you breathe out before speaking, “i was going to introduce doctor kim to you and mom once we bought our engagement rings.”

your dad finally looks up, eyes wide and mouth slacked for the briefest second before his eyes flutter close. now’s about time for him to be rubbing his temples from the headache but instead, he lets out a sigh. for a split second, you see your dad for the age he is - not the age you remember him as in your earliest memories. wrinkles and smile lines and graying hair.

the seconds stretch on as do the silence. you can hear the distant ringing of the telephone all the way from mrs. nam’s desk from outside, almost clearly.

once your word settles in, then comes the million dollar question, “do you two love each other?”

it’s a no brainer. anyone with eyes can see and answer that for you - or perhaps taehyung already told your dad since he must have gone through a similar interrogation session. and yet, it’s only natural to want confirmation from your own daughter instead of her best friend even though he knows everything about her.

this can only go two ways: yes or no.

but you’ve never been fond of flat out lying, especially to the man who taught you such principles and you’ve talked about marrying for convenience with them ever since you realized that ambitions tend to reward but cheap sentiments like love does not.

yet your chest feels heavy having to go against your parents’ wishes and hopes for you - they want what any parent want for their child. happiness. “no, we don’t.”

“but no one enters into a marriage with divorce in mind. i don’t plan on just being a husband to your daughter just on paper. i’ll care for miss ___ and treat her the way like a queen. that much, i promise, sir.” seokjin holds your dad’s gaze - it’s haunting and charming, you would know. you’d been on the receiving end once too many times already. and you know that’s how he gets your dad.

the older man nods, shoulder line relaxing almost as though he’s been lifted off a dead weight. he’s not the only one - you don’t realize you’ve been holding your breath until you feel your own muscles loosening and you’re breathing out in relief.

until his head snaps up to point out one thing, “you’re getting married yet you’re not on first name basis?”

“sorry to rope you into family drama, i’ll be more prepared next time so you won’t have to leave your work.” is the first thing you say once you’re in the elevator. your dad has made sure to grill you to half-death with his questions. he’s gonna give the immigration a run for their money. the first name basis matter is just the beginning of a series of dread -

‘what’s my daughter’s favorite color?’

‘dad, do you even know my-”

‘shh. do you know my daughter still wets the bed at the age ten?’

‘dad!’

seokjin had taken your dad on in stride. he chuckled when your dad said something ridiculous, borderline false and he listened on when your dad went on about the sob story of a ��poor father with an undefeatable daughter’. but the way he did it was so effortless - almost as if he was a boyfriend visiting your parents and getting told all the embarrassing stories of your childhood and would tease you about it but at the end of the day, tells you he thinks the kid-you was cute - bed wetter or not.

there’s something that restricts your airway at the thought of sharing a feeling so strong with someone. in no time, you push the intimate image away. you and seokjin aren’t like that - this is marriage is strictly convenience-based.

“i asked a friend of mine to cover for me.” so he knew it’d be long but he didn’t actually said it was okay either. marriage is a tricky subject especially for someone as work-crazed as seokjin. you’re surprised he hasn’t cursed you out for making him miss work. “is it red?”

“what?” you blink, steps halting as you stare up at him with what starts to be mindless curiosity but ends up with a stretched on pause as you study the man’s visage. the plumpness of his lips is a given- it’s the first thing you noticed about him.

“your favorite color.” the corners of his lips lifts upwards before he includes his assertion, “you’re always wearing something red - your lipstick was red when we went for dinner. you have a red blouse on now.”

even you didn’t know you have so much red. but it’s true - your functions and meetings wardrobe consists of red and black predominantly besides the more neutral pastel colors. you have a higher success rate of getting sponsors when you wear the tight fitted red dress.

but it’s not a preferred shade per se.

“no,” you chuckle, “my favorite color is yellow, like the banana.”

seokjin’s brows rises at that. he probably didn’t expect that - nobody expects the fierce and confident woman to like such a bright, clarifying color. “though i understand why you think it’s red.”

his lips curl into a smile - the kind of smile that mimics your own, not the one that he wears to charm your father. though that one was also genuine, this one makes him feel younger. like someone you can crack silly jokes with instead of the ever uptight working man.

before he manages to say anything, your name reverberates across the lobby. taehyung’s shrugged off that ugly grey checkered blazer of his and left it at the sofa as he mini run towards you. the grin on his face gradually falls off when he notices the lack of smile on your face.

“you left me for dead!”

he blocks your fist with a hand around your wrist before sighing as if you’re not just directing every ounce of energy in that punch of yours - but then again, none of your smacks really get to him.

“i didn’t know uncle was gonna ask me about that - i thought it was gonna be the usual lunch. i mean, come on, i waited for you down here even though i have work to do so i can make sure all your limbs are intact!” he looks like he almost meant it. almost.

it’s in that moment that seokjin’s remark reminds you that he’s still there, “you two must be close.”

“huh?” taehyung narrows his eye at you as though you’re no more than gum under his shoes while you whip your hand out of his grasp and scoff.

“nah, i’m her only friend.”

“it’s because he doesn’t have any other friend.”

you both say at the same time.

at least seokjin’s still able to laugh with all the intention-to-kill in the air. before you can elaborate on how taehyung kept following you around like a lost puppy when you were younger, seokjin’s hand finds its way around your shoulder, you thought it odd that he needs to pat on the shoulder farthest from him but it turns out he’s pulling you towards him but by the time you realize it, you’re already craning your neck to look at him. but you barely notice the awkward position of his lips on the spot just above your left eyebrow - his lips really are soft. and warm.

and gone.

before you know it, he’s pulling away, saying something about seeing you later - you couldn’t hear it from the blood rushing in your ears and the heat rising on your face. it’s only after you see his white coat disappear around the corner do you finally take notice of the slyly grinning fox in front of you.

“what did i tell you? simple-minded beings.”

you still don’t know why seokjin kissed you on the forehead.

sure, he told your dad he’s not planning to just be a husband on paper - okay. but he’s nowhere near a husband to you yet and you haven’t even given him an engagement ring. it doesn’t help that your heart keeps racing every time time the image of his sharp jaw and pursed lips before he kissed you, plays at the back of your mind.

he smelled good too - like aftershave and lemon and a hint of disinfectants.

before you know it, you find yourself rapping on his door eight minutes past 7 in the evening. after a whole solid minute of the red light on the door handle remaining the same color, you finally let out the breath you’ve been holding. it’s supposed to be past his shift but judging from the lack of response from the other side of the room, you know straight away that he’s still at the wards. it may have been an impromptus decision but now that you’ve walked the distance from your office to the other end of the building, you might as well go the extra mile and actually look for him.

most of the nurses and doctors that pass you recognize you, bowing briefly before hurrying to where they were heading before they saw you. you rarely visit the cardiology department - or any other department for that matter because it’s always a hassle for the staff to prepare to greet you. in that aspect, you agree with seokjin - that they could be doing something better than pushing their schedules on their colleague to accompany a sightseeing vip.

“miss ___?” a young man around your age calls, his brows furrow at the idea that his eyes could be fooling him but when you turn to him, his eyes light up in pleasant surprise, “it really is you. why - i didn’t know you were visiting today.”

“doctor kim,” you don’t forget a face easily - right before you is kim suho. the smile that stretches when you recognize him is telling enough. his past achievements are definitely to brag about and he must have attended the annual dinner if he recognizes you, “good evening. this isn’t an official visit - actually, i’m looking for someone. do you happen to know where doctor kim seokjin is?”

“seokjin?” he repeats the name with a sort of familiarity, coupled with confusion. of course, he’s probably wondering what the work-crazed doctor did to have the ceo come all the way to the wards.

“miss ___?” it’s feels almost deja vu - having your names called out by two different people within the span of five minutes. both sounding equally confused but for different reasons.

“good evening,” you fix seokjin one of your alluring smiles, heart skipping a beat - it’s probably the stethoscope hanging over his shoulder. it compliments the collared button down and white coat, look you usually see him in, “i went to you office but you weren’t there so i came here.”

“let’s talk in my office.” he clears his throat, eyes drifting to look to somewhere on his left before he stops himself. if it’s the whispering nurses at the counter he’s worried about - he shouldn’t be. because you’re about to put a ring on it.

“sorry, i was doing my last rounds but the patient was a chatty one - i lost track of time.” he says, walking into the office and setting the stethoscope down on his desk before he takes a seat behind it.

you notice the way his eyes travel from your perfectly pinned up hair down to your diamonds adorned neck down to the halter strap of your elegant maroon dress that wraps around your body flawlessly. but he doesn’t say a word - and you’re forced to school your expression to not show your surprise and hurt when he doesn’t even let his gaze linger for any longer than necessary as he meets your eyes again.

you take out the suede velvet box from your purse and place it right in front of him. “it just came in, why don’t you try putting it on?”

his eyes twinkle with a surprise not because of the foretelling shape and characteristics of the box, nor the affirmation of the silver band inside it but because it sits snugly around his ring finger when he slips it on.

“how did you get my size right?” the impressed tone laced in his voice makes your chest swell with pride and lips curl into a smirk.

it only takes him a few seconds to interpret your smirk - that time in his office. the ghost of his digit on your tongue still lingers. it wasn’t just for show and you weren’t cruel enough to put a man through that misery if you didn’t have your own reasons.

he shakes his head, ring bluntly glinting as suppresses his chuckle with his hand.

your heart is beating too loudly in your chest - there’s something in the way he’s bearing your claim but you still manage to sound leveled and collected. “since we’re officially engaged, do you mind if i call you seokjin?”

“i’d like that very much, ___.” he’s finally dropped the suffix. ms. this, ms. that. you’ve gotten used to it but it serves to enforce the invisible line between you and him when he addresses you so formally.

your phone buzzes in your purse - it must be taehyung. you didn’t expect to spend longer than ten minutes but he must be waiting at the lobby if he’s texting you now. standing up, you bid him a parting “have a nice evening, seokjin.”

he doesn’t seem like he has anything on his mind but just as your hand covers the handle of the door, he speaks up, “once we’re married, could you refrain from going to these functions?”

it takes you off guard. like a spear that pierces you just as you lay down your armor but you’re not one to let something like this get to you, “i’m afraid that’s not possible.” and that’s it. it’s final.

but you should have known when you decide to use that practiced icy tone, that seokjin wouldn’t just back off the way almost everyone would. the only people who would still have the gal to say something or dismiss it are your parents and taehyung.

“i know you expect me to be an obedient husband and become chairman and do my job. it shouldn’t matter if you attend these functions since you’re not forcing me to go with you.” and there’s those eyes again. tearing into the soul of your window and stripping you bare the way only kim seokjin could. “but marriage is about compromise - giving up one thing for the other. i’m gonna inherit my dad’s fortunes and you’re gonna get that 10 million my mom promised. shouldn’t that be enough to get the projects for the hospital rolling?"

when he says it like that, it seems so easy and simple. “no wonder you’re a doctor. you don’t know a thing about maintaining a sustainable business.” you let your lips curl briefly, “but i’ll think about what you said.”

then, you’re out of his office. heels clicking against the floor as you make your way to the lobby and into taehyung’s familiar sleek black burgatti.

“so he asked you to stop coming to these functions.” the car rolls to a stop right in front of the hall where the birthday party of seollyu’s president is held.

“in essence, yeah.” you say after he comes around the car and your hand automatically tucks itself in the crook of his arm.

“then why are you mad?” the car purrs behind you before the valet takes it somewhere to park it.

some of the reporters at the entrance calls your and taehyung’s names in an attempt to make you look at the camera. there’s too many and the lights are blinding - you just want to get into the hall quickly. at least they won’t be able to follow you past the doors.

“i just - i don’t like that he’s asking me to change, you know? just because i’m married, i won’t get to do the things i usually do before? that’s just bullshit.” you huff in frustration - not bothering to hide your stiff eyebrows and slightly pursed lips all the while you have your pictures taken. at best, they’re going to slander you with jealousy over taehyung’s new budding romance.

“i mean, he did cut his family off and stopped going to these things.” the man shrugs, “maybe he has a good reason - did you even ask him why?”

and that’s how you know you’ve lost the fight. taehyung’s too sensible - naturally, he wouldn’t have his own startup at such a young age, if he isn’t the way he is now. but you don’t want an analyst - you want a friend who would listen to you and let you vent your frustrations before finding the root of the problem and suggesting the solution.

taehyung knows this and he knows plenty of many things, having been your childhood and best friend all in one package. but because he knows you too well, he also knows you’ll end up doing something you would regret if he were too late to point out your mistake. sometimes you want to prove him wrong - that you can call the right shots when it comes to people without having him paint a picture for you to foresee the outcome but so far, there’s limited exhibits of your success. your failed past relationships being the prime examples.

“i hate it when you’re right.” you grumble, letting your hand fall to your side - usually you wouldn’t mind having to cling onto taehyung like a child. you’re all the other has in these functions - everyone has their own reason for attending and just like absolutely everyone, you approach people because of what they can give you. that’s why you see groups of people your age flocking together - they grew up trained to sniff those with ill intentions and those with a mutual interest.

and usually, they’ve known each other at a very young age - the way you knew taehyung for as long as you can remember.

you have other friends too - or rather, they’re people you single out to be of no threat to your business and could even become partners someday. like sowon - her bright amber dress making it seem as though a ball of fire is flitting across the hall. you’re about to wave at her before you notice a more furious fire burns in her eyes.

“you bitch!”

all of a sudden, your neck is craned in an awkward angle. the blaze on your cheek settles a little later than the realization that sowon just smacked you right across the face yet when you turn back to her, hands clenching and unclenching in suppression of rising anger - she’s the one with tears in her eyes. “i trusted you.”

oh boy.

the host hasn’t even made his speech and the crowd’s already excited. the widespread whispers don’t go past you - some of the people in your periphery doesn’t even bother hiding leaning into the person next to them while stealing glances your way. but you doubt the woman in front of you would notice anyone here but you.

“ladies, there’s plenty of me to go around.” taehyung speaks from next to you, his smooth baritone echoing off and reaching anyone within five feet. you know he’s doing this to cover for any other possible misunderstanding - after all, this isn’t the first time you’re trapped in a scandal between taehyung and one of his girlfriends.

sowon loathes taehyung though.

but it doesn’t matter as long as everyone thinks it’s just another day of you getting in between the budding romance of taehyung and his female acquaintance. you can already see the expressions of the guests falling - probably disappointed at the not-so-news news. but there are also those who snicker underneath their breath - probably one of taehyung’s past acquaintances. it’s no secret taehyung would choose you over them in a heartbeat - and it’s been established when taehyung appears at a function with another woman once and appear to the next five with you until a new poor soul takes that woman’s place.

what can you say? your best friend’s a charmer. but the downside is, you don’t have that many female friends at functions. and one of the few you do have, you’ve managed to piss off.

sowon’s sniffle tears your attention away from the crowd. flushed cheeks and puffed eyes. you’re not close but you’re acquainted enough to know she’s a woman of pride and confidence. she wouldn’t lose her cool over a man - well, at least not a licentious man like taehyung. and that’s the only reason keeping you from bitch slapping the pride off her. the sting on your cheek is nothing compared to the injury your pride sustains - all because what’s left of your conscience wouldn’t allow you to return the slap.

deep down, you know you deserved it and more. your insides churn painfully. all of a sudden the dress around your body is two sizes too small. it’s suffocating - the whole room is suffocating.

“after everything i told you - you had to go for him?!” her scream could almost burst your eardrums if it isn’t for the blood rushing in your ears.

it’s easy to think she’s referring to taehyung. somewhere from across the room, the crowd starts clearing out a path - looks like the host has caught wind of the commotion sowon has caused.

you want to curse her too. hurt her with words as much as she hurt you with her physical assault. but instead you find yourself dropping your gaze.

“i’m sorry, sowon.” is all you say before mr. jung and his army of secretaries approach you and bring you two to different rooms. by the time dinner starts, sowon isn’t around - it’s understandable, her pride wouldn’t allow her to let these people poke fun at her.

but you don’t survive this world you’re born in by running away - you survive it by developing skin as untouchable as scales. so you stay until desert, smiling with a sore cheek and conversing with those who you know would be neutral about the incident, like nothing happened.

taehyung sticks closer to you. he doesn’t ask if you’re okay - you’re not. but when you tug on his sleeve and timidly murmur you wish to go home, he does so without hesitation. it’s times like these you’d choose him over the world.

the tabloids love gossip. a sensational, popcorn-worthy scoop. there are two divided groups thanks to that. the first one is devoted to the belief that it’s a love triangle between you, taehyung and sowon. the other one, choosing to dig deeper than what’s on the surface, believes it goes way back. ten years back.

“sorry, i should have told you sowon was my ex-fiance - it didn’t occur to me until i saw the articles that you two might meet at a function.” seokjin finally says, the strawberry ice cream beginning to melt in its paper bowl when he asked you to ‘at least, let me cure your injury,’ - you didn’t, in a - make that ten - million years picture it to be in a form of an ice cream bowl he bought from the mini convenience store next to the cafeteria. it was to hold it on your cheek but you couldn’t just let good food go to waste.

it hurts to even smile but you can’t help it at the thought of the rumored half-mad doctor using his break for something besides working some more. coupled with a shake of your head and the plastic spoon trapped in between your lips, you look just as insane.

your heart still clenches at the recollection of the other night, “i knew you two were engaged.”

his shoulder line straightens just the slightest bit as he lifts one eyebrow, not completely surprised but neither is he unfazed. so you continue, “it was by pure dumb luck that you turn out to be the best marriage prospect for me but i thought she was over it since it’s been years.”

there it is again, the churning in your stomach. like something’s eating you from the inside. if you focus enough, you can hear the voice inside your head scoffing - even if they’d just broken up yesterday, you still would have proposed to seokjin, maybe even the day after said break up.

this time, you don’t look away when his eyes meet yours. you let him strip your armor down to your very core. show him just what kind of person you are - the person who wouldn’t let anything get in the way of her ambitions. wouldn’t dwell cheap sentiments like friendship. even if that made you - as sowon would put it - a bitch.

then, he lets out a heavy sigh - the kind of sigh a parent would do when their kid got in trouble and admitted their fault. so now he can’t lecture you on morals and ethics because you have your own principles.

if anything, it reminds you of the glaring difference in your age - the things he’s already experienced that you’re about to someday. the betrayals. the broken friendships. the choices between what you want and what you need. he’s probably seen this all before.

“is an old man like me really worth all that trouble?” the tiniest of smile graces his strong feature. eyebrows wavering with something you can’t pinpoint.

“well, there’s a doctor - kim suho.” this time, you don’t bother pointing out his not-even-that-old age. the way his eye twitches barely noticeably tells you he doesn’t expect your answer. a moment later, it becomes too apparent, from his troubled expression - brows stiffed and jaws tight, that he doesn’t like the idea of you asking for another man’s hand in marriage. you have to tell yourself to refrain from smiling, not because your cheek might hurt again but because it’s probably not a good time to tease him.

deciding to release him from his own misery, you quickly elaborate, “but he has an average background - no matter how much experience he has, you don’t just get on your knees and start slithering with the snakes. you have to be born into the family. so yes,” you place your ice cream on the coffee table, hand pushing back a strand of hair to appear more delicate and win his favor while you let a furtive smile adorn your face - and there’s a smile he’s suppressing too because he knows what you’re trying to do, “this old man is definitely worth it.”

his shoulder line seems to ease up as he tries to hide a relieved sigh by clearing his throat. but it’s short lived when the crease between his brows returns and a newfound tension settles in space on the couch separating the two of you, “yes, but suho was never the one i should be on a look out for, was he?”

you blink but he’s already shaking his head. a smile on his face, “never mind.”

things seem to settle down - everyone at the hospital knows about you and seokjin now. and you’ve managed to convince him to finally use his off days to spend it on preparing for the wedding. cake tasting. dress and suit fitting. deciding on what color the napkins should be - a month ago, you approached seokjin with the mindset to make him agree to marry you. after all, prince charming was the one who had it all - it didn’t make sense to have cinderella do all the wedding planning.

he was mad at you for some reason - it lasted for quite awhile until you directly asked why he’d been given you the cold shoulders. “you keep playing a two man game by yourself.” he sighed when he said those words - because he saw in your eyes, that you thought there was nothing wrong to be finishing what you started by yourself, “we’re getting married - we’re gonna become a team yet you keep making decisions by yourself.”

ever since then, you started asking if he wanted to join you to the cake and dessert tasting, napkin color picking. you didn’t realize how nice it was to do things with another person than decide it on your own.

and somewhere along the way, you started teasing him more.

“if the saying ‘men age like fine wine’ is a person,” a grin slips over your face as you shamelessly give seokjin is a once over, “then you’d be the embodiment of that.”

he doesn’t seem to mind - rather, he seems like he’s enjoying the attention as he chuckles and shakes his head. probably thinking there’s no saving you and your compliments now.

“come here.” it’s the way he says it - with a smile on his lips and eyes that says you’re all he sees and hand extended to capture yours, that makes you jump from your seat. the front of the dress bunched up in your hands as to not trip over it and right into his arms. just like moth drawn to flames.

he pulls you up over the platform that he’s been standing on and lets you stand in front of him, hand on your shoulder as you stare in front of the 3 part mirror in the boutique. the dress you have on is a light gold dress with a sweetheart neckline that wraps around your curves flawlessly down to your knees and flow out like a mermaid’s tail. seokjin has on a traditional cobalt blue single breasted suit with three buttons fitting around his waist perfectly. his hair is gelled back the way you specifically requested.

he gave you a quizzical look as though wanting you to elaborate on your reason for that request but you’d only left him with a kiss on the cheek and a ‘see you on monday.’

if there’s one thing you learned about seokjin, it’s that he’s devastatingly unaware of his strong features that makes every woman’s legs turn to jelly and every man’s heart skip a beat. and he chooses to hide it under that usual middle parted style.

seokjin’s reflection bends down but his eyes remains on you as he whispers against the shell of your ears, “you look exquisite.”

you have half the mind to push him off and run away in case he’d ear the erratic beating in your chest but he probably already knows from the way you shyly look away. the you from a year ago would laugh at what you’ve become - the kind of girl that gets flustered and can’t form a proper sentence in the presence of a male. but before you can respond, a boisterous voice from the sofa you were sitting at, announces, “alright, next!”

your teeth clench together as you whirl around to face taehyung’s silly grin. that cockblocker - he knew you were having a moment and went out of his way to ruin it. “what are you even here for? don’t you have something better to do?”

for once, taehyung isn’t on his phone. you wouldn’t mind it so much if he’d just ignore you half of the time whenever you hang out. “your mom tasked me to find you a perfect dress since she can’t be here.” there’s a glint in his eyes - something ratchet and devious but his lips curve like that of an angel.

you don’t miss seokjin’s tightened jaw and stiff shoulder line as he helps you down the platform. ever since taehyung showed up ten minutes into fitting, seokjin’s expression has been switching from that suave smile to looking like he has a splinter stuck in his thumb - a human sized splinter that goes by the name of kim taehyung.

you never thought you’d live to see the day when kim seokjin would harbor any sort of animosity towards someone - he’s probably a strict supervisor, but resentful? can’t be.

you chalk it up with the plain fact that anyone who’s not head over heels for taehyung would want to skin him alive on the early stages of getting to know him.

“hm? seokjin’s not here yet?” you ask once you’re back from the fitting room, having slipped into an ivory trumpet shaped dress. it’s a much simpler design compared to the one you had on which makes it a perfect counter part for the after party. “that’s a first, the lady finishing first than the guy.”

“oh, it’s not that unusual.” taehyung snickers. guess that just shows how confident he is with his skills.

“i’ve never been this tired and i’ve only tried on three dresses.” instead of entertaining his remark, you choose plop down next to him.

“sparky, does he love you?” it’s that nickname that gets you.

there are only two circumstances where he would call you that: one, when he wants to annoy you and two, when he’s feeling nostalgic. guess it’s finally hitting him that you’re no longer kids chasing each other around in one of his mansions. you’re both grown up and one is trying out wedding gowns.

“uh, me and seokjin are about to get married, taetae.” you throw in a nickname of your own just to lighten up the mood.

but all it does is lift the corners of his lips into a wistful smile. and that’s how you know you can’t be telling your half-truths. and evading his question isn’t working all that well either. “it feels like we can talk about things more openly now - but no, i don’t think he does. he’s marrying me to become the next chairman and i’m after his money and maybe get a kid out of him too.” a knot forms in your stomach - something about what you said doesn’t sit well with you but this is what you wanted. this is what you prepared for the moment you decided to ask seokjin for his hand in marriage. you shouldn’t hope for more.

the laugh taehyung lets out is reactionary. humorless. “can’t you wait for me? i know i’m in no position to ask - but can’t you?”

two years and three months ago, when you were a little youthful, had a little more stars in your eyes - maybe you would’ve said yes in a heartbeat. with every birthday you celebrate, fear rears its ugly head and reminds you that time isn’t an illusion and you know better than to bet on something - someone you're not sure you can win.

your heart aches a similar way it did two years ago - but you know now it’s not because it’s breaking to pieces. instead it’s hurting for the pieces of that young boy you could never hope to complete using yours. it took awhile but you know how to get back on your feet - but it’s not all that simple for taehyung. only he can fix his broken pieces.

“i stopped, taehyung,” you finally say, gaze burning holes inside the lace material of the dress, “the moment you told me you can’t - i stopped loving you. i’m glad i did because it wasn’t love. i was just scared to lose you like you’re afraid to lose me now,” you tug on his hand to get him to look at you and he does - all of a sudden, you’re both eight, inside your own bedroom with your dolls and his remote control cars strewn across the floor, “but you’ll always be my taetae and i’ll always be your sparky - i’m always gonna be here for you.”

you thought he’d changed. it’s nice to know he still uses a fruit scented shower gel when he brings you into a hug. the piercing sweet scent isn’t as strong as you remember it. the hug lasts a bit longer and his body is trembling slightly but you know it’s going to be okay - even if he packs up and leave for a foreign city like two years ago when you told him you loved him and you had to hunt him down through your wits and will (that damned private investigator accumulated a fortune to last him for probably ten years). at the end of the day, you’ll come back to each other. because the bond you’ve formed is thicker than the blood coursing through your veins.

“if he makes you cry, you come to me, okay?” you can’t even be mad when he ruffles your hair before picking up his blazer and shrugging it on. by the end of it, you’re both smiling - though his remains wistful, yours is sanguine.

it’s only after taehyung’s figure disappears through the door, do you notice the feeling of a pair of eyes burning holes inside your head.

“seokjin.”

the man is leaning against the door where his changing room is. you don’t need to ask why his brows are strained and the lips that would usually grace you with a smile, is pressed into a tight line.

“i never knew-” seokjin stops himself, lips pressed together as though he doesn’t want to say it, but he does with a shake of his head, “-no, i did know there was something between you and taehyung.”

you end up in seokjin’s apartment. the whole ride has been stiff silent. it’s the first you’ve seen him so disheveled. his tie hangs loose on his neck as though he’d yanked it without a care in the world and forgot about it. the first two buttons of his button down are undone. what once was his perfectly sleeked back hair disheveled from having been mussed up.

the hot chocolate seokjin made you is losing heat the longer you hold onto to it for the sake of having something to do with your hands. “i proposed to him two years ago and stopped loving him as soon as he turned me down - taehyung, he... he’s got a lot going on. that’s all i can say. i hope you don’t misunderstand what you saw.”

his eyes turn as round as saucers for the briefest moment before they flutter to their original almond shapes. shoulder line shaking from chuckling - but there’s nothing funny about any of this so you keep your eyes on him. if he needed confirmation of the truth you’re speaking, he need only search it in the windows of your soul.

“that’s very like you, ___.” he finally says.

you’re not sure what he meant but you’re not about to ponder on it either, “is there anything else you’d like to know about me, seokjin? there’s no reason for me to lie to you - we’re about to get stuck with each other for the rest of our lives. we should at least be able to talk about our past openly.”

when he doesn’t seem to have any other inquiry, you decide to let go of your pride - the reason you never asked was because you were too proud to be wrong. growing up, there were only a few people that you let poke fun at you and fewer you’d let prove you wrong. it dawned on you some time after you’re all showered and ready to go to bed one night - that you’re about to let seokjin waltz into your life and he’ll bear witness to your most intimate side. he’s about to be said one of the fewer people.

“then, my turn - why did you want me to stop attending social functions? i’ve been doing it my whole life - i’m good at it. and i’m not planning to stop just because i got married unless you have a proper reason for asking me to.”

the way his gaze drops tells you it wasn’t just a baseless request. you reach out across the counter, slipping your hands into his. that seems to have brought him back.

“my parents chose to attend a function instead of staying by my grandfather’s side even when the doctor told them he wouldn’t make it til morning - they weren’t even sorry. couldn’t even stay throughout the whole funeral.” he shakes his head almost as though being hung up over it was ridiculous yet couldn’t move past it either, “it’s ugly what too much wealth does - i just- i’m sorry i asked such a thing from you. it’s my own problem that i have to deal with, you don’t have to stop.”

it’s not hard to put yourself in his shoes. you understand where he’s coming from - you want to tell him that but somehow words are cheap. especially right in this moment.

so without thinking, you slip off the stool and walk around the counter until you reach him. the last thing you see before you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down to your level, is his wondrous gaze.

the man doesn’t flinch away from your touch nor does he welcome it in any way. but the longer the seconds stretch on, the more you realize how idiotic and awkward it is to hug someone you barely know - it worked for taehyung but that’s only because he knew you preferred action rather than words.

“i’m not gonna stop completely but i won’t go as often - it’s getting boring anyway.” you nonchalantly say - or at least try to sound like you’ve lost interest in the function on your own. you haven’t been to any since that incident with sowon, waiting out for the rumors to die down is a better choice.

the body in your arms is unresponsive as ever - you would think you’re hugging a dead body if not for the heat of his breath fanning your delicate skin. maybe he’s just too nice to push a lady away. just as you’re about retract your arms, a warm hand rests on your hip. his touch is soft and gentle - as if he’s handling a porcelain doll while you’d just dragged him down to you without even considering how uncomfortable the angle would be given his tall broad frame.

his body vibrates when he lets out a short breath like a brief chuckle, “you’re very generous with your hugs.”

your brain short circuits when the man raises his head from your shoulder and rests his forehead on yours - it reminds you of how woman you are. even when he’s sitting he still hovers over you. his free hand cups your jaw, thumb lightly pressing on your lower lip. so this is what it felt like when your roles were switched - is he going to give you a false sense that he’ll kiss you the way you would him?

“may i?” he’s smiling when he repeats your own words - eyes trapping the ray of sunlight that pours over the wall-window like an illuminate waterfall. for the first time since you know him, you’re scared. not of what he will do but of what you want him to - but he won’t do.

your train of thoughts dissipates along with your worry the moment his lips touch yours. gentle. yet the hand pulling you into him is possessive. something in your stomach churns with butterflies.

you want to say you don’t know how you end up with your stomach pressed against his crotch or how his semi-hard arousal started rubbing into your abdomen. it’s supposed to be awkward but it isn’t and you know he’s refraining from addressing his aroused state to avoid making it uncomfortable for you - even though every time you shift and lean into him, you see his the gentle bob of his adam’s apple. it makes you want him even more. he leans into your touch as soon as you reach for him like moth drawn to flames.

“right.” he declares as if he’s been reminded of something when he comes in contact with one of the ridge of the rock on your middle finger. it’s your own engagement ring you ordered with seokjin’s. when the man spoke about getting you one, you’d held up your left hand and told him you already had one made. in fact, you never took it off since the day you put it on - which was the same day it came it.

understandably, you’re always wearing more than a ring on your hand - it’s easy to mix up between the ring from your personal collection or a ring of promise. especially when you didn’t tell him you got one made for yourself.

the hand on your cheek is warm as it brushes against your cheekbones, your rolls off his tongue like sweet honey, “what did i ever do to make you think i don’t love you?”

you blink once. you heard his words but your mind isn’t registering anything. but it seems your heart has seem to figure it out from the way it’s accelerating, you’re afraid seokjin might hear it. “wh-what?”

all of a sudden, you have this urge to pull the invisible blinds of his wall-window and hide from the peering rays of the sun. seokjin’s airy gaze. your fallen dress strap. the gentle protrusion in his pants. your own mussed up hair - you want to keep this moment all to yourself.

he pecks your forehead one last time. this lips curling into a smile - he knows you heard him. loud and clear and you have a feeling you’ll be hearing it at the most unpredictable moment from now on. so there’s no rush.

“where should we go for dinner?”

seokjin knows they call him the doctor version of a mad scientist. he knows a plenty of many things. like how he’s more strict with the junior physicians under his care. but that’s only because if he treats them below their potential, they’ll end up being that.

but the part where suho jokingly told him that he was crazy for working on holidays - maybe he was.

he’d moved out as soon as he turned 18 and eventually cut off his parents. before, even if it was just for show, he still got to see them during those functions they held.

but by the time he graduated college and started interning as a doctor - he was already erasing part of his existence. and his parents didn’t seem to notice. it made it cutting them off effortless.

but then, loneliness - pure, unadulterated loneliness started to sink its claws into him. so he turned to work even more. built his life around it.

by the time he became a fellow, he had absolutely zero social life. the only human interaction he had was with his patients - but they come and go. sure they’re grateful for him - and since the private hospital he’s working at is frequented mostly by the richest, he’d received gifts like cars or gold bars from one of his elderly patients who were convinced they were going to die - until they woke up from a successful surgery done by seokjin himself. but they eventually forget him.

and of course, he returned those gifts. he’d be no different than his parents - than the people he wished not to see anymore after he left that world. but the one thing he thought he wanted - the one thing he thought would make him happy, started to burn him out. every birthday was just a reminder that he’s half the age his soul is.

he’s worn and tired and losing sight of that man he told himself to be by a certain age.

that is, until you came along. at first, it was just courtesy that he listened to what you had to say - apparently you were the ceo. and quite literally, his boss. at first, he thought you were messing with him when you asked for his hand in marriage - no one just waltzes in and propose to someone they don’t know.

even those convenient marriages don’t go this way. but he’d accepted it anyway.

it has more to do with those eyes of yours than the chairman position. those eyes - they remind him so much of himself. the current him. except where his soul wanes, yours thirsts to thrive. like a dying cactus refusing to dry out.

you had thorns but picking them out wasn’t a problem - you’d been disconcerted at first but you’d quickly learn to use it to your advantage. telling him only the truth or nothing. since evasion and half-truths don’t work on him the way they would work on the people you probably surrounded yourself with. and he knew exactly what type of people they were.

eventually, you started telling him the blunt, honest truth. it threw him off a few times - like when you’d straight out told him that you knew who sowon was and still went for him. and that time when you admitted that he was the second man to receive your proposal - the first being that brat, taehyung. and then, you’d straight out asked him about why he didn’t want you attending functions anymore instead of ignoring his request like his parents would. or flip out of shame for having your lie found out. you were forbearing but firm. sometimes, it felt like you were much older than him.

but then you had a childish side to you too - it was food for his soul. every time he was with you, he felt like himself again. like that boy who applied for a job at the hospital with only his wits and his will backing him up. at first, he’d only saw that side of you in front of your most treasured people. your father. your mother. taehyung.

what you and taehyung have - seokjin will never come close to comprehend. a bond so strong, not even death could tear you apart. it became apparent too soon to seokjin that taehyung dominated parts of your life and he’ll only have a but a crevice of his presence in yours. your smile would always be a little brighter when you’re with the younger man. eyes always drifting away from him to taehyung.

and he was content with that but he thinks you’ve changed. or maybe it’s him that did. because you’re grinning at him now - like there’s something up your sleeves. and there is - his eyes widen at your brazenness. one minute he was admiring the way you lasted for hours in those heels that you just kicked off - you’d been wearing them starting from the ceremony to the reception and finally the after party but the next minute, you were grinning and pulling him with you down onto the velvet sheets. the your dress has ridden up to just below your knees in the process and seokjin’s caressing your exposed calf - he thinks you’re all the more delicate. your skin, too soft. he’s afraid he might bruise you.

“oh,” you speak into his mouth before pulling away without even a peck on his lips - but there’s a twinkle in your eyes when you pick up a small golden box that sat prettily on the night stand, “almost forgot. for you.”

“i didn’t get you a wedding gift.” he announces, pushing down the suspicion dominating his brain but how can he not pull out the ribbon to find out what you’ve prepared for him, when you’re looking at him like that? all grin and proud and saying something like you didn’t need one.

then his face falls and he’s looking at you deadpanned in the eye after noting the too familiar tablet of blue pills. but the frown doesn’t live long - he finds himself shaking his head. a smile wedging itself on his own face, “viagra. really?”

“better safe than sorry, right?” it's not right context - usually, a condom would be involved where that sentenced is used. but you know from seokjin’s dazed stare that he doesn’t get it - but he chooses to admire your features instead.

it takes everything in you not to bury your face in his chest just because his stare is making you feel like a high school girl with a crush. his eyes don’t make you want to reel away from him and cover every scar and lies with a thick blanket anymore. perhaps it has something to do with the fact that there isn’t any that he hasn’t seen. both your flaws and your virtue - if he wanted to run away, there were plenty of chances for him to do so but he stayed and now - now, you’ll never let him go. hold him captive in your castle, smooth criminal. you lean and press a kiss on his lips - just to make him close his eyes.

when you pull away, his lips chases yours. just like moth drawn to flames. you can’t help but giggle - it’s cut short when his hand weaves itself into your hair and bring you down to him.

you barely notice the hand that wraps around your wrist before your back hits the soft mattress. his shoulders appear more broad now that he’s hunched over you like a beast who hasn’t had a drop of water since the drought. at times like these you’re reminded of how man he is and how woman you are. a fact you seem to forget because he’s been playing along with your little games like a well-behaved child.

“hey, no fair!” lips pursed, you cross your arms in a show of protest. but he chuckles that soothing chuckle and he’s standing on his knees while the frame of his belt glints in warning.

your heart skips a beat at the sight of his arousal that was begging to be released from the confinements of his cobalt blue pants. the sigh he breathes out when he pulls down the zipper, sends shivers down your spine.but disappointment makes your face fall when he leaves it like that instead of pushing his pants down along with it.

that’s okay. you tell yourself. we’re married now-

you reach out for him only to have a hand wrap around your wrist, your fingers hovering achingly close to the gentle protrusion in his black boxers but not really touching.

you crane your neck to look at him but when your eyes meet, your words die in your throat. the smile is gone and in its place, is a tilted smirk, “are you sure? once we start i might not be able to stop.”

it’s that question that gets your heart writhing and crying to be set free from the confinement of your rib cages.

“seokjin,” the name tastes delectably sinful tonight, “i’ve never wanted anyone to fuck me this badly.”

maybe it’s the vow you’re making on the absolutely zero occasion where you’ve been this rapt by a man. maybe it’s your out of character use of the curse - that’s just how much you want this. or maybe it’s both. either way, seokjin’s gripping handfuls of your dress and you wordlessly raise your hands up for him to pull your dress off you.

it’s the way his eyes travel down your body. hunger. madness. lust. they meld together in those darkened eyes of his yet you’ve never felt so safe. he dives in for a kiss. this time, it’s raw and passionate and has no intention to stop halfway - not after he made it clear that he couldn’t and not after you pleaded for him to take you.

your white cotton bra is first to go - you only wore it because the straps won’t contrast too much with the strap of your dress. initially, you were going to tease him a bit and disappear into the bathroom to change into the lacy black lingerie set you’d specifically ordered to be custom made by victoria’s secret. but with the way he’s kneading your breast in his palm and the way you’re clawing against his clothed chest like a ravenous creature - the lingerie can wait.

“take off your clothes.” in your head, it sounded more demanding - but it comes out breathy and begging. a part of you chide yourself for waving the white flag before the game even began but another part of you is tired of being the only one bare and naked.

there’s a godless gleam in his eyes the moment he heard your request and you should have known seokjin wouldn’t make it that easy for you. this is karma coming back to bite you in your butt naked state after all those times you spent teasing the man and him accepting it without any complaint. you thought he was just mature enough to get over it. it turns out he was just a beast laying in wait to claim what he deserves, “what’s the magic word?”

“please.” you answer in a heartbeat.

that same heart stops beating the second he shakes his head. no. wrong answer. “the other one - do you really think i didn’t notice? the way you tease me - the way you know i won’t do anything about it because i’m older, i have to be a bigger person?”

that’s when your pride comes crashing in like tidal wave. walk away, it says. you take back what you said about having nothing to hide from seokjin - there’s one. and you thought you’d keep it with you. let it be buried in your grave. but he knows - like he knows every layer of your existence. your every desire and compulsion. it’s disgraceful and mortifying, for you. but seokjin holds your gaze and wait, wait, wait - he doesn’t seem to share your thoughts - doesn’t look disgusted either.

“daddy.” the moment the word leaves your mouth, you feel liberated. freed. like a long overdue confession. the pleased look on seokjin’s face is everything and more. “daddy, please.”

“as you wish.” he’s your liberator. your freer. and he’s about to grant your one carnal desire.

his clothes hit the ground within less than a minute. you can’t help but gawk at his perfectly sculpted physique. it’s like gods personally descended the heavens and blessed him in his mother’s womb and stayed by his side up until now - only for him to scorn them right in this moment. your body bounces off the bed lightly when his fingers dig in your thigh, pulling you closer like a ragged doll. a small yelp escapes you.

your panties are the last to go. discarded somewhere on the floor along with yours and his wedding attire.

the first whimper escapes the moment he slips into you, but not fully. he lets you take him in, get used to his size and directs your hand to his lips before placing it on his shoulder. as if telling you, you can hurt him, claw him until his back is raw and bleeding.

you wouldn’t at first - opting to keep your hands fisted while you try your hardest to suppress every moan that erupts from your mouth with every stroke. but then he hits that sweet spot. your back arches forward and you think it’s that moment when your fingers break the delicate skin on his back - but you can’t remember. it’s a blur - the electricity coursing from your heart through your veins and curls your toes. the stars you see in the back of your mind and the way you tighten around him when the delectable sound of his moans brushes the shell of your ear as he holds you against him.

he almost crushed him underneath his weight when he pulls out of you. the traces of his arousal pressing in between your bodies as he forces himself up by propping himself on his forearms. his labored breath fans your face and he’s all you see.

there’s still a surplus of tingle in your lower abdomen how high he takes you - almost like cloud nine. and you’re slick with sweat and body fluid but there’s no where you’d rather be than here, in your husband’s arms.

five months ago, you approached him with the objective of gaining a husband to take the chairman position and maybe give you the grandchild that your mother’s been asking you for. you didn’t expect for anything more than what you bargained for. but the first time he told you how he felt - you still didn’t believe him.

it was too surreal. and seokjin probably saw the tendrils of doubt every time he tells you how he feels - at the most sporadic moment. but he kept picking your thorns one by one like he could do this for a hundred years and more. you think i was that day when he found out about your past feelings for taehyung that he started. and he finally picked all of your prickly spikes - and now, he’s holding you like a child. head buried in between your breasts, muscled arms loosely hugging your waist. what a contrasting different to the man he was half an hour ago but so very seokjin of him.

the elated breath he lets out with his sigh is warm on your skin, “you know how to make an old man feel young.”

there he does it again. he’s been saying he’s old even though he’s only in his 30′s. at first you thought he was joking but over time - you think he truly believes he is. but when you agree with him-

“is your back okay? wouldn’t want your ancient bones breaking.” you pat his head sympathetically.

almost as if you’ve pushed a that button with a flashy warning red on it, his fingers twine around your wrist and pull it away from his head. the bed shifts as he hovers over you with an aggrieved glint, “i’m sure there are greater things that little mouth of yours can do than express your concerns for my back, sweetheart.”

your heart skips a beat.

epilogue.

you love being married.

not because you can strut to seokjin’s office and have everyone know you have every right to be there. nor because the board can’t really say anything since seokjin fits every characteristics of a chairman either. but because-

“we’ve been at it like rabbits,” seokjin shoulder line jolts slightly when your arms gently wrap around him from behind but there’s a sort of mirth laced in his voice, “you’re still not tired?”

“what ever do you mean, dear husband?” your voice is sweet but not entirely innocent.

sure, you did it an hour ago and you’re both supposed to get ready for bed but when you stepped out of the bathroom and find the bed empty, you had to wander outside. you know he’d be in the living room reviewing past years’ reports in his preparation to take on your dad’s position. he could just step up first and get familiar with his job along the way - but it wouldn’t have been very seokjin to enter the battlefield without polishing his armor.

he smells like peppermint and lavender. donning a plain white shirt and grey sweats - it’s the second most dressed down you’ve ever seen him in compared to the white-collars you’re so used to seeing him in. the first, being when he’s in bed, of course.

“okay, well, i’m going to bed first.” with a peck on his cheek, you bid him a good night.

but it’s not in your nature to give up without a fight - or rather, without sauntering in front him in your pastel pink camisole. you put on the a black and gold corset on your first monthivasery - it was just an excuse for you to try on the lingerie and it paid off. but there’s just something about camisoles - floral or plain pastels are what gets him prancing on you like a hungry beast. it looks like you’re not the only one with a fetish.

the cleaner comes in every twice a week and you’re not here enough to mess up the place except the master bedroom - like seokjin said, you have been going at it like rabbits. still, you bend down, making sure your ass is perked a little higher as you rearrange the picture frames on the rack under the tv.

a tune of your favorite song vibrates against your throat for thirty-six seconds before you straighten your back and begin to walk towards the bedroom. but something you caught in your periphery halts your steps, “did you just check out my ass then bite your lip? ‘cause if you did we’re having sex. right now.”

that seems to catch him off guard - you’ve been finding new and creative ways to get fucked. some worked. and by worked, you mean it had you moaning and writhing as he took you raw. some failed. meaning he had relented mainly because you were asking and he wanted to please you - at times like those, he was the one lying down, watching you ride him but halfway through, he’d pulled you down and started fucking you missionary because ‘you were good darling, but watching you makes me want to personally fuck you senseless. you can ride me next time, i promise.’

either way, your work life is superb and your sex life is out of this world. especially with a husband like seokjin. guess that dry spell has finally lifted and unleashed the hungry beast in him.

seokjin sighs, eyebrows coming together in a troubled frown but the lump in his pants say otherwise. “when you’re sore and need me to walk you to your office tomorrow, remember you asked for this.”

something in the pit of your stomach churns. your heart races with adrenaline as he takes two steps with those long legs of his and close the distance. a yelp escapes your lips, not expecting him to hoist you over his shoulder like you weight nothing and landing a smack on your ass like he’s reprimanding you.

“seokjin! put me down, i’m heavy!” you cry out, smacking his back in protest. when you wanted him to take you, this wasn’t exactly what you had in mind - it’d be a completely, perfect lie if you say you weren’t dripping with excitement.

“this way’s faster than your tiny little legs, darling.” you can hear the smirk in his voice before he kisses the exposed skin on your hip.

note: and that’s it. but it’s not over yet! there might be drabbles coming up on our fav couple’s adventure as they try to get preggo lmaooo also i’ll be doing a ‘story time’ where i talk about the background of this fic - what inspired me to write it, why i titled it like the way i did and i’d like to dissect and oc and tae’s relationship and so much more. send me an ask if you have something in particular you want me to address from the fic!

if you like this fic feel free to check out namjoon’s version called good guys finish last. i’m also planning to turn this au into a series for every member. taehyung or yoongi will be next!

#bts smut #kim seokjin smut #bts seokjin smut #bts #kim seokjin #bts fanfic #bts fic #bts scenarios #seokjin fanfic #seokjin fic #seokjin scenarios #kim seokjin fic #kim seokjin fanfic #kim seokjin scenarios #bts seokjin scenarios #bts seokjin fanfic #bts seokjin fic #bts x reader #bts x yn

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hippohead · 4 years ago

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postcode envy (1/24)

sneaking this in a little late but here is the first part of my contribution to the klaine advent 2020. i wasn’t sure if i was going to do one but then i started talking about southern hemisphere summer christmas klaine and this happened. please enjoy! title from lorde’s royals because it felt fitting, felt right.

read it on ao3

It’s not that Kurt minds it.

It’s just that it’s weird. It’s December, and it’s hot. As in – he's wearing shorts and a simple crew-neck because the sun is out and adamant and any more layers than that would be a hazard. And ever since he landed in Auckland two days ago, he’s been feeling an overwhelming need to stop every person he passes by to double-check that they can feel the heat, too. That this isn’t some insane, sun-craving and sleep-deprived hallucination.

Because it’s December, and it’s hot.

And he knows, logically, that this is how the world works. He’s in the Southern Hemisphere, and it’s flipped, so while all of his friends and family back home are wrapped up in coats and scarfs, everyone down here is very much not. He gets it, he does. But that doesn’t mean that it makes any sense.

“Mōrena, Kurt. We’ll be ready for you in five.”

Kurt smiles pleasantly and nods. He wonders if he can ask the 3rd AD for another fan in his dressing room before she leaves, but it’s his first day and he doesn’t want to rock the boat. Another thing that he knows, logically, is that his is the biggest name in this film, but he really doesn’t want to take advantage of that. Everyone he’s met so far has upheld the Kiwi stereotype of being laid-back and relaxed, and the last thing he wants is to become known as the The American with Diva Tendencies.

Kurt looks down at his iPad. He has most of his lines down – there are a couple of scenes he’s still not certain about and he wants to look them over, but he can’t seem to settle into the script right now. He’s nervous. He’s about to go to the table read and meet all of his co-stars for the first time, and see the director again, and as wonderful as New Zealand is, he feels like he sticks out like a sore thumb here.

The 3rd AD knocks and pops her head back in to tell him that they’re ready to start, and so he follows her down the corridor into a small conference room. There are six people in the room; Curtis, the director, who he met over Skype and who looks just as cheerful in real life, two women who are introduced as the 1st AD and a producer, and three of his fellow cast members.

“Hey, mate,” a woman holds out her hand to him. “I’m Kura.”

He takes her outstretched hand and shakes it, overwhelmed for a second by her warmth and the sparkle in her eyes. “Hi, Kura. Kurt.”

The man to Kura’s left introduces himself as Ben, and to the left of Ben is Zoe. He actually knows of Zoe – she was in something he’d seen at the New York Short Film Festival a couple of years ago, but he can’t put his finger on what it was. Regardless, everyone is lovely to him and after the initial chatter dies down, Curtis clears his throat.

“Uh, hi. As you all know, I’m Curtis. We’re just waiting on Blaine to arrive and then we can get started, but before we do, I just wanted to say thank you all for being here and for being excited about this project. And – well, a special thank you to Kurt for coming all the way from New York to be a part of it. We’re really honoured, Kurt.”

And all of a sudden, there are six pairs of eyes on him, adoring, and he doesn’t know what to do. So he just waves his hand as if to politely dismiss the effort of the eighteen-hour flight, abashed, and hopes his eyes are expressing his beg to not linger on this.

But there’s no chance for lingering – thank god – because the door opens in a dramatic fashion and a man stumbles in. He looks flushed and panting, like he ran here, and it takes him a while to catch up and realise that everyone has turned their heads to him.

“Shit. Sorry,” and he runs a hand through the curls on top of his head, “Traffic was crazy on the Bridge.”

Everyone in the room nods and murmurs as if the words ‘the Bridge’ explains everything, and maybe it does. Kurt looks at who he is assuming is Blaine, the one running late. His and Blaine’s characters in the film hate each other. Not in the cute they’re-actually-in-love-with-each-other way. In the genuine, deep-rooted and are-trying-to-kill-each-other way. It’s a comedy, and a Kiwi comedy at that, so it’s all light-hearted and fun, but still. There is supposed to be real hatred there.

Kurt is going to need to grasp at every thread of acting skills and knowledge and ability that he has, because looking at Blaine -- he's adorable and smiling goofily with floppy hair and wearing a ridiculous short-sleeved button-up that’s covered in little cartoon lobsters, and Kurt already knows from this glance that pretending to hate him convincingly is not going to be easy.

“I was just saying how honoured we all are to have Kurt with us,” Curtis says, and he smiles at Blaine with an ease and familiarity that everyone seems to have with each other. He’s getting the impression that everyone in the industry here knows one another.

And then Blaine scans the room and lands on Kurt, and Kurt tries not to read anything into the smile that breaks out onto his face when their eyes meet. “Kurt, hi. I’m Blaine. It’s lovely to meet you.”

Kurt gets up to take his outstretched hand and all of this – the lingering on the topic of being ‘honoured’ to have Kurt here, and the way everyone knows each other but him, and the standing up in front of everyone to shake a stupidly beautiful man’s hand – isn't helping him to not stick out.

He often wonders how the feeling of desperately needing to stand out, and desperately needing to not stand out, manage to coexist inside of him, but they do. And they’re just as strong as each other, and they account for him becoming an actor, and for him being riddled with anxiety.

Blaine settles into the empty seat beside him and pulls out his script – a giant binder with a paper script inside, and it’s riddled with markings and post-it notes and highlighter. It’s old school. Kurt is used to everyone just having iPads and tablets back home. He wants to groan out loud when he realises that he finds it endearing that Blaine must have printed the whole thing out himself since they all got emailed the scripts, and then he must have punched holes in every piece and put it into his bright green binder.

Endearing. Good Lord, he is screwed.

Curtis had started talking again at some point but Kurt’s already let the general welcomes and housekeeping fade into the background. He knows he should be focusing and listening attentively but just before Blaine had shuffled around on his seat and it had caused their legs to brush ever so slightly together and now he’s overheating.

He’s overheating because it’s hot in December, surely. That’s the only reason why.

He is convincing himself of that when Blaine leans towards him a little bit and out of the corner of his mouth, whispers, “Do you reckon we can hack it?”

Kurt doesn’t want to be rude to Curtis but he gets caught up in a small aside with the 1st AD – who Kurt finally remembers is called Donna – and so he can whisper back, “Hack what?”

It’s the shade of his eyes that catch him off-guard. Blaine turns towards him with a playful glint in the amber, and the amber is so polished and swirling and pretty that Kurt doesn’t know how to place it, and he says, “Hating each other.”

Curtis starts to address the whole table again and so Kurt can’t reply, not really, but he manages a wonky smile and a shrug before he turns back and focuses.

But – no. He’s not sure they can hack this.

He’s not sure he can hack this.

And did he mention it was hot? In December?

#klaine advent 2020 #klaine advent: abashed #klaine fanfiction #klaine #i wrote this!#i'm going to try my best to post every day but #cross ur fingers for me

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selinas-ships · 3 years ago

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Everybody Loves Somebody

I didn't mean for this to turn into a song fic, but it kinda did, and I'm not mad about it.

Also hi, I know it's been a million years lmaooo

With a frustrated sigh, Selene tossed the file onto the table she and Loki claimed, currently littered with papers from various files. “I hate paperwork.” She grumbled, rubbing her eyes and trying to stop the words from swimming in her vision. Stupid, tedious paperwork.

“You’re so good at it though.” Came Loki’s humorous reply. She didn’t need to look at him to see the insufferable grin on his face. And yet she couldn’t help a grin of her own from growing.

He wasn’t wrong, technically. Experience with her father helped her in finding the important information quickly, and the quicker the important information is found, the quicker one can understand the point of the report or the file, and in their case, deduce if it was at all significant to their cause. So far though, there has been little.

“That doesn’t mean I like it.”

“Fair enough.”

The words and phrases of the tedious report she threw on the table finally stopped swimming in her eyes, but she couldn’t bring herself to open them. She was tired. There had been nothing but reports and files on the seemingly countless Loki Variants caught by the TVA for the past hour, and she was tired of it. Tired of reading how Loki made a choice that led him to being happier and fulfilled with his life and how it had to be destroyed for the sake of the “sacred timeline.” There were too many unknowns to make a properly informed opinion about the importance of the TVA and the sacred timeline, but from what she had so far, what was the phrase? She wasn’t a fan.

Soft music suddenly filled the quiet halls of endless bookshelves of files. A string quartet, perhaps? The scale they played seemed a little intense, she thought as she searched for where the music came from, finding nothing of note. And joining the instrumental music, people, a man and a backup chorus, sang.

(Everybody loves somebody sometimes)

(Everybody falls in love somehow)

She closed her eyes again with a smile as a piano and percussion added to the instrumental background. Distracted by the music, she barely registered the sound of chair legs softly scraping against the floor directly beside her until someone took her hand and placed a gentle kiss to her knuckles.

With a quick glance to her left, she found Loki had stood up, holding her hand, his brilliant green eyes meeting hers as he lifted his lips from her hand. It was an action he’d done before, an expectation when greeting royalty, and Loki always had been as gentlemanly as he could when he visited. But it never failed to make something she couldn’t quite name yet flutter in her stomach.

(Something in your kiss just told me)

“Dance with me?” He asked, giving her a soft smile, one he liked to save just for her.

(My sometime is now)

She smiled back, hardly hesitating in her reply. They could make good with a break anyway. “Why not?”

Standing from her chair, she held onto Loki’s arm as he led them to a slightly more open space close to their table. Their next few movements were like clockwork. Her right hand clasped his left as her left rested on his shoulder and his right held her waist in a gentle but firm grip. Loki led them through a slow waltz, Selene following him seamlessly.

One thing she noticed in her now twenty-one years of formal balls and kingdom-wide celebrations with the waltz was, ultimately, it was about trust. The lead had to trust that the follower would follow where they directed, and the follower had to trust the lead to know what step to take next and carry through. A waltz without trust wasn’t a waltz at all, in her opinion. A waltz without trust was less of a dance and more of two fools tripping over each other because they didn’t trust or communicate enough to make it work.

Truthfully, it was a simple way to read a person. Someone who habitually took the lead was likely to be a person used to being in control, whether of a people or of themselves, while someone who typically followed in a waltz might appear to be less of a leader and instead let others take that role, either due to not being confident in themselves enough or because that was the role they played in their society. A dancer experienced in both leading and following is easily inferred to be a flexible individual, neither strictly a leader or a follower, instead being what was needed. An unsure dancer let insecurity get the better of them, while a confident dancer, insecurity still very much a possibility, was far less likely to let their insecurities get in the way.

Loki was both a confident dancer and one who preferred to lead, which would logically mean that he was a person used to being in control of himself and didn’t like letting his insecurities (because Asgardian and a literal god or not, everyone had an insecurity) impede the path to his goal.

But that was something she figured out years ago. This wasn’t a royal ballroom full of formal attire and people of political interest. This was two friends, taking a break, and enjoying something they both found joy in. So she pushed those thoughts to the back of her mind, while trying not to dwell on the memories of balls in a ballroom that now likely rests in dust and dried blood, and instead let herself get lost in Loki’s eyes, in his touch and in his arms, feeling safer here with him than she has during this entire ordeal.

(Everybody finds somebody someplace)

(There’s no telling where love may appear)

His soft smile grew into a wide grin as he dropped his head, his eyes sparkling with mirth and shoulders shaking with barely concealed laughter.

“What?” she asked through a small laugh of her own, dipping her head to meet his eyes again.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” He insisted, shaking his head. “Just remembering the last time we danced like this.”

(Something in my heart keeps saying)

Selene quickly wracked her brain for the memory before it hit her. Ah, of course.

“Oh, you mean the time you dragged me into the gardens to hide after a prank went wrong? One that I told you would go wrong, but you did it anyway?” She asked in a playful, accusatory tone, struggling to stifle her laughter at Loki’s utterly offended expression. She distinctly remembered saying ‘No, Loki, that is a terrible idea, and I will not bail you out of the mess you will cause,’ and Loki proceeding to go, ‘Trust me, it’ll be fine!’

It ended up, in fact, not being fine. It ended up being almost exactly as she predicted, if memory serves.

“Excuse you! You aided in that!” The smile that grew from his expression betrayed his amusement as she raised a single eyebrow, smirking at him.

(My someplace is here)

“How?” she asked dubiously.

“By giving me the idea!”

“And then I told you specifically not to do it!”

(If I had it in my power)

“Oh, here we go again.” Loki sighed as he let go of her waist, Selene subconsciously understanding the cue for him to twirl her, giving him her own offended expression, a gleeful smile poking through.

“Wha-?? You bastard!” She laughed as Loki pulled her back into his arms. It had only been for a moment, but she had already missed his arm around her waist. It was comforting, grounding.

(I’d arrange for every girl to have your charm)

“I’m your bastard.” He quipped, giving her a self-satisfied smirk. He knew he was right. Unbelievable, utter bastard. Her bastard.

“I suppose that’s true.” She dramatically sighed, laughing as Loki stuck his tongue out at her.

(Then every minute, every hour)

(Every boy would find what I found in your arms)

They fell into a comfortable silence after that, Loki leading her through another twirl as she just looked at him. Well, admired is probably a better word. She was doing more than just looking. She noticed the smile on his lips matched the smile in his eyes, the usual tension in his shoulders gone, the way his eyes crinkled in his joy. It made her happy, seeing him and being able to know he was too.

(Everybody loves somebody sometime)

(And although my dream was overdue)

“What?” He asked her, noticing her widening smile.

(Your love made it well worth waiting)

“Nothing. It’s just good to see you smile again.”

(For someone like you)

Staring into his eyes, she could see her words surprised him, but he was quick to come back with a smile that could almost be labeled as shy. “Well. I’ve had good reason to.”

((If I had it in my power))

(I would arrange for every girl to have your charms)

Surprised by his words in turn, Selene ducked her head to get her giddy smile under control a little more before returning to his eyes.

They had almost gone half-lidded, and there was something in his gaze that made her want to smile and giggle uncontrollably, like Rosalind when she talked about her beloved, and kiss him at the same time.

((Then every minute, every hour))

(Every boy would find what I have in your arms)

It really shouldn’t surprise her, the sudden urge to kiss him. This wasn’t the first time she’s had that thought.

(Everybody loves somebody sometime)

(And although my dream was overdue)

This might be the closest she’s come to thinking she may act on it, though.

(Your love made it well worth waiting)

(For someone like you)

Loki led her into a graceful dip, her body and mind trusting him completely not to let her fall. He never did. But she thinks she’s fallen in more ways than one.

((Everybody loves somebody sometime))

As the song came to a close with one last beautiful violin, and Loki pulled her out of the finishing dip of their waltz, Selene couldn’t take her eyes off him. His hair, his eyes, his face, everything about him in this moment, she tried to commit to memory. The way he looked at her, the smile he gave her, the way a curl of hair fell over his ear.

Her eyes trailed down to his lips of their own accord, her hand on his shoulder sliding up to cup his neck. She forced her eyes back to his to find Loki’s gaze at her lips. Sliding the hand still clasped in his free, it moved to his hair, running through his gentle curls and waves.

They had moved closer in their waltz than they did when they started. Where before there had been a respectable distance between them, now their faces were mere inches apart.

Loki’s free hand moved to the back of her head, sliding down to cradle her neck as he nudged her closer, Selene offering no resistance. The tips of their noses brushed together now, eyes meeting and then moving to lips and then meeting again.

Her heart thumped louder in her chest. He was so close, it would be so easy to close the gap and finally know what his kisses are like-

They both jumped at the sound of someone clearing their throat, finding Agent Mobius staring at them with a very unamused expression that would have been a little funny had she’d not been both embarrassed at being caught like this (not that they were doing anything strictly wrong) and frustrated he had interrupted. Who knew when she would get the courage to try that again?

“Oh, I’m sorry, was I interrupting something?”

Normally, Selene would be a bit more diplomatic in her response, saying no and to apologize for making him wait, but Mobius, and to be honest the entire TVA, had a habit of frustrating her, so the snarky response “A bit, yes.” slipped out of her mouth before she could stop it.

Understandably so, Mobius let out an exasperated breath. “Look, princess, you’re here to keep him in check, not to... act on whatever unspoken thing you two have going on.”

“Hey now-”

Oh dear.

Selene quickly put a hand on Loki’s shoulder, taking his attention away from Mobius. “Loki. It’s fine.”

The pout he gave her was unfairly cute. “But it’s not. He shouldn’t speak to you like that.”

“I appreciate it, but I can take care of myself, Trickster. You know that.”

Loki sighed, ducking his head and pressing it against hers, his arms coming up to hold on to her elbows. “I know. I just want to keep you safe.”

Selene let out a sigh of her own. How was he real? What had she possibly done in order to deserve him?

“I know. I’m alright.” She promised, closing her eyes to focus on his touch and proximity.

And Mobius once again interrupted them. “Hey. C’mon, we have a job to do.”

He walked away, gesturing for them both to follow.

Selene looked to Loki again, taking a chance and pressing a kiss to his forehead. “We’ll talk later, okay?”

He smiled again, nodding. “Okay.”

Slowly, not wanting to but not having much of a choice, they let go of each other and stepped apart, hurrying to follow Mobius.

If Loki’s hand sought hers and held on tight, she did not object. Instead, she held on just as tight.

#Loki x OC #Loki Odinson x Selene of Theganda (OC)#F/O Tag: Trickster #OC Tag: Selene #i daydreamed this and so made it a reality #i love them ur honor #they're cute

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sonamy-flashfic · 4 years ago

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So... There was a new Taylor Swift album. I’ve been listening to it lately, so I guess you can probably expect more of this in the future? We’ll have to see, though. Today’s fic is titled after Mirrorball, which is both my favorite song off the album and gives me super strong Amy vibes. I’d recommend listening to it while reading for the ideal experience, but it’s not necessary or anything!

There’s a little bit of background for this piece, specifically its AU designation - I’m not super clear on the storyline, beyond the basics, but I might pursue it further someday. The rough idea being that most of the world’s turned on Sonic for some reason or another, with only a handful believing in his innocence. Still, right now I don’t think I could do justice to a longer, more dramatic storyline like that - I tend to fizzle out after a few parts, most of the time.

Mostly, I thought of a few of the lines of dialogue in this piece first, and the starlit scene, and the rest fell into place. It’s not complete, just a fragment of something I might never come back to, but I hope it’s enough for you to enjoy.

(Please let me know what you think, I’d love to know if I’m doing well at all!)

hush, when no one is around, my dear Universe: Modern/AU Word Count: 742

Tails is asleep, curled in on himself with his tails as a makeshift blanket. Amy sits quietly nearby, watching the starry sky above them.

Sonic leans back against the cliff wall in a casual pose as he voices his question. "Why are you still here?"

She offers a small smile. "I won't leave you," she promises; her hand settling over his. "Why? Did you want me to?"

And it's sweet, but that's not what he asked. "Ah… No, not at all."

"Then what is it?"

"I… You stayed," he mutters, the only solid, coherent thought he can seem to voice.

"Of course I stayed," she says; like it's as simple as that. "I'd follow you anywhere, Sonic. You know that."

"Yeah," he whispers, studying her expression. "I guess I do."

(He's not sure what he knows, anymore.)

"I love you," she tells him, soft and low; like it's a secret, like she doesn't shout it from the rooftops at any opportunity. The starlight above them is reflected in her gaze, the tiniest hint of a mischievous smile.

"I think you're alone in that," he sighs, sorry to shatter her sweet illusion.

Her smile doesn't falter, only softens as she touches his face with her free hand. "No," she says, "I don't think so."

He waits patiently for her to continue.

"I love you. Tails loves you. Cream loves you, Sonic, and Vanilla does too. There are people on your side."

He looks away, shaking his head. "I wish I knew why, sometimes. Still, even if you're right…" His gaze returns to her now, studying her face with a certain intensity. "That doesn't answer why you're here."

"I know you," is all she says at first. Then she repeats it, stressing the word: "I know you, Sonic; you'll always do what you think is right. So I'll always be here for you."

"You never had to follow, though. You chose that."

There's something strange in her expression, something he doesn't understand in her wistful sigh. "You saved me, remember?"

He hums quietly, an acknowledgement of memories that feel like another lifetime now. "It was nothing."

(He was only doing what was right, and that it changed their lives is little more than a coincidence.)

"It was something to me," she says, and there's that smile again; that starlight sparkling in her eyes. "You saved me, and suddenly everything was different... And you were the only thread holding me together; like something was tying me to you."

He's already speechless; but she's not yet done.

"I don't know who I'd be without you, Sonic," she whispers. "I never want to find out."

He keeps studying her face, trying to understand the wonderful anomaly that is the girl at his side. "...So that's how you feel?"

"I lay my heart out before you and that's all you have to say?"

Leaning further back, he closes his eyes. "I'm thinking."

They sit in silence for what might be minutes and might be hours, thinking quietly to themselves.

Eventually, he speaks. "I'm not sure who I'd be without you, either," he tells her, wondering if his words carry the same weight. "I think that maybe... I'd be lonely."

"I love you as you are," she says, and she's still smiling, though he can see the tears glistening in her eyes.

He hugs her; a rare occurrence, but this is a rare occasion. "I know," he whispers, and there are the words with the weight to match her own; heavy with affection and sincerity. "I know you do."

He wants to say more, feels like he should say more; this starlit scene, this sweet confession, deserves better than he knows how to give.

(She deserves better than he knows how to give, too, but she keeps choosing him anyway; and he's not sure how to voice how much that means to him in a way she'll understand.)

"Amy," he murmurs, purely to get her attention.

She looks at him curiously, but as he leans forward and rests a hand on her cheek she seems to realize his intention; and she's leaning into him when he kisses her.

It's awkward and uncoordinated, but sweet all the same, and he only hopes that it's good enough. The faint taste of strawberries on her lips still lingers when they part.

"Thank you," he says softly.

"I… Always," is all she says in return, seeming just a little dazed. "For you, always."

#sonamy #sonamy fanfiction #sonamy flashfic #sonic #amy rose

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officialleehadan · 4 years ago

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Dance the Steps

“I’m no good at romance,” Julian whispered into Cami’s ear, a faint smile caught in the corner of his lips where the cameras were sure to pick it up. “How am I doing?”

“Oh, I’m sure they’re half-frantic to know what you’re saying to me,” Cami whispered back, barely able to suppress her giggles. They were at yet another of Julian’s seemingly-endless social events. The perils, he told her, of being unreasonably wealthy. He was expected to show his face as part of his company’s public relations. The press was, of course, unreasonably excited at the sight of the young billionaire and his mysterious girlfriend. “You should see the tabloids.”

Between the two of them, Julian and Sanderson made sure that Cami’s internet profile, never terribly large given her dedication to her dancing, was spotless. Not that there was much to find before they checked it over. Cami had never been one for internet drama, hated social media sites, and preferred to focus everything on her schooling. Her few pictures were from the occasional vacation and her frequent school performances.

The press was, naturally, fiendishly curious about her.

They were all enjoying it far too much.

“I’ve been keeping an eye on them,” Julian assured her. Now that she knew his secret, and covered for him when he needed it, these events had gone from uncomfortable to honestly fun. Even better, Julian learned quickly and was happy to dance with her whenever the music was right. It got him out of the press of the crowd, and Cami was always thrilled to dance. “You’ll be pleased to know that my public relations department is thrilled with me. We’ve been trending for almost three weeks now.”

Three weeks ago. What had happened three weeks ago? Oh. Right.

“When you showed up at the recital with an entire armload of roses?”

“The pictures are spectacular.”

That had been a great night. The performance went off perfectly, and Cami was delighted to discover Julian waiting as soon as she got out of costume. The aforementioned armload of roses was frankly extravagant, and the pictures hit the front page by the next morning.

Cami’s favorite captured the moment Julian pressed a barely-there kiss to her cheek, framed by roses. Julian’s hair was just long enough to fall in his eyes, and she had still bene in stage makeup with her hair pinned up.

The headlines had a field day, delighted by the contrast of her simple white hoodie and warm leggings to his perfectly-pressed suit. The way he smiled down at her, and how she leaned against his shoulder, tired but happy after her performance.

Sanderson laughed himself sick and teased them both relentlessly during their weekly inventions-yoga-and-plotting get-togethers. Julian, secure in the knowledge he could let his perfect facade fall around them, returned fire with the half-dozen stories that popped up about Sanderson’s supposed relationship with Cami and her reputation for being a gold-digger.

Cami, of course, flounced about dramatically like the disgraced damsel she was, and demanded to know why neither of her rich boyfriends were spoiling her the way she deserved. Clearly, she was the wronged party and her reputation was in shreds and they would just have to fight shirtless below her balcony for the right to marry her and save her from her own wicked ways.

Sanderson’s expression, that of profound distaste at the very thought of being in a relationship with anyone had made her laugh so hard water came out her nose. Julian, of course, stared at her in horror until he realized she was joking, and immediately started cursing as his own invention of the evening shocked him repeatedly.

It was good to have friends.

“I’m hoping we won’t be big news after a while,” Julian said honestly. The waltz was a simple one, and they had learned early on that dancing was the only way to get away from the crowds. “I’m just waiting for some other scandal to hit, and we can fade into the background a little. Not that I’m not enjoying this, but it’s a lot of effort.”

“But more fun than dealing with the busybodies and the fangirls?”

“Watch out for them. They’re determined and some of them are still mad that I’m not remaining the ‘untouchable ice prince’ or whatever they’ve decided to call me this week.”

Worth considering. Sanderson didn’t have any fangirls, besides the truly desperate gold-diggers who stalked anyone with a few million to throw around, but he had the benefit of being kind of odd. If someone bothered him, he just stopped trying to seem normal, and went right off the deep end of weird. It was remarkably effective at getting rid of anyone who thought that the strange, quiet genius was an easy mark.

“What do you say to a getaway?” Cami asked as the dance was winding down. “Your secretary told me that she’s been trying to get you to take a break for months.”

“Where do you want to go?” Julian asked, only a little wary by habit. Cami didn’t take it personally. He trusted her, but there were some things that would only fade with time. “And how long? I can’t be gone longer than a day or two.”

“Sanderson’s parents are having their yearly Fireworks and Food bash for the fourth of July up at their property.” she explained, and took his arm when he offered it. Tonight’s dress was just above the knee, barely loose enough to dance in, and showed off her sky-high sparkling heels magnificently. The shoes, which were surprisingly comfortable to dance in, were also a hazard on carpet, where they tended to catch. “You’ve met them, yeah? It’ll be all about awesome food, campfires, and swimming in the lake. The property has six cottages and a six-room cabin.”

He thought about it. Cami kissed his cheek, something they were both getting comfortable with as they settled into their fake relationship, and went to get them both glasses of champagne.

“I could get away for a weekend,” he told her when she came back, and barely raised a brow when she decided to sit in his lap, rather than a chair. A camera flashed in their direction, and Cami ignored it. “Sanderson dragged me to one of their parties back in college. I haven’t been since then.”

“Didn’t want to go, or didn’t have time?”

“Didn’t have time. It was fun, although there was a lot of people. I’m not sure I want to be around a crowd for a whole weekend.”

“Up to you. There’s no pressure, but you’re invited if you think it sounds like fun. I’m going either way.”

He thought about it some more. Lone enough for a handful of other businessmen to come and go, each of them fishing for gossip, their eyes on the arm Julian wrapped around Cami’s waist when she started to slip off his lap. They were all a bunch of drama hounds, in Cami’s opinion, and she shared classes with people who were literally training in drama.

“It sounds like fun,” Julian told her when the last of the men wandered off, curiosity thoroughly unfulfilled. “When do we go?”

+++

Ballet Heels:

Camille fought and bled to get into Julliard.

Julian fought and bled to build his company into what it is.

He needs a dance partner, and it so happens, she’s good at ballroom.

Cut a Dance Floor

Shuriken Toaster

Agreement in Paper

Friends and Rivals

Arm in Arm (Subscriber Only!)

Secret Steps (Free on Patreon!)

+++

More Stories!

+++

#romance #cute #dancing #love #autistic community #autistic #autistic life #autistic representation

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sweetcatmintea · 4 years ago

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Dogwood & Co scene 1

So I started writing a new wip and figured, hey, why not post it? So, here’s the first scene so far. (It doesn’t have a title yet so the place holder is Dogwood and co.) Image credits are in a reblog so tumblr doesn’t hide this post :v Feedback is always very much appreciated

[image description: a mood board of three images on a herb background. The first is a photo of pair of copper crane shaped scissors. The second is a digital illustration of a person’s eyes. They have brown skin, dark eyes, and curly hair that’s shaved on their right side. They have orange makeup under their eyes. The third image is a photo of a dogwood flower, a white four petalled flower with a yellow centre and dark stem. description end.]

Words: 1858 Trigger warning(s): None. Ask to tag Character(s): Dogwood, Suecica, Hosta, Niobe, and Dogwood’s mother.

---

This is not one of the greats, an epic adventure of brave heroes bringing long overdue justice to an ancient evil. There is no shining knight, nor corrupt monarchy felled. It is a simple story of a young witch and the trials they never imagined themself facing. There is triumph, loss, magic, and food. There is a baker with a wild glint in her eye and a smile so infectious even the cantankerous little dragon is swayed to joy. There is danger, of course, but, at its core, this is a story about love. You may not agree with that at first. That’s fine. This story is not one of the greats, but you have some time and I have a tale so would you lend me your ear and hear Dogwood’s plight?

Death will always follow in your footsteps, an inevitable shadow at your heels, but Dogwood, it will never take you.

To start at the beginning is to start much too early. Instead, we come to meet our protagonist midway through their morning chores, kneeling in clovers and dewy soil, gently snipping countryside herbs with ornate scissors. Brass, carved in a crane’s image, they sat light in Dogwood’s grasp. Suecica, the youngest of Dogwood’s brothers, crouched as close as Dogwood’s movements allowed, eagerly thrusting a basket towards them at the first hint of its necessity. Though his enthusiastic help was in name only, Dogwood was happy for the company. They placed the cuttings with the others, a single fluid movement, never breaking the flow of their work. They mused an explanation here and there, the function of this herb, the necessity of that ritual. For many, it may not have been the fun side of magic, but for Dogwood, it felt like home. Magic was their heartbeat. To teach it was a fulfilment they knew they would not be able to indulge in for much longer. Suecica was a young lad of eight, in but a few more seasons, his own magic would begin to manifest. It was only a matter of time until he made his vows with Nes. Dogwood wondered idly what form Suecica’s Dustmorph would take. A cat like their mother? A fox like their father and brother? They thought a dog might suit him better but there was no way to tell. There was an element of inheritability, to be sure, but the shape of a person’s essence has many hands moulding it. Until he was ready, it was a secret between his soul and the Gods.

The tug of magic pulled them out of their thoughts. Followed quickly by the appearance of The Respected Hosta. Dogwood rose to greet her, wiping their hand on their pants as they stood. Although it was not uncommon to see a witch of Hosta’s status in the countryside, or that she might seek out an apprentice in person, it was strange to see her usual mischievous graces shadowed by a worried brow and stiff gait. Shoulders rigid and back straight, her natural flow was entirely absent. Her robes battled at her ankles as she approached, raising a hand in greeting as soon as she made out the pair. Sharp vision was not a blessing she had claim to. Dogwood wondered, not for the first time, if the snake draped around her neck was a cause or a coincidence.

“Hosta, Niobe, your presence blesses us. What brings you to the country?”

Never one to be left out, Suecica parroted Dogwood’s greeting. “Your presence blesses us!”

Hosta nodded in return. “Your company is appreciated, Dogwood, as is yours young Suecica.” Niobe curved around her wrist, sliding the dimming location charm Hosta had used to find them over his head until it might be needed once more. As he reclaimed it, the magic pull faded to nothing.

“Unfortunately, I am not here for pleasantries. In regard to your recent behaviour, the Council has deemed it appropriate that you are to report to the catacombs on the ninth hour of this night for disciplinary action.” Hosta’s voice was sharp, leaving no room for argument.

The drastic change a slap in the face to Dogwood. They blinked at her, eyebrows arching in surprise. Her stony gaze gave nothing away. Moments lapsed before they remembered they should respond.

“Oh, okay… Will I need to bring anything?”

“No. Do not be late.” With a dip of her head, she turned and left. Niobe stared from her shoulder as she went, studying their reactions with an emotion Dogwood couldn’t place.

The siblings exchanged a look, broken by Suecica jabbing Dogwood in the ribs, laughing as they jolted.

“Ooooh, you’re in TRouBle~”

“It would certainly seem so.” Dogwood shook their head, taking on a mock stern expression. “If you don’t want me to turn you into a toad for that, you’d better run!”

Of course, they weren’t capable of that kind of magic, but that really wasn’t the point. Following a threat through was never the point with siblings.

Suecica shrieked in delight, taking of in the direction of their home. “You can’t run with scissors!!”

Dogwood pocketed the scissors and took off after him. “Don’t think you can escape so easily Sue! You’d better not drop those herbs unless you want to be the one picking them all up again!”

They ran through fields, spooking chickens and amusing friendly neighbours until they arrived, panting, out of breath, at the pink picket fence lining their family property. Sue clamoured through the hard wood door, kicking off his shoes and nearly upending his basket in his haste to enter the house. Fortunately for the pair, Dogwood caught it in time. They followed him inside, slipping their shoes neatly beside the brick wall, and setting the herbs aside to be properly prepared later. Though a chore to some, Dogwood enjoyed each and every First Moon Ritual, the ceremonial burning of hand-picked herbs at the height of night under a new moon to thank the stars for their continued guardianship. There was such a monotonous peace to it, a feeling of belonging and purpose they could seldom word, let alone explain, even to fellow witches. Would they still be able to perform it tonight? Would three hours be long enough for the Council’s intent? Even in punishment, they had always respected the rituals. But then, the whole situation was not quite right, what sway would ‘always’ have here?

Sue thumped down the hallway, nearly barrelling into their mother as she left the nursery. “Mum! Muuumm!! Save me! Dogwood’s gonna turn me into a toad!!” He feigned terror at his sibling’s approach, tucking himself behind her for safety.

Porlock, the sturdy white and red striped cat sitting on her shoulder puffed their fur and hissed at him while their mother scolded his noise.

“Hush, you silly monkey! I just got your sister down!”

“Oops!” He dropped his tone to a stage whisper, grinning sheepishly. “Sorry!”

She sighed, rolling her eyes just as dramatically as his antics, and ruffled his hair. She ushered them away from the sleeping baby. Porlock’s fur settled back to the almost tabby pattern as they left. With a huff, the cat leapt to the floor, plodding back to nursery, their red tail a flag behind them.

The three gathered in the kitchen, Sue fishing a honey biscuit from the tin and offering one to his sibling. Their mother nodded towards the basket.

“How did you go?”

“Good. The plants have grown well this cycle. We found plenty for the First Moon, as well as some to eat. Sue listened to instructions but, unfortunately, will have to live the rest of his life as a toad.”

“That is a shame,” she laughed as Sue whined, “I suppose he will have to develop a taste for flies.”

“Muumm, no! I don’t want to be a toad!” He crumpled into her, the mockery too much to bear.

“Maybe we can work something out. I doubt a toad will be as useful as our little Sue.”

“Muuuuummmm.”

She laughed again. Dogwood’s mother had the warmest smile they had ever seen. Her brown eyes sparkled with so much joy and life, the tired lines running through her skin could do nothing to dampen her spirits. She had always been a lively woman, but fatigue was unavoidable at the moment. Nuttallii, the youngest member of their family, had proven herself a difficult sleeper. She seemed to be committed to keeping their parents awake as long as possible and had shown no signs of slowing her tirade yet. It was only a matter of time until she would though. Just like her siblings before her, Dogwood knew she would learn peace eventually.

Dogwood was the second born and eldest of their three siblings. They did not mirror their mother as Sue and Nut did, sharing her coppery hair and soft face, nor were they made in their father’s image like Cornel, their other brother, carrying his dark locks and straight features. Rather, they were somewhere in between. On multiple occasions, they had been compared to their Grandmother, a portrait of her youth. The same warm russet skin, deep brown, near black hair, and the same ebony eyes that seemed to say more than their face ever could. They missed her dearly, a weakened constitution taking her long before they were ready to say goodbye. It was not the first Memoria Bell they had received but it was the one that truly introduced them to loss.

“Besides, I shouldn’t get punished!” Sue’s face lit up in a treacherous grin, “Since Dogwood was the one who got in ~tRoUbLe~!”

What a brat. Siblings. Honestly.

Their mother paused her teasing, looking to them for an explanation. They’d like one too if it was on offer. Instead, they kind of shrugged.

“Hosta asked-”

“Ordered!”

“… Ordered my presence in the catacombs at ninth hour tonight. I am to be reprimanded for my recent behaviour. She didn’t say what I had done, or really anything else.”

“Except not to be late!”

“Except that. I’m not sure what this is about. The only thing I can think of is falling asleep in the library during studies, but I doubt that would amount to such formal measures…”

A worried moment passed between them. The kind that is all consuming between adults yet hardly noteworthy to children. Though witches may command change from their fingertips, it would seem they turn shy when it is thrust upon them.

Their mother tried to gather herself, putting on faux airs for her children. “Well, there’s nothing much we can do until tonight. I’m sure it is a simple mix up, nothing to fret about.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

She put a comforting hand on their shoulder. It would be okay. They would get through it together if it wasn’t.

“In the meantime, I have some deliveries that need to be made. The Roselia family have several pots to be delivered and Ms. Prunus has a mortar and pestle. Can you take them? If the pots are too heavy, leave them. I’ll get your brother to take them when he gets back.”

---

Tag list

@snobbysnekboi, @inkovert, @kainablue, @i-rove-rock-n-roll , and @goblin-writer

#Writing #writblr #original fiction #original story #original characters #Dogwood and co #my story #Character mentions #Dogwood

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factoffictionwriter · 5 years ago

Link

The apartment was silent when he opened the door, which he immediately assumed was a bad sign. It had been just over a month since they started living together (officially, anyway) and in that time he could count on one hand the number of times when the freshly furnished two-bedroom fell under the category of quiet, and absolutely none of them took place while she was home.

She had been so full of life lately. Always dancing around to some song on the radio as she did chores. Or humming along to another in her head while she cooked. Even when he came home to find her reading, there was always some chatty talk show on in the background, spewing out chaotic streams of a language he wasn’t even able to pinpoint. It was a far cry from her previously calm and pensive nature (“Pensive?” She had chuckled when he pointed it out, “You used to think I was pensive?”), and he had teased her mercilessly for it (when he wasn’t joining in for a clumsy step or a tone-deaf duet).

But now it was quiet and everything was still and he found himself frowning over more than just the twisted feeling in his gut. He’d fallen in love with her noise. Almost as much as he loved her.

His coat found it’s hanger, and his gun found it’s case before the slightest screech of a barstool on tile burst his small bubble of hope that maybe, just maybe, she had run to the store.

He found her in the kitchen, obviously, with her back to the doorway and her shoulders hunched as she maintained a ninja focus on the counter in front of her. She was still in her work clothes: a deep purple polo shirt paired with simple black spandex leggings. Her rise through the ranks from grunt worker to gym manager had been, like most things in her life, startlingly fast. One week she was cleaning toilets and wiping down sweaty equipment, and the next she was teaching krav maga courses 3 times a week and training to run the whole place (at least, that’s how it seemed to Tony who, as everyone knows, hasn’t gotten a promotion in over a decade). And while he hadn’t really understood her move from federal agent to hourly gym rat, she really seemed to be enjoying herself. And he sure was enjoying her.

In the spirit of enjoying (and possibly in response to the weighted slant of her shoulders), he tugged playfully on the end of her ponytail as he walked by, rounding the island toward the fridge. He wasn’t sure what this next conversation held, but he was sure a bottle of water wouldn’t hurt.

If she was surprised by his entrance, she didn’t show it. Some things never changed.

“You’re home early.”

He shrugged, turning back her direction and sliding a bottle her way, “Not really. Looks like you got home late.”

She looked down as if just remembering her attire, “Yes. I, uh, covered Ariel’s shift this afternoon.”

Ariel. Co-Manager of the Washington Street Gym. Also incredibly pregnant.

“Makes sense. She’s gotta be close to popping, right?”

The smile she cracked was small, and obviously suppressed, but he saw it anyway.

“If by ‘popping’ you mean giving birth, then yes. She is due any day now.”

“Bet you’re excited.”

Ariel’s baby shower last month had given Ziva a bad case of baby fever. She gushed over the little outfits and toys for days afterward, and it had taken every trick of redirection in his arsenal to keep them from having that conversation (though he already anticipated his own bought of baby fever the first time he sees her holding her newest friend’s baby, so it was really all in vain).

However, none of that excitement made its way into her reluctant shrug. Which led him back to the issue at hand. Silence. Tense posture. White envelope. White envelope?

“Whatcha got there?” he motioned toward the counter.

Her lips pressed into a line as she reached up to tighten her ponytail, a combination he had come to affectionately refer to as ‘Ziva having a momentary freak out’.

Then she held the envelope out to him.

He took it carefully, squinting at the postmark.

Ohhhhh.

“It’s your acceptance letter,” He nodded.

To which she let out an exasperated sigh, “Or my rejection letter.”

Ziva David, despite all her confidence and badassery, was dead convinced that no college would ever accept her. From the moment she expressed even a little interest in going back to school, he found himself facing an uphill battle just to get her to apply.

“You’re a catch, Ziva. Any Admission’s Officer worth his salt can see that.”

She scrunched her face at him, clearly taking issue with his turn of phrase, but deciding not to question it.

“Have you seen these applications? They are ridiculous!”

The little line on her forehead deepened as she spoke, signaling it was time to change his approach. He turned down the heat on the stove, tossing his hand towel over his shoulder and turning to give her his full attention. Well, most of his attention.

“Hit me.”

Her head snapped up from her laptop screen, confusion written all over it.

“Literally?”

He laughed, “No, Ziva. Not literally. I meant, tell me about the application. Maybe I can help.”

“How could you possibly-” She cut herself off, recognizing the harsh tone of her voice and immediately correcting it, “I mean… what do you know about college applications?”

He scoffed, only half-joking, “I did go to college, you know.”

“Yes, on an athletic scholarship.”

“I still had to apply. And my application was amazing.”

She let out her signature half-laugh, following it up by leaning her chin on her fist, eyes sparkling with amusement, “Of course it was.”

“Oh, it was! I had everything: extracurriculars, volunteer hours, letters of rec. And don’t even get me started on my personal statement,” He traced a slow finger down his cheek, miming a tear.

The line deepened again as she allowed herself a tiny gulp, “I need all of that?”

“I mean, every little piece helps.”

Then she groaned, slamming her computer shut and shoving the offensive device across the counter.

“Forget it! I will never get in.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” he retrieved the discarded piece of technology and opened it back up, “Let’s not drop this on impulse, okay? Start from square one. What do your transcripts look like?”

And that was pretty much how they worked through the entire process: her stubborn insistence that she would never be accepted vs his unwavering faith that she was destined to go back to school. Her transcripts turned out to be outstanding, and Gibbs and Vance practically had a catfight over who would be the first to submit their glittering letters of recommendation. Tony even arranged for the two of them to volunteer at the food pantry a few blocks down (though he admittedly had to bail on their first day due to work, and really only managed to make a couple of their scheduled time slots over the following months).

The whole thing was a lot of work, but it was all made worth it when just moments after hitting the all-intimidating ‘submit’ button, she practically jumped him where he stood.

“What was that for?” He asked between labored breaths, the electricity from her lips and her still wandering hands doing a real number on his already tired mind.

“For believing in me. And loving me. And helping me with my application despite all of my protests,” She rolled onto her toes again, catching his lips for a shorter, less mind-numbing kiss, “And really just for being you.”

“Shucks, sweetcheeks,” He drawled dramatically as he twirled an especially perfect ringlet around his finger, “You don’t have to thank me for any of that. It’s my pleasure.”

She kissed him again, slower.

“I knew you would say that.”

“You know me pretty well.”

Another kiss. She let it linger.

“I do. Which is why…”

This time, just a peck.

“I know exactly what I can do…”

Lingering again. Oh so close.

“To show my appreciation.”

He practically swallowed her final words, abandoning the ringlet curl in favor of grabbing a whole mess of them, using them as leverage to pull her gently to him and to keep her there. As she led him down the hall, far from the kitchen table they had been huddled around before, appreciated was certainly one of the many things he felt.

“Can you open it?”

Her voice snapped him out of what was admittedly an amazing memory. He blinked at her twice before her words actually registered.

“You don’t wanna do it?”

Her ponytail swung emphatically with the shake of her head, “I can’t look.”

“Alright,” He didn’t miss her slight wince at the sound of the envelope being torn.

The print on the letter was ridiculously small. And after a long day of reviewing cold cases, his eyes were a little tired. So the dramatic brandishing of the paper, holding it up, then down, then farther from his face, and finally closer, was more out of necessity than his typical comedic effect. That didn’t stop her from rolling her eyes at his display.

“Alright… what do we have here… Miss David,” He cocked an eyebrow in her direction before continuing, “We appreciate your interest in attending American University in the fall. We know there are a lot of great institutions in the DC area, and we are thankful you considered us to be your educational home. We are especially thankful to your sexy cop boyfriend for buckling down and making sure you finished this application. You should really treat him to dinner some time.”

“It doesn’t say that.”

“Well, it should,” he smirked, eyes darting in her direction briefly, if only to make sure there were no punches or paperclips hurling at his face in retaliation, “We want to make it clear that we reviewed a record number of applicants this year, and were pleasantly surprised with the high quality of work submitted by our prospective students.”

She drew in a quick breath, one that could easily be mistaken for a gasp, and immediately dropped her eyes to the countertop in front of her. He didn’t blame her. This long-winded paragraph was starting to sound bad.

His eyes skimmed the page, searching…

A sigh of relief, “And we are excited to extend this invitation to join us on campus in the fall.”

She didn’t really react at first, just sorta stared at him. Blankly.

“I got in?” Her voice was so small, so quiet that he was surprised he heard it at all.

He turned the paper, holding it up for her to see, “You got in.”

She took it gingerly, eyes flying across the page as she confirmed the information.

“I-I got in,” She repeated.

He was behind her now, snaking his arms around her waist and pulling her against his chest, “I knew you would.”

She was still for a moment, still reading and rereading the tiny script. But then she turned in his arms and her eyes did the thing - the soft, gentle, ‘looking at the love of my life and everything that matters to me in the world’ thing (at least, that’s what he had come to dub it). Of all the new developments on the Ziva mannerisms front, the thing was by far his favorite.

“You did, didn’t you?”

“From the very beginning,” Her hands wrapped around his arms and her lips set in her proud little smirk… he had to remind himself he was mid-thought, “Honey, I got vision.”

Maybe it was his characteristic use of a movie quote, or maybe it was just an extension of her continuing to do the thing for what might be the longest and most glorious run to date. Either way, she rolled onto her toes then and kissed him. Then tried to pull back, but then kissed him again.

“Thank you, Tony,” She mumbled against his shoulder after reluctantly relegating herself there to refrain from more kissing, “For everything.”

His arms snaked farther around her slight frame and he just held her impossibly close for a long, long moment before loosening his grip just a smidge.

“I’ll admit. I had ulterior motives.”

“Oh, yeah?” Her lips moved against the skin of his neck and he realized she had misinterpreted his ‘motives’. And what a shame it was to correct her.

“Yeah. It’s been a while since I dated a co-ed,” The brush of her snorted laughter against the fabric of his shirt was enough of a reward, but she graciously pulled back to bless him with her amused smirk as well. All before the punchline: “And I’d really like to put that back on my resume.”

She laughed heartily because of course she did. It was funny how funny she found him these days.

But then she did something horrible. Blasphemous, really. Just before his kiss, one he intended to keep quick and modest but still felt entitled to enjoy, she slipped beneath his arm and jogged the few steps necessary to disappear around the corner and down the hall.

“Wha-” He muttered when he palms found cold marble where her hips should have been, “Where are you going?”

“To change!” She called back, likely from their bedroom considering the echo.

“...into?” He spared another glance at the discarded letter before pivoting toward the fridge and slipping the page under a souvenir magnet bearing the words “Find me on Island Time” along with a shark wearing sunglasses and a t-shirt labeled TURKS & CAICOS. He smirked at the momento, remembering that shared vacation along with the all the others currently represented by cheesy magnets on their cheesy-magnet-fridge (His title, naturally.) They sure had crammed a lot of trips into their short year together as a couple (thank god for saved up vacation time). They had built quite a history.

A history in which she almost never took this long to answer his questions, which led him right back to her disappearing act just a minute before.

“Ziva?”

“Yes?”

Her voice was closer than he’d anticipated, causing him to step through the doorway leading to the living room only to find her standing in front of the mirror hung just beyond the entryway.

She’d changed, alright. Into a mid-thigh black dress with ruffled sleeves and a thin white belt situated on her waist. Her hair was also down now. Brushed over one shoulder and practically shining in the light of the floor to ceiling windows. Her current task seemed to be earrings as she tilted her head and fiddled with the dangly hoops.

“Wow,” He muttered, finding a spot against the door frame for both support and physical grounding.

She shot him a wink over her shoulder before moving on to the next ear.

“We are going out.”

“We are?”

Once the jewelry was secure and her cursory once-over in the mirror was done she stepped back and turned to face him, allowing for him to complete his once over. Yup. Still stunning.

“In light of our mutual victories today,” She knelt down to fasten a pair of simple nude heels before crossing the living room to stand in front of him again, “I have decided to take my sexy cop boyfriend out to dinner.”

She was fingering his tie at this point as if considering its appropriateness for their intended destination.

“A co-ed who can afford dinner?” He scoffed and reached for her waist, inching her just a little closer so he could rest his hand on her lower back, “You, Miss David, truly are the perfect woman.”

His tie was dropped (evidently having passed its test) and she moved to stroke his jaw. Her eyes started doing the thing and then her lips started doing the other thing - curling into an almost-smile so soft and gentle he was almost positive she didn’t know she was doing it - and he was so sure she was gonna kiss him again, just one more time to tide him over until after dinner when they can really celebrate their victories.

But then she smirked - an expression she definitely knew she was doing - and took a half step back.

“And don’t forget it,” She muttered before turning to retrieve her purse off the coffee table.

He wouldn’t. That much he knew. Things had changed for them over the past year, and they were bound to change again, but through it all there was still one thing he never forgot: Ziva was his perfect woman. And he’d follow her, excessive noise, sweaty gym smell, hideous graduation caps and all, to the ends of the earth. Or to the bistro down the street.

#oops #tiva #fanfiction #tiva fanfiction #happy monday #and happy thanksgiving I guess #I had a little bit of down time thanks to the holiday #so I finally posted this #hope y'all like it #please leave reviews if you can #they really help #or message me #whatever #maybe this will fit mikey's domestic request

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storytellerofuntoldlegends · 6 years ago

Text

Stupid For You

A/N: So I recently stumbled upon this band called Waterparks, and this song just screamed Remile to me for some reason. So here! I wrote a thing! (Also there’s background Moxiety and implied Logince, cause why not!)

Warnings: alcohol mention, kissing, implied NSFW (not really, but it could be seen that way), making out, food mention (lmk if anything should be added!)

Hey, tell me what you want me to say

You know I'm stupid for you

Hey, can you come-a come out and play?

You know I'm stupid for you

Remy lived a simple, routine life. Some would say it was “dreadfully predictable” (his brother, Roman’s words, not his) and that he needed “a spark” or “some pizazz” (again, Roman’s words). But Remy was perfectly happy. Sleep all day, party all night. Oh, and live off of Starbucks. Work was a thing too, he supposed. The bookstore was hella boring, but at least he could flirtatiously tease his best friend, Logan, who ran the place. And Logan didn’t mind that he was late to work half the time, and that he typically strolled in with an iced caffeinated drink in hand. But all of that was upended when the most adorable man Remy had ever seen waltzed into the bookstore, and snatched his heart away on the way out.

I'm color-coding my moods

You're yellow, I'm natural blue

Let's get together and be green like my insides

At least I'll match your eyes

Jealous and hypnotized

Let's match our faces and be equally in love

Remy was fairly certain that Dr. Emile Picani was sunshine personified. Suddenly he understood his brother’s ramblings about needing a spark in his life… Remy just didn’t anticipate getting the whole damn sun. Also, he had the most beautiful sparkling green eyes, which was just unfair. He barely caught half the words the man said as he was checking him out- no, not like that- well, yes like that, but that’s besides the point! The doctor was buying some children’s books… something about a new treatment tactic for his patients. And Remy couldn’t catch anything but his name, thanks to that blinding smile.

Hey, tell me what you want me to say

You know I'm stupid for you

Hey, can you come and come out and play?

You know I'm stupid for you

“Uh, hello? Earth to Remy?” Roman asked, waving his hand in front of his face. Remy shook his head, blinking out of the daydream haze. He promptly realized that he had been aimlessly staring out the window, thinking about Emile. And that it was closing time. And that he promised Roman that they’d hang out after he was done working.

“Sorry gurl, lemme just close up and we can go to this new bar in town,” Remy replied, heading into the back to grab his things. He locked up the cash register, then flicked off the lights and walked outside, Roman following behind him. Remy locked the door to the bookstore before tucking the key in one of the pockets in his messenger bag. Roman’s car was parked out front, and once his brother unlocked the door, he slid into the front seat, putting his feet up on the dash.

“Hey, feet off the dash! Where’s this new bar at?” Roman asked. Remy rolled his eyes, but moved his legs.

“It’s just down the road, hang a right, can’t miss it,” he replied, flicking his shades over his eyes. Roman side-eyed Remy for a moment, then started the car.

“Why are you wearing those? It’s dark out,” Roman pointed out.

“Gurl, I got blinded by a smile made of sunshine today. I need these,” he huffed.

“Drama queen,” his brother muttered.

“Takes one to know one. Just drive, I’ll tell ya when we get there.”

Let's trash our whole afternoon

Reciting recycled news

Until we melt and go back to your hotel room

I'll be your new favorite tune

I'll be your black cloud by June

But only when you miss the rain like I miss you

“So in short, I am a complete disaster gay,” Remy said, once he had explained the whole saga to Roman. The two were sitting at the bar, each of them with a drink in hand.

“I thought you were pansexual?” Roman asked, a perplexed expression upon his face.

“Okay, so I’m a disaster pan. Either way, I’m a disaster,” Remy groaned, setting his drink down and burying his face in his hands. Roman regarded his brother with a curious eye, taking a sip of his drink before speaking up again.

“So… does this mean that you and Logan aren’t dating?”

“Oh. Em. Gee. As if I could stand dating that straight-laced nerd- well, not straight, he’s gay- but the point is he’s got a hell of a stick up his…” Remy trailed off at the look of relief paired with a telltale dreamy gaze in his brother’s eyes. “Holy shit, you have a crush on my best friend.”

“No! Maybe? Not important, we’re discussing your disaster pan problems,” Roman retorted. Remy opened his mouth to snap back, but his train of thought was completely derailed when he saw him out of the corner of his eye. He wasn’t wearing his tie and cardigan, instead wearing a pale pink bomber jacket over his white button up, which was tucked into a pair of black skinny jeans. But it was still definitely Dr. Emile Picani, with those green eyes peering out from behind a pair of glasses.

Just double dare me

And I promise now that I'll stay

It's not like you're married but I still got carried away

“Holy shit he’s here,” Remy gasped. Roman raised an eyebrow, then followed his gaze. A wicked smirk grew over his face, and then he grabbed Remy’s arm and started dragging him over to where Emile was standing.

“What are you doing?!” Remy hissed.

“Solving your disaster pan problem,” he replied. Remy tore himself from Roman’s grip, glaring at him indignantly.

“Gurl, I can barely form coherent sentences when I see him! How’s dragging me over to him gonna solve anything?!” Remy protested, hands gesturing wildly.

“Have courage, dear brother! Speak from the heart, don’t hold anything back!” Roman declared, striking a dramatic pose. Remy rolled his eyes at his brother’s behavior, silently praying to whatever god was listening that Emile didn’t notice them.

“Oh, like you have courage when it comes to Logan?” Remy teased. Roman scowled at him for a moment, before schooling his expression.

“If I promise to talk to Logan, will you talk to Emile?” Roman offered. Remy considered for a moment, then sighed.

“Fine. But it’s-”

“Oh hi! You’re the guy from the bookstore, right?” a voice asked from behind him, and he whirled around to see none other than Emile standing there. Remy could have sworn his heart stopped when those emerald green eyes met his dark brown ones.

“Uh… yeah! What’s up, Doc?” Remy replied, laughing nervously and internally cursing his stupid disaster pan brain for not being smooth.

Hey, tell me what you want me to say

You know I'm stupid for you

Hey, can you come and come out and play?

You know I'm stupid for you

Thankfully, Emile broke down into giggles, a delighted flush coming over his face. And oh boy, if Remy wasn’t a disaster before, he definitely was now from the bubbly laughter spilling from the other man’s mouth. He could practically sense his brother’s smirk from behind him.

“Oh, you just made my day! I love cartoons,” Emile said between giggles.

“Yeah! Uh- cartoons are great!” Remy replied, desperately trying to keep his cool. “I’m Remy, by the way.”

“Emile! But I guess you already knew that, huh?” he said with a grin. That smile must have short-circuited Remy’s brain further, because the next thing out of his mouth he had no control over.

“Do you wanna dance?”

You're playing ring around my head

I wear you like a halo

You're a symphony, I'm just a sour note

I'll take what I can get

The best is hard to grip when everybody wants you

And everybody wants you

You're playing ring around my head

I wear you like a halo

You're a symphony, I'm just a sour note

I'll take what I can get

The best is hard to grip when everybody wants you

It was official, Remy was an idiot. He froze the minute the words were out of his mouth. Emile seemed to freeze as well, a deep flush spreading over his face. But then the grin returned, and when he spoke up again, Remy was about 90% sure he had died. Or was dreaming. Either way, there was no way that what was happening was real.

“Sure, I’d love to dance, Rem!” Emile chirped, grabbing Remy’s hand and pulling him to the dance floor. Okay, he was definitely dead because a gorgeously adorable man just agreed to dance with him, and he was given a nickname by said man.

The music was pounding, some pop song that Remy didn’t care to know the name of. But that didn’t matter because Emile was bopping along to the music, seemingly carefree and unaware of the hypnotic effect the sway of his hips was having on Remy and frankly anyone else in the near vicinity. He blinked and shook his head, joining in on dancing to the beat, ignoring the strange twist in his gut that he got whenever he caught someone else looking at Emile. He shouldn’t be jealous, he had just met the man today! And it wasn’t as if they had any sort of commitment to each other…

His train of thought was suddenly cut off by Emile’s hands on his hips, pulling him closer. They were practically pressed against each other as they continued to dance, and Remy was fairly certain his face was bright red. Emile seemed to take notice of this, frowning with concern as he began to pull away. Remy boldly stepped closer, and Emile’s face flashed with concern before twisting to a more confused expression.

“It’s okay, you just surprised me. What also surprised me was seeing you here in the first place,” Remy explained, and Emile gave a shy smile in response.

“I’ll admit, this isn’t usually my type of thing. But my brother, Patton, and his partner invited me out tonight… and of course, they’ve spent most of tonight making out in the corner,” Emile said over the pounding music.

“That’s lame of your brother,” Remy frowned.

“He’s really very sweet! And Virgil- that’s his partner- has been one of my best friends for a while. It’s just that he’s very gay for my brother,” Emile laughed. “But I’m glad I found you.”

Hey, tell me what you want me to stay

You know I'm stupid for you

Hey, can you come-a come out and play

You know I'm stupid for you

That was it, Emile was definitely going to be the end of Remy. Sweet and adorable, yet incredibly gorgeous and alluring. He wasn’t sure just how much more of this he could take!

“Emile- I… what’s happening?” Remy blurted. Emile grinned again, and he was fairly sure his heart was about to leap out of his chest with how fast it was beating. Emile leaned closer, and all of Remy’s thought processes seemed to cease.

“What do you want to happen?” Emile purred into his ear. On the outside, Remy seemed stock-still and silent, but on the inside he was screaming and everything was on fire. Emile pulled away to look him in the eyes, his grin having morphed into more of a playful smirk.

“I- um… well…” Remy trailed off, seemingly unable to form words. Emile’s smile became soft once more, and he wrapped his arms around Remy’s waist, his touch like tingling fire.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked sweetly. Remy’s eyes flew wide, and he barely nodded before surging forward and capturing Emile’s lips with his own.

You're playing ring around my head

I wear you like a halo

You're a symphony, I'm just a sour note

I'll take what I can get

The best is hard to grip when everybody wants you

And everybody wants you

The kiss was tantalizingly sweet, yet somehow burning hot at the same time. Remy couldn’t seem to get enough of Emile, arms wrapping around him, one hand pressing into the small of his back, while the other slid up his back, to his neck, to tangling into his soft curls. Emile made a soft sound into the kiss when Remy ran his fingers through his hair, and yup, Remy was definitely done for.

“As much as I like kissing you, don’t you think I should take you out to dinner sometime first?” Emile murmured into his mouth, once they had pulled apart to breathe.

“What if I take you to dinner first,” Remy huffed, pulling him into another kiss. Emile giggled into the kiss, and Remy found himself smiling against the other man’s mouth.

“Oh, challenge accepted,” Emile said after pulling away again.

“It’s on, babes. How about I get your number?” Remy smirked. Emile laughed, pulling away from Emile and walking away from the dance floor. There was a slight sway to his hips, which he definitely was doing on purpose, if the dazzling grin he threw Remy over his shoulder was anything to go by.

“I’m not letting you win that easy!” he shouted. Remy laughed, following after Emile.

And everybody wants you

Remy eventually got his number… but it wasn’t until the following day, when Emile showed up at the bookstore, telling Remy that he was taking him to dinner after work. The dinner date was fantastic, and if they made out in the booth at the restaurant more than actually eating… well that was their business. That date led to another date… and then another… and another… Remy couldn’t be happier. He could hardly imagine his life before Emile, and sure, he still got a little frazzled whenever Emile smiled at him, soft and adoring… but Remy wouldn’t trade that feeling for anything in the world.

General Tag List: @adorably-angsty @alix-the-skeleton @allthemetalsoftherainbow @armageddonhascome @backatthebein @bangthekobrakid @bloodropsblog @cefinitely-rolo @coffeestudylive @cosmic-chu @cyndaquil17 @dani-jeanso @didsomeonesayprince @emphoenixcat @every-day-insomniac @fandomsandanythingelse @freekiphotography @freepaperie081 @hanramz-the-fander @i-need-a-social-life-2710 @i-really-dig-the-purple @ironwoman359 @justanotherpurplebutterfly @kanejandkruge @kitsuneprideleader @kittycake574 @le2712 @littlemiracle05 @loganpatton @lollingtothemax @look-its-meme @loverofpizzaandallthingssweet @lynlinked @mewsicalmiss @midnightcandy @moonstonefox @musicsavedmefromdeath @mystrangedarkson @nightmarejasmine @not-as-smart @of-treble-and-dragons @punsterterry @purplepatton @quoth-the-sparrow @radioactivehelena @royallyanxious @ruuworld @sanders-trash-4ever @save-me-oh-dream-of-mine @shadowsfromthesun @shygirl4991 @sleepyssnail @softbludemon @softnic @sombraplayslazertag @sweetinsomniac @the-fandoms-are-takin-over @theresneverenoughfandoms @thisrandomperson102 @thuriweaver @vigilantvirgil

#sanders sides #remile #moxiety #logince #remy sanders #dr. emile picani #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #human au #sage writes

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noneya-business-me · 6 years ago

Text

His Majesty

Summary: After all the danger that class 1-A gets into, Nezu sends them to the museum to give them a relaxing break. When Kirishima and Bakugou start exploring by themselves they find out something about themselves and more...

“Everyone pack up your bags, and head outside to the bus.” Aizawa stated, unzipping out of his sleeping bag.

“Where are we going?” Ashido asked, raising her hand.

“Oh, I didn’t tell you?” Aizawa asked, staring at her.

There was a collective affirmative from the class. “Nezu wants to start including arts into your lesson plans considering the amount of danger you’ve been in lately due to hero training.” He replied, “The museum in Tokyo brought in a new collection of art and artifacts from the medieval times.”

Some the students nodded in excitement while the rest yawned or groaned. “You can complain all you want, that won’t change our plans.” Aizawa sighed.

There was the sound of scrapping chairs as everyone got up and left the classroom. “Are you excited Bakugou?” Kirishima asked, throwing an arm around his shoulders.

The blonde shrugged with a sneer. “I’ve been to a shit ton of art museums with my parents.” He replied, “If you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all.”

Kirishima’s smile dimmed a little before coming back full force. “I think there’s always something new to see!” He stated.

Bakugou stared at him for a moment before scoffing, “whatever.”

They mostly sat in silence on the hour long bus ride into Tokyo, with Bakugou shoving his headphones into his ears as soon as he sat down. They got off the bus and stood in front of the steps of the Tokyo National Museum, waiting for their guide to show up. “Wait here.” Aizawa stated, going up to the doors and entering.

“This is going to be fun.” Kirishima said, with a wide grin.

“I didn’t know you were that into art shitty hair.” Bakugou chuckled.

Kirishima shifted embarrassed. “Yeah, I think it’s really interesting.” He replied, “no piece of art is the same.”

Bakugou stared at him before smirking. “I guess you’re right.” He shrugged.

“The guide is running late.” Aizawa said, calling down to them from the top of the steps, “for now, you can roam around by yourselves.” He glared at them slightly as he passed out their badges and maps. “Do. Not. Get. Into. Trouble.” He growled, “I will know immediately if you do something stupid.”

They nodded to him nervously as they split into different groups. “Let’s go here!” Kirishima said, grabbing Bakugou by the arm and dragging him away from the larger group. “It’s that medieval stuff that Aizawa was talking about.”

They walked into a side gallery that had suits of armour lining the hallway. Kirishima opened his map, “I’m guessing mostly everyone is going to see the quirk related stuff.” He suggested, looking at the layout of the gallery.

The exhibit was set up kind of like the corridors of a castle. The first hallway being focused around armour. They continued down the hallway until it ended and separated to the left and right. At the end of the hallway was a glass case that held weapons. There was a set of duel wielding daggers and a large cutlass. The cutlasses handle was golden and carved into the shape of a dragon, the same dragon design was engraved into the blade of the sword. Bakugou’s eyes widened as it sparked some kind of recognition in him. He lightly touched the glass, over it staring intently. Beside him, Kirishima seemed to have the same feeling about the daggers. He stared at them before he shook his head, and looked down at his map. “If we go that way, it has paintings and stuff.” He said pointing to the left, “and over there is clothing and jewelry.”

Bakugou seemed to shake out of his trance, and looked over at the red head. “Right.” He stated, “let’s go to the right.”

The other nodded and turned to turn into the next room. The room was styled like a master bedroom with a bed roped off, but still vibrant regardless of being thousands of years old. There was a massive armoire, decorated with plants and flowers. There was a wash basin, a leather room divider, and large mirror. Over by the armoire there was another glass case that displayed jewelry. There was a pair of red spike earrings, and three different coloured bead necklaces, and one with three sharp teeth that were strung on a leather cord. Kirishima unconsciously pressed his tongue against the sharp teeth that sat at the back of his mouth. Bakugou let out a shaky exhale as he softly touched the glass again. “They’re safe.” He whispered with a sad smile.

“What?” Kirishima asked confused, although he could feel his own relief at the discovery.

“I..I don’t know.” Bakugou replied, turning to look around the room more. It seemed more in nostalgia than curiosity at this point.

He stopped in front of the mirror, where the fur neck lined red cape hung off a mannequin. Next to it stood a complete recreation. “You should put it on.” Kirishima urged, nervously.

“Why should I?” Bakugou replied, just as nervous.

“There’s something going on here Bakugou.” Kirishima stated.

Bakugou bit his lip and nodded, reaching out to touch it. “They didn’t use the right fur.” He thought almost immediately freezing in his action, “Jesus, it’s a reproduction, of course they didn’t.”

He slid his arms into the leather bands, and hiked it up to his shoulders. The fur settled comfortably around his neck and face, feeling familiar and comforting. He seemed to take his first fresh breath of air since he got here. He stared into the mirror in front of him, it was like he had always worn it. He glanced at Kirishima in the mirror who was staring in awe, with sparkling eyes. “You look amazing my King!” He cheered, before covering his mouth with his hand. “I mean Bakugou.”

Again, it didn’t seem strange coming from Kirishima’s mouth even though he had never said something like that before. Bakugou turned towards him, the cape swishing around him dramatically. “How does it feel?” Kirishima asked, with a grin.

“Warm.” Bakugou replied simply, crossing his arms, “I don’t know about the shirt though, it seems a little much.”

“Then take off the shirt.” Kirishima replied, with a shrug.

“I can’t just take off my shirt you idiot.” Bakugou snapped, “we’re in a museum with people.”

“UA rented out the museum today because we were coming.” Kirishima said, “perks of being a well known school I guess.”

Bakugou looked at him almost in concern before shaking his head. “Fuck it.” He said, taking the cape off and pulling his shirt off and replacing the cape. “That’s much better.” He sighed, rolling his shoulders a bit.

“That looks more…” Kirishima stared, “right.”

“It looks more right?” Bakugou smirked, “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know, it looked weird with the shirt.” Kirishima shrugged, walking back out into the walkway.

“Where are you going?” Bakugou called, following him.

“I want to see the art now.” He replied.

They walked into the gallery to see many painting hanging on the wall, with benches scattered around. There were a lot of landscape paintings of mountains, valleys, and even some castles. They paused to gaze longingly at a painting of a forest of tall trees. The next was of a massive red dragon, with its wings spread out to catch the wind. He seemed to be in between the mountains and forest, with a lake separating the two. “That’s me.” He stated, just as Bakugou spoke. “That’s you.”

They looked at each other with wide eyes, before bursting into laughter. “How is this possible?” Kirishima asked, gripping his hand.

Bakugou just shook his head in silence. They continued down the hallway, seeing different people that looked familiar. Until they came to the last room that had a floor to ceiling portrait. He looked extremely regal. His head was held high, the red of the cape blended perfectly with the paleness of the blondes skin. His eyes almost seemed to glow as they gazed softly from the canvas. The silver crown that sat on his head was simple but on him it seemed like the most precious crown that ever existed. In the background of the portrait, the redhead stood proudly with the duel daggers on his hips. The two stared at the painting in awe. “It’s pretty spectacular isn’t it?” A voice asked behind them.

The two didn’t even turn to acknowledge them as they continued. “From the research that the team did at these ruins, this used to be the ruler of this part of the world, along with his companion in the back.”

They chuckled coming further into the room. “He brought peace to the war torn land, and helped to create the world we know today. He was even rumoured to have flown a dragon instead of riding a horse! Hence, the painting of the dragon in the other room.”

He stopped behind them, gazing up to the painting as well. “They never knew where the dragon went though, they were never able to find any of it’s bones at the sight so they think that must have been a mistranslation.”

“He’s right there.” Bakugou sighed dazedly, pointing to the red head in the back, “he was always there. To the end.”

The person was quiet after his statement. “That cape is actually supposed to stay in the other-“

His mouth snapped shut as Bakugou turned around to stare at him. His expression identical to the one in the painting, the same for Kirishima. The man wheezed in disbelief. “He was a trusty steed.” Bakugou continued, “as he is now as well.”

The man rubbed his hands together, “I dated that painting myself. It’s thousands of years old.” He muttered to himself.

He started pacing back and forth in front of the two, rubbing a hand on his forehead. “Is it possible?” He stopped to look at the blonde again, glancing at the painting too. “What kind of fur was the cape made with?”

“Dire wolf from the Northern lands.” He answered immediately.

The man squeaked again. “Are you him?” He asked hesitantly.

“I am.” He replied, “I used to be I guess.”

They all stared at each other, until a gentle smile crossed the mans face. “It’s an honour to meet you your majesty.”

“It’s been awhile since I’ve heard that.” Bakugou smirked.

“Would you be able to answer some questions for me about some of the items in the collection?” The man asked hopefully.

They went back into the other room. To the jewelry case. “I wanted to say thank you for protecting these.” Bakugou stated, motioning to the beads, “they’re extremely important.”

The man nodded, “and you’re sure they’re yours?” He asked.

Bakugou nodded, “They still have a little magic left in them.” He said, he stared longingly at them.

“Do you want to put them on?” The man asked, pulling out a set of keys, and undoing the lock.

Bakugou reached out and lifted them over his head, letting them rest against his skin as he put the earrings on as well. “What do they mean?” The man asked, “You said they were important.”

“They’re both a way to show your status and passed on as precious heirlooms.” He replied, rubbing his thumb against one of the fangs, “they’re also a way to show loyalty like with this one.”

He lifted the leather one up with the three fangs on it. “This one was the dragons oath.” He stated, “he spit them out after our fight and gave them to me as a pledge.”

The man nodded in amazement. “What about the cape?”

“There was a reason I didn’t wear armour.” Bakugou scoffed, “the cape was blessed with magic by an old friend with many protection spells. That’s why even after thousands of years there’s nothing wrong with it.”

The man moved forward again with his keys and opened the case, holding it gently as he passed it over to Bakugou. “Go on.” He urged with soft eyes.

Kirishima helped him slip off the recreation and put on the original with a contented sigh from Bakugou. “That’s the feeling I’ve been missing.” He sighed, “it was passed on through many generations of my family until I had it blessed.”

“It’s quite torn at the bottom though.” The man stated, looking at the torn bottom hem.

Bakugou lifted the bottom up with his hand. It was a large cape, still reaching the ground, and enough to still wrap around him. “I gave part of it to Kirishima.” He said, “to share my blessing with him when we went into battle.”

The man nodded excitedly, writing down everything in his notebook. He kind of reminded Bakugou of Midoriya. “Where did-“

“What are you doing?!” A shrill voice yelled, “you can’t have that on! That’s a fragile artifact!”

The trio looked over at the entrance of the door when a lady with short grey hair was leading their classmates around. Aizawa had a palm to his face, grumbling to himself. “It’s quite alright.” The man said, stepping in front of them.

“Mr. Fukujirou?” The lady questioned in disbelief.

He smiled at her and the group. “I’ve found the one I’ve been looking for.” He stated, with the same smile, “I was just about to give his majesty his belongings back.”

“What?” The woman stuttered.

“His majesty?” Aizawa questioned just as confused.

“My quirk allows me to interact with reincarnated souls and be able to get their precious items back.” He explained, “it just so happens that my intuition lead me to set up here.”

He smiled at the blonde who seemed just as taken aback as everyone else. “That was the reason I became an archeologist.”

“You probably don’t have the room to take them with you now, but you both will be pro heroes soon so I can safe keep some of the items?” He offered.

“Yes.” Bakugou replied, simply, “I’m taking the painting of Kirishima with me.”

He nodded as the group followed them back into the room with paintings. They all gaped at the massive portrait of the blonde, while Mr. Fukujirou pulled the smaller painting off the wall, and into Bakugou’s arms. The woman squeaked in distaste. “I don’t think this is right!” She argued, “you can’t just give these away!”

“It’s not really up to you, is it?” Mr. Fukujirou said, suddenly cold, “I’ve made it my job to get these back to their rightful owners, and these are the kings.”

She crossed her arms in embarrassment, but stayed silent off to the side. “Wow Blastly, so it’s really true?” Ashido asked, coming up to them.

He nodded in affirmation. “That’s wild.” Kaminari whistled.

Bakugou stared at them as they chattered away. He thought wistfully, “Maybe someday they’ll remember as well.”

#my hero academia #boku no hero academia #bnha #bakugou katsuki #kirishima eijirou #fantasy au #reincarnation au #king bakugou #dragon kirishima #class 1a #fanfiction #fanfic #katsuki bakugou #memories #museum #art

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rainbow-sides · 6 years ago

Text

Anomalies: Chapter Seventeen

Summary: Anomalies is about different reactions to grief and how four brothers each respond to the death of their mother. The oldest brother, Roman, gets custody of the twins, Patton and Virgil, and the youngest brother, Logan, after their mother’s death. Virgil is also trying to navigate through a multitude of anxiety disorders, including OCD and trichotillomania, with the help of his brothers and his therapist, Dr. Picani. But meanwhile, Roman isn’t sure he can handle the responsibility of taking care of his brothers, Logan doesn’t process loss in a way most people can understand, and Patton isn’t nearly as okay as he seems…

Warnings: Death of a parent, grief, cancer mention, mention of attempted suicide, mention of severe depression and self harm, gift-giving, food, Christmas.

For a list of the content warnings for the whole story as well as more information, please see this post. Please heed the warnings and stay safe.

Word Count: 3,236

Notes: This is mostly just the Christmas chapter, with bonus Remy! <3 ~Martin

Masterpost to All Chapters

“Don we now our gay apparel, eh?” Roman called, bounding into the living room wearing a slightly ugly rainbow Christmas sweater. He laughed at Logan and Virgil’s groans, and at Patton’s delighted squeal.

“Can't we just open presents?” Logan complained. “A fashion show is not necessary.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Roman tossed a package to each of his brothers. “Actually, a fashion show is absolutely necessary. Go on, I want to see you all wearing them!”

The tearing of wrapping paper filled the room. There were sounds of delight as everyone saw their sweaters. “Are these hand-knitted?!” Patton exclaimed.

“I didn't know you could knit,” Logan said, stroking the soft material and smiling.

“My friend Kelly from work taught me and helped me,” Roman explained. “I've been working on them for months.”

“They're beautiful,” Virgil said softly. “Thank you.”

Patton had already put his sweater on and ran over to hug Roman. “Thank you, I love it!”

Roman squeezed him tightly. “Love you, Pat.”

“My turn!” Logan scrambled to hand Patton a large, heavy package.

Patton opened it and looked at it confusedly for a second before his eyes widened. He pulled out a large, blue and grey plaid quilt. “Is it a weighted blanket?” he asked.

“Yeah, it's heavier than mine because they're supposed to be twenty percent of your body weight,” Logan said. “I thought...you might like one. They're grounding.”

Patton had sat down on the ground and was wrapping the blanket around him, an expression of pure contentment on his face. “It's so cozy and warm and soft,” he sighed happily. “Virgil, come share!”

Virgil slid under the corner of the blanket. “Oh, this is a nice one,” he said. “It is really soft, you're right.” He nestled down in the blanket next to Patton, closing his eyes.

“We're not getting them out of that anytime soon,” Roman laughed. The twins looked very comfortable. “Maybe you should've saved that one for last, Lo.”

“Perhaps you're right,” Logan said. “I do have a gift for you, too, but I think it would be better if I showed you later.”

Roman tilted his head. “Some big secret?”

“Yes, exactly. Can we give Virgil our present to him instead?” Logan suggested.

“If we can distract him from the blanket for long enough,” giggled Roman. He picked up the box under the tree that had Virgil’s present that he and Logan had gotten together.

Virgil reluctantly pulled his arms out of the blanket to take the box into his lap. “It's heavier than it looks,” he observed. He carefully sliced through the tape on the package with his fingernail and took the wrapping paper off in one piece. There was a long pause where he just stared at it. “Whoa,” he breathed.

Logan and Roman exchanged a glance. “Do you think he likes it?” Roman asked.

“Hm, I'm not sure,” Logan replied.

“I think he needs to tell us what he thinks,” Roman said, reaching out to poke Virgil. “Hello? Anybody home?”

“I...I wasn't expecting…”

“If you don't want it, give it back,” Roman teased.

“No, it's mine!” Virgil retorted, hugging the box to his chest. “Oh, my god, guys!” He looked close to tears.

“You better take lots of pictures with that,” Roman instructed. “That is a good camera.”

“Yeah, I know! I haven't...I haven't been taking many pictures lately,” Virgil confessed.

“I know.” Roman reached over and put his hand over Virgil’s. “This is so you start again. Okay?”

Virgil nodded. “I will, I promise. Oh, Roman, Logan, thank you!” He blinked his tears away and smiled. “I love it.”

“It was Logan's idea,” Roman made sure he knew. “I just provided some of the funds.”

Already opening up the box, Virgil said, “Its battery needs to be charged...but I should be able to start taking pictures tonight. Oh, it's beautiful!”

“I'm glad you like it!” Logan said.

“Here, this one is for you,” Virgil told him, handing him a thin, flat box. “I...um, it's from a while ago, but I gave it some new life.”

Logan opened the side of the box to slide the picture frame out. His face didn't give much away, but his eyes sparkled as he turned the frame around so everyone could see it. Roman recognized the picture as being from a photoshoot that Virgil had made them do at the beginning of his photography class last year. He had taken them all out to a field in the middle of the night, all of the brothers and their mom, and taken pictures of them sitting together with their backs to the the camera, holding hands and gazing up at the sky. They had to sit very still, Roman remembered, because Virgil had set the shutter speed slow enough to capture the light of the stars. They shone clearly in this photo, probably having been enhanced, and thin white lines had been added between some of the stars to form the constellations.

“It's alright,” Logan said in a small voice, but it meant so much more, and Virgil understood.

“Good, I'm glad.” Virgil looked at Roman and Patton. “I hope you like it, too, ‘cause you all get photos.”

“Well, hand them over!” Roman took the package that Virgil held out and opened it. “Ahh,” he breathed as he opened it. It was a very simple photo of himself sitting on the edge of the stage at the community theater, deep in thought and not aware of the camera. The golden lighting and red curtains behind him made the picture seem more dramatic than it probably had been at the time. Roman’s shape was slightly out of focus, more the background than the subject. The silhouette of three people sitting in the audience was the foreground of the photo, and Roman recognized their shapes as being Logan, Patton, and their mother. The rest of the audience was empty. Roman didn't even remember sitting there like that. He had no idea that Virgil had taken his picture. “It's really nice, Virge. Thank you.”

Virgil gave him a thumbs up and a smile, and then passed Patton the third package. It was a smaller frame, and Patton stared at it for a long time before he showed the others. Virgil watched him carefully, pulling the blanket tighter so he could snuggle closer to his twin.

Roman didn't say anything when he saw the photo, just nodded. There was a sudden lump in his throat.

“Your first homecoming,” Logan stated.

In the photo, Patton was standing with a bright smile, holding their mother's hands as she laughed about something. He was wearing the dress he had fought the administration to be able to wear to the dance in support of their trans and nonbinary friends at school, and she was just in a t-shirt and jeans, but she looked beautiful. She had always been beautiful, even when the cancer had made her thin and weary, her hair fallen out from the chemotherapy. But this was before the cancer has touched her--or perhaps it was already there, and they just weren't aware of it yet. Her diagnosis had come just a couple months after this picture had been taken. It captured a moment of pure joy, and Patton stroked the glass of the frame lovingly and longingly. He didn't seem to have any words. After a few more seconds, he turned to bury his face in Virgil's shoulder, hugging him so tightly that Virgil coughed.

“Patty, I'm glad you like it, but I can't breathe!” he yelped.

“I love you so much,” Patton whispered, barely audible. He loosened his grip. Virgil got his arms out to hug him back.

Roman waited a minute, then said gently, “Patty, are you gonna give us your gifts or should I grab them from under the tree myself?”

“You do it,” Patton responded, muffled. He was crying a little bit, and Virgil rocked him back and forth.

“It's okay, Patty, we can wait,” Roman said, sliding closer to the twins and touching Patton’s shoulder. “Take as long as you need.”

“N-no, you get the p-presents,” Patton stumbled. “Yours is from both of us.”

Roman took the gift bag addressed to him and opened it, gasping at the beautiful notebook and pen set inside. “Oh, it's gorgeous! Oh, thank you, I'm gonna write such good words in there, you have no idea.”

Patton was smiling and wiping his eyes, sniffling a little. “Glad you like it.”

“Someday when you're rich and famous, you better not auction those away,” Virgil teased. “Unless it's for charity, I guess. ‘This is the pen that the great Roman Sanders wrote the first lines of his award-winning script with!’”

Roman laughed. “I wouldn't auction it away, don't worry.” He handed Logan the other gift bag. “What's in here, hm?”

There was an actual squeal of delight that came from Logan's mouth as he pulled the book out of the bag. “Patton, this is wonderful, it's exactly what I wanted!”

“May it bring you hours of joy from reading it,” Patton told him.

Logan was already flipping through the pages of the collection of Sherlock Holmes stories, making ecstatic remarks about each one he came to. They all listened fondly as he talked. Virgil opened his gift from Patton, putting the sweatshirt on and smelling the purple candles with a content expression.

Roman eventually managed to drag them all to the kitchen to make pancakes, which was almost a disaster because one of them burnt so badly it started smoking, and they narrowly avoided setting off the fire alarm. It turned out fine, however, and the pancakes were delicious. Christmas movies followed, starting with The Nightmare before Christmas by Virgil’s request.

Halfway through It's A Wonderful Life, the house phone rang. Roman flinched. Hardly anyone called them there.

“Are you gonna answer it?” Patton whispered. “We can pause the movie.”

“It's fine, you don't have to pause it.” Roman wriggled out from underneath the excessive amount of blankets they were cuddled under and ran to get the phone before it stopped ringing. “Sanders residence.”

“Hey, girl, merry Christmas.”

Roman bit his lip. “Rem, this isn't the best time.”

“Please?” Remy begged. “Please, you haven't answered my calls in months and I just wanna talk for a few minutes.”

“Okay, okay! Fine. Hold on.” Roman came back over to the couch. “It's Remy,” he whispered. “Don't pause the movie, I'll be back in a few minutes.” They all gave him a sympathetic look. Roman fled to his bedroom and closed the door behind him, sitting on the bed. “Yeah, Remy. I'm here.”

“Girl, oh my goodness, it's nice to hear your voice,” Remy sighed. “You okay?”

“I'm…” Roman hesitated. “Yeah, I'm okay.”

“Okay, I know you've...had a lot going on,” Remy said. “And I know you've needed to spend your time taking care of your baby bros. But...I've been kinda worried about you. All of you. Can I have any sort of an update?”

Roman clutched the phone tightly and said nothing. This was hard. Really hard. It was hard to talk to Remy after everything that had happened between them.

“Ro, honey, listen. I'm good with giving you as much space and as much time as you need, I promise. I told you that before, and I'm telling you again now. I'm waiting, for as long as it takes.”

“I know,” Roman managed. “And I love you for it. You deserve better, someone who can actually be there for you--"

“Don't you start that again,” Remy warned him.

“Sorry.”

“It's okay, girl, it's okay.” Remy paused. “How's Patton? Poor baby.”

“He's doing better,” Roman answered.

“Yeah? Oh, that's good, that's good, I've been so worried about the kid. Miss him. I see Virge sometimes when I'm helping out in the school theater, but he doesn't talk much. And how's the baby genius?” asked Remy.

“Logan's doing pretty good.”

“And how are you?” Remy said seriously. “Roman. Be honest, ‘kay?”

“Rem...if I'm honest, I'm gonna start breaking down on the phone with you,” confessed Roman, his voice shaking. “I can't talk, not really. Not yet.”

“Come see me soon,” Remy said softly. “Come see me when you can talk, really talk. I'll be here."

“I know. I know.” Roman swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Merry Christmas, Rem.”

“Yeah, girl. Merry Christmas. Love you.”

“I love you.” Roman hung up quickly before he could start crying. He closed his eyes. After a minute, he stood up and went back to the living room. He slid underneath the blankets next to Patton and grabbed his hand, fixing his eyes on the movie.

“You okay?” Patton whispered softly.

“Hardly,” replied Roman.

“Is Remy okay?”

Roman squeezed his hand. “He's fine. Shhh, talk later.”

“Promise?”

“Yeah, I promise. It's okay.” Roman smiled reassuringly at him and kept watching the movie.

Late that night, after Roman had talked to Patton a little bit about the phone call and everyone was supposed to have gone to bed, Logan came into his room.

“Hey, nerd, what's up?” Roman yawned.

“Did you forget? I have a present for you,” Logan said.

Roman eyed him suspiciously. Logan didn't seem to be carrying anything. “Okay, where is it?”

“It's not an object.”

“Okay...what is it, then? You've sufficiently piqued my curiosity.”

“Promise you won't be angry?”

“Uhhh...tell me what it is, first.” Now Roman was slightly worried.

“It's just, I did it without your permission--but if it's not something you want, it's easy to back out, I promise, I did a lot of legal research, and nothing is actually signed, of course.”

“Logan,” Roman said calmly. “What did you do?”

“I got you a book deal.”

“A...book deal.”

“With a publisher. A small publisher, but a legitimate one. Like I said, I did a lot of research. And you can back out of the contract at any time.”

“Okay, first of all, how?” Roman demanded. “You're fourteen!”

“I registered myself as a literary agent with a company that didn't have an age restriction, and I communicated with the publishers only via email,” Logan answered. “I, well, I got the idea from School Story, by Andrew Clements.”

“Oh, you did, did you?” Roman scoffed. “Is this legal?”

“Morally dubious, but technically legal. And the publisher wants your book, Roman. They aren't supposed to sound eager, but the way she was talking about how much promise your novel has and how much she liked your writing, and the deal she offered you...of course you should look at the contract before you sign it. I just…” Logan shifted where he stood. “Perhaps this was a bad idea.”

“Logan,” Roman said softly. “How long have you been working on this?”

“Since I finished editing the first draft three weeks ago. Well, longer than that, actually.”

“And there's a publisher who wants to publish...my novel.”

“Yes. It's a very good deal for a first novel, too, and above average royalties, and…” Logan was fiddling with his thumbs, looking rather nervous as he swayed from side to side. “But as I told you, you don't have to take it. I just got the opportunity for you.”

Roman was trying to wrap his head around this. Part of him wanted to chastise Logan for doing something like this behind his back. Another part of him just wanted to pull Logan into a big hug. “You think it's good enough to publish?” he asked.

“Not only do I think it's good enough to publish, the publisher agrees with me,” Logan said.

“My silly little novel?” Roman checked. “Are you sure you didn't accidentally send them something else?”

“I'm positive. Your novel. A publisher wants it.”

“And you did this for me.” Now Roman was getting a bit choked up, which made Logan seem even more nervous.

“Roman?”

“Come here,” Roman demanded, and he wrapped Logan in the tightest hug he could muster. “Come here.”

“So you'll take the deal?” Logan squeaked, clearly having a hard time breathing.

Roman let him go. “I'll have to look at it first, and actually talk to this publisher myself.”

“Of course!”

“And under no circumstances should you ever do something like this again. I thought we were done keeping secrets?”

Logan crossed his arms. “I thought it didn't count if it was a present?”

“Finding loopholes now, huh? You'd make a good lawyer if you weren't so set on being a medical researcher and college professor, buddy.” Roman nudged him playfully. “Okay. You're gonna show me everything tomorrow morning. But right now, we're going to bed. Night, Lo.”

“Then...you're okay with the present?” Logan checked.

Roman’s face split into a grin. “It's the most thoughtful present I've ever gotten.”

“I didn't do much,” muttered Logan. “You're the one who wrote the book, I simply made someone else see the potential.”

“And you edited it and encouraged me and had faith in me even when I didn't.” Roman poked his little brother's nose. “We make a really good team, huh?”

Logan gave him a tiny smile and backed out of the room. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Lo. Sleep well.” Roman laid down on his bed in the darkness. He reached for his cell phone and hovered his finger over Remy’s contact for a minute before putting it aside again.

He and Remy had been together for almost two years before they had parted ways. Remy was Roman’s first kiss, first love, first everything. They had a friendship based on trust, which had been hard for Remy to form at first. It had broken Roman's heart to tell him that he needed space, that he didn't have the time or the energy to maintain their relationship when it became clear that his mother wasn't going to make it, and that he was going to be responsible for his brothers.

Remy, wonderful Remy, had understood. He had told Roman he would wait for as long as it took until Roman could be with him again. They were both in the production of Singin’ in the Rain even after they had broken up, with Remy absolutely nailing the role of Cosmo even when Roman was struggling to balance rehearsals and family, and Remy had been the one to tell the cast that Roman had to quit after Roman had officially told the director. Roman was so grateful to him for that.

He had fallen apart in Remy’s arms only once, a week after the funeral. Roman had left work and found himself driving to Remy’s house. The door had opened before Roman had even knocked, and Roman let out everything that he had been holding in because he couldn't let his brothers see how much he was struggling. They had to believe he was strong, or they would have been so scared.

“I can do it, I can take care of them,” he had insisted, sobbing and barely able to stand. “I just need to...I just…”

Remy had pulled him inside and held him as he collapsed to the floor. He didn't say much, but he didn't have to. Roman only needed someone he could break down around, someone with whom it was safe to show his weakness. Remy drove him home a few hours later, long after sunset when the other three boys were all asleep. Roman didn't know exactly how long Remy had sat with him. He remembered falling asleep to Remy rubbing his back, and the next morning, there was a text saying that Remy’s ma had picked him up and brought him back home.

Roman hadn't replied. Virgil was the only one who talked to Remy much after that, since he occasionally drove him home from school. Resolving to at least text Remy tomorrow, Roman closed his eyes.

Hope you enjoyed! It’s been a while since I posted, I was just having a hard time finding the time to post over the past couple weeks because I’ve been so busy doing adult stuff. <3 ~Martin

My general taglist

@a-lexicon-of-words @am-i-heaven-or-am-i-hell @sassy-in-glasses @iamsilentwolf @theshipqueenarrives @alurea-actually @haikyuupaladin @my-happy-little-bean @faithfulcat111 @iris-sanders-athena @riverblujay @faacethefacts @sushipug43 @decaffeinatedpersonnel @finger-gunsss @wicked-universe @escapingslowly @greeneggsandham1998 @blue-fluffy-dragon @fuzzypurplecloud @anuninspiredpoet @justanotherpurplebutterfly @insultme-notmyfandoms @your-username-is-unavailable @candiukas-deactivated20180808 @spectacled-renegade @ocotopushugs @runawaysketch97 @unikornavenger @generously-sweet-asexual @icecoldparadise @nerdygeekyscience @starjames-pma @jamiecambrera @lunareclipse-13 @shesavampirequeen @theboywhodaredtofangirl @ihateitwhenyourejustvague @k9cat @wilford-woofstache @generalfandomfabulousness @echomist13 @a-whole-lot-of-screaming @ninjago2020 @danielscupoftea @the-fandoms-are-takin-over @melorabarton @alextheodd @the-better-bard @aidenneedstogetalife @vulnerablevirgil @trust-me-i-just-get-weirder @romanssippycup @journalanxiety @shadowsoul357 @dr-gloom @heck-im-lost @otaku-marijane @starryfirefliesbloggo @lienlovesshadowhunters @dontaskmyfandomidontknoweither @everyday-emo-stuff @bi-shy-and-ready-to-die @interesyvrany @bestestwaffle @today-only-happens-once @5-second-cookies @vigilantvirgil @evilmuffin @ajdraws0430 @youreverydayinternethobo

Anomalies taglist

@i-will-physically-fight-you @alextheodd @a-lexicon-of-words @cinderlunarcyborg @justamassivenerd @quietdeerfan @haikyuupaladin @anonymous-at-midnight @toriwithacamera @k9cat @anuninspiredpoet @afilhadehades-blog @logicallyanxious-morallyromantic @akiraaria @drunken-ghost @hanramz-the-fander @callboxkat @blubblubfish @spectacled-renegade @fillyourteacup @im-a-bin-child @keys117 @brikcsandbones @jadekitten1 @too-queer-for-the-binary @arandomkoalainaustralia @cinnnamonrollpatton @infinityonthot @romanssippycup @kirsten-the-freak @ab-artist @super-magical-wizard @illiani @angels-are-beautiful @dailylogandoodle @merlybird500 @imherefortheheckofit @moonfang03

#anomalies #ts sides fic #remy sanders #virgil sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #my writing

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consulalexander · 6 years ago

Text

Vicious Velvet (Shadowhunters/Sweetbitter AU) 1/?

I know we’re feeling a lot of feels tonight, fandom, so hopefully this serves as a good distraction. This is my attempt at a TMI/Shadowhunters restaurant AU. Inspired by Sweetbitter by Stephanie Danler— if you haven’t read it, especially if you’ve worked in the restaurant industry, GO READ IT.

Title from the song “High Hopes in Velvet” by The Cab.

Meshing inspirations from both the books and TV show into one because it’s fic and I can and because Alec will always be my precious BLUE EYED son. Malec, Clace, Sizzy and more feels galore.

I don’t own these characters. Try not to hate me after this.

Part One

“For a moment, or a second, the pinched expressions of the cynical, world-weary, throat-cutting, miserable bastards we’ve all had to become disappears, when we’re confronted with something as simple as a plate of food.” — Anthony Bourdain

The Institute. The sign reads like a death sentence, like it’s judging her, creeping under her hot, flushed skin. It’s where many have gone to die, to be lost in the sea of scallops and truffles and demi-glacé, of boredeaux and top shelf whiskey and dim, flickering candles on heavy, expensive table clothes.

It’s her first day, and Clary Fray is positively terrified.

“Relax, you look like you’re constipated,” Simon Lewis, her best friend since the days of diapers and coloring on walls, says from behind her.

“Have you seen where you work?” Clary asks, still unmoving. “It makes Mordor look appealing.”

“Nah, that’s only Maryse, our resident Sauron. She’s always in her office, anyway, you’ll never see her.”

Clary doesn’t quite believe him. Simon’s only been working there for six months, but he seems to have forgotten the traumatic hour he spent, just like her, alone in a room with Maryse Lightwood, owner and manager of The Institute Bistro.

She’s still not sure how she landed this job, Simon’s good word be damned.

Simon pushes her forward toward the dark double doors.

“C’mon, we’re gonna be late,” he says.

It’s just another job, Clary. Woman the hell up.

Simon opens the front doors, ushering her inside. The restaurant is dimly lit; she can barely see her hand out in front of her as her eyes adjust from the bright sunlight outside. It’s empty save for the employees walking around in their perfectly pressed black clothes, getting everything ready to open.

A woman with a long, intricate blonde braid stands next to one of the closest tables to the door, filling a line of crystal salt and pepper shakers, expertly sweeping any spills off the immaculate red tablecloth and into her palm with a silver crumber.

“Hey, Lydia,” Simon calls to her. “Is Maryse in?”

The aforementioned Lydia looks up, eyeing Clary with interest. Clary squirms a little under her gaze; it’s hard, intrigued at her squeaky clean newness but laced with potential judgment.

She’s bordering on panic now.

“No, not today, she had a meeting with the lawyers,” Lydia says, wiping her hands on the crisp black apron tied around her waist.

Simon steps back so he’s a hair behind Clary, nudging her forward gently.

“This is Clary, she’s the new host,” Simon says. “Clary, this is Lydia, one of the servers.”

Lydia sticks out her hand; her shake is firm, an iron vice around Clary’s hand.

“Nice to meet you,” she says officially. “Welcome to The Institute.”

Clary smiles, albeit a little wary. “Good to be here.”

Lydia leans forward, still gripping her hand, like she’s about to tell Clary a secret.

“Pro tip,” she says, “get better shoes.”

Clary looks down at her worn black Converse and flushes to match her fiery hair.

“Tried to tell her but Fray’s a Converse addict,” Simon laughs, side-eyeing Clary. “She needs to go to shoe rehab. Can’t pry them from her cold dead hands.”

“They’re comfortable!” Clary retorts.

Normally, she’d laugh right along with him, but she’s no longer Simon’s confident best friend. She’s a vibrating bundle of nerves, her thoughts screaming fuck I knew I should’ve splurged on some stupid server shoes, of course it’s the first thing she notices, god I’m not going to fit here.

Simon gives Clary a look like she’s having a stroke, and clears his throat.

“Um, where’s Alec then?” he asks.

Lydia waves her hand vaguely, already back to the shakers.

“Somewhere in the wine cellar I think,” she says. “I heard yelling down there earlier.”

Simon grabs Clary’s arm and drags her toward the pristine bar, ducking behind the glossy mahogany counter and descending down a darkened stairwell in the back hallway. The door at the bottom screeches open, deafening, and then they’re in a modest cement-walled cellar, the musty air curling around them. Rows of wooden shelves line the walls and stand from floor to ceiling, bottles of varying sizes and dust accumulation stuffed in every crevice. Two large, industrial refrigerators dominate the back wall, displaying columns of white wine.

A man stands there with his back turned, writing in a small notebook.

“Hey, Alec,” Simon shouts, leading Clary over to him.

Alec turns, stowing the notebook in his back pocket. He’s incredibly tall, which only exacerbates Clary’s five feet two inches. His eyes are piercingly blue, making Clary somewhat uncomfortable in their fierceness, and the sleeves of his black dress shirt are pushed up to reveal black, swirling tattoos. A small, dangling silver earring in his left ear catches the dim light and sparkles, odd and delicate on his large frame.

He’d be handsome if he wasn’t scowling.

“Sorry to bug you,” Simon says hurriedly, “but Maryse isn’t here and Clary starts hosting today.”

Alec’s eyes flick over to Clary, narrowing at her in distrust.

“I know, Mom told me she was starting today,” Alec says gruffly.

Mom?

Suddenly, Clary realizes who this is. Alexander Lightwood, eldest son of Maryse and Robert Lightwood, assistant manager and bartender at The Institute and a general pain in Simon’s ass. Clary recalls countless agitated phone calls and emergency coffee runs these past six months, Simon consistently bitching about some entitled asshole named Alec who hated Simon for no real reason.

This asshole, apparently.

Alec grabs a bottle off the nearby shelf and points it at her.

“Should be a pretty typical Wednesday night,” he snaps. “Nothing too crazy. You’ll be shadowing Simon. Your job is to answer phones, take people to their seats, taking and calling reservations, and maintaining the flow of the restaurant. A monkey could do it. I’m bartending. Lydia, Maia, Jace and Helen are serving, try not the get in the way.”

He pulls the bottle away and gives her an obvious, stern once over, lips curling into a grimace when he spots her shoes.

“Uniform is all black, no jeans, no t-shirts, and lose the Converse next time.”

Alec walks up the stairs, the floorboards creaking under his feet. Clary stares after him, mouth ajar, before turning to Simon incredulously.

“Does he ever smile?” she asks.

Simon shrugs. “I’ve never seen it. He might not even know how.”

Clary sticks her tongue out at the direction Alec just went and follows Simon back up the stairs into the heart of the restaurant.

“You clock on in the kitchen,” Simon says.

She tails him down the steps (the and host station are on a platform, while the rest of the restaurant stretches out down a small flight of stairs) and through the vast main room, her feet springing on the plush blood red carpeting.

Simon pushes past two massive steel doors in the back, gleaming like a looking glass. Suddenly, Clary’s immersed in the chaos of the kitchen as they prepare for the day.

Two men on the line, dressed in crisp black chef coats with blood red detailing on the cuffs and collar, are shouting at each other in Spanish. Hypnotic Latin bass thumps in the background from speakers mounted on the wall. A man with his hair tied back in a braid is swaying his hips to the beat, mixing something white in a large steel bowl.

People push past the doors at regular intervals, barely giving Simon and Clary a glance. They’re carrying buckets or trays or come in to shout something at one of the men before ducking back into the ether. It’s a controlled disaster; Clary doesn’t know where to look first.

“Into the fray, Fray,” Simon teases, leading her down the aisle between the doors and the first set of stainless steel counter tops. Clary rolls her eyes.

They head to the far back of the kitchen, toward a small door labeled “office”. The glass panes on the door are ancient with dust, the glass crawling toward the bottom of the window in ripples.

Simon turns the knob, and they step inside the office, illuminated by low desk lights. The space is lined with three different desks shoved against the walls. A large leather office chair takes the space in the middle of the desks, for easy access to each one. The amount of clutter overtaking the desks astounds Clary, who’s rather neat by nature: mountains of documents and files, recipe notes written in scrawling calligraphy, jars of unopened spices, boxes exploding with bubble wrap, scattered pens and various mugs. A laptop, sleek and shiny, is propped on a stack of cookbooks, opposite a large boxy computer that could’ve walked out of Clary’s childhood.

Simon leans over the mess, sweeping a multicolored silken scarf off the old keyboard and clocking himself in, before doing the same for Clary.

“Super easy to clock in,” he says, turning back to face her, “just find your name and type in your birthday.”

The office door bangs open dramatically, making Clary jump out of her skin. A man walks in, tall and lithe, jet black hair spiked high on his head and rings glittering on his fingers. A gentle smirk dances on his face, and he’s dressed in the same chef’s coat as the rest of the kitchen staff, with the added exception of shimmering thread woven throughout the coat.

“Hey, Magnus,” Simon says, awkwardly gesturing to Clary behind him. “This is my best friend Clary, our new host. Clary, this is our head chef Magnus.”

Magnus holds out his hand; the bracelets stacked on his wrist clang together as he moves. Clary’s mildly impressed with how perfectly accessorized he is.

“Pleasure,” he says, a vague, lilting accent dressing up his words. “Welcome aboard, biscuit.”

She shakes his hand, stunned into silence. Magnus doesn’t seem to mind-- if anything, he seems used to that reaction-- and grabs the scarf from the desk, tying it around his head to keep his hair back.

“Sherman,” he says, adjusting the knot of the head scarf. “Tell Jace if he sends back one more wagyu burger today because he forgot to put in the temp, I’ll wagyu him.”

It takes Clary a moment to realize he’s talking to Simon.

“Still not speaking?” Simon asks.

“Nope,” Magnus says, enunciating the ‘p’ with a loud pop. “Yesterday was unforgivable. Five burger. FIVE. Raphael almost threw a plate at him.”

“I wish he had,” Simon mutters to himself.

Clary raises her eyebrows at him. Magnus grabs a black, sparkling notebook from behind the laptop and pats Clary’s head as he breezes by.

“Good luck, gingersnap,” he says out the door. “Don’t forget, Simone!”

“Well, that was almost right,” Simon says with a good-natured smirk.

That’s the thing about Simon. Nothing seems to faze him, like water off a duck’s back.

“Alright, Fray,” Simon says. “Let’s put you to work.”

Most people would say that irritation is Alexander Lightwood’s default setting. Those who truly know him, however, know the difference between normal, surly Alec and irate, pissed off Alec.

Today, he’s the latter.

He tries not the let work take over his life-- he really does. To be fair, he doesn’t have much of a life to speak of beyond work, but the point still stands.

Unfortunately, when your parents/bosses are going through a nasty divorce, which takes over every single aspect of you and your siblings’ lives because nothing about your damn family is quiet or discreet, suddenly your attention is inundated with wine orders and staffing and reps and catering... all while steadfastly trying to avoid the splintering marriage infecting everything you do.

Alec pauses in stocking the bar and grimaces down at his phone, seeing the flood of passive aggressive texts from his mother. He slams the phone down on the bar top and puts his head in his hands, massaging his weary temples.

“Jace!” he calls.

He peeks through his fingers to see his best friend and adoptive brother bound toward him, sliding behind the bar with grace and sidling up to Alec. He leans against the counter, a picture of ease, his golden hair curling over his forehead in that just-rolled-out-of-bed surfer boy way, eyes shining.

His cheer only irritates Alec more.

He passes his phone over wordlessly, watching Jace’s expression morph into disdain as he reads. He wrinkles his nose.

“So, I take it the meeting didn’t go very well,” Jace says with a snort, handing Alec his phone back.

“That’s an understatement.”

Alec sighs, leaning his hips flush against the counter. He reaches up subconsciously toward his ear, fiddling with the small silver arrow charm dangling from the lobe.

“At this point, it’s just constant fighting over Max and the restaurant,” Alec says, frowning, eyeing Simon carrying the host sign to the door, the little redhead girl following at his heels. Jace watches the pair curiously, eyes trained on the redhead-- Clara? Cora? Alec can’t remember for the life of him-- with interest.

“Poor kid,” Jace says of their baby brother, still watching her and Simon set up the host station. “This can’t be good for him, witnessing all this fighting. We should just adopt him.”

Alec raises an eyebrow. “He’s already our brother.”

“Yeah, but if we adopt him then he won’t have to boomerang between Maryse and Robert, which I think everyone can agree is not good for his health and development. Besides, you know we’d be kickass parents.”

“I’m not going to be Max’s new dad, parenting you is enough work.”

Jace gasps dramatically. “You impugn my honor, sir. I’m wounded. Wounded!”

Alec rolls his eyes.

“Go impugn yourself,” he says, tugging on his earring again as he looks out over the hustle of the restaurant opening.

Jace turns away from the host station, looking at Alec. His eyes track Alec’s fingers, toying with the charm, and when Alec glances back at Jace, he’s met with a knowing grin that Alec is tempted to slap off his face.

“What?” Alec asks, annoyed.

“Nothing,” Jace says, still grinning. “I like the jewelry. Where’d you get it?”

Alec’s hand jerks away from the earring like its burned him, and glares venomously at Jace.

“Shut up,” he snarls.

Jace holds his hands up in surrender.

“What? I’m just admiring,” he says, all innocence. “It’s a good look for you. You should wear it more often-- oh wait, that’s right, you’ve been wearing it every day since your birthday.”

Alec rolls his eyes so hard he’s somewhat concerned they might fall out of his head.

“It’s easier to just leave it in,” he says, refusing to meet Jace’s eyes.

Jace’s grin turns lecherous.

“Sure that’s all you wanna leave in?” Jace says.

Alec hits him with a check presenter.

“Can you shut up?” he hisses, eyes darting around. “We’re at work!”

Jace snorts. “Yeah because no one knows about the raging hard on Magnus has for you. I just gotta ask-- why didn’t he get me a birthday present? Maybe I want some jewelry too.”

Alec hits him again, this time over his head, the leather of the check presenter making a violent smacking sound.

“Can you ask him where he got it at least? I wanna match,” Jace laughs, dancing away when Alec lunges at him.

Jace is saved from strangulation by a melodic voice ringing out from the kitchen doors.

“Alexander!”

Magnus.

Jace waggles his eyebrows at Alec, swinging around the bar and striding over to the host station before Alec can figure out what to throw at him. He heaves a long suffering sigh and turns around to see Magnus striding toward the bar. His usual head scarf, today a deep maroon with multicolored designs, is tied around his head and small gold hoops glint in his ears. Gold eyeliner flicks out in a sharp wing around his eyes, making them appear cat-like and complimenting his warm brown skin.

He’s stunning, as usual, and Alec has to fight to not seem noticeably affected by him.

“Yeah?” Alec says as Magnus approaches, eyes on his forehead because it’s the safest place for him to look.

“I’m short a box of sherry,” Magnus says, leaning against the bar and folding his arms on top of it. “Have you done the liquor order yet?”

Work. He wants to talk work. This, Alec can do. He meets Magnus’ eyes-- they’re glittering, a kaleidoscope of green and yellow that sucks him in a little too deep.

“Uh, no,” Alec says, trying to focus. “I mean, I’m doing it now.”

He holds up the notebook next to him as proof, littered with his illegible scrawl.

“I’ll put on another box and get them to credit it,” Alec says, all business.

Magnus cocks his head to the side, eyes fixated on the tattoo on Alec’s neck, peeking out from the stiff collar of his black button down. Alec had never thought much about tattoos until Jace came home on his eighteenth birthday with his first one, an elegant falcon stretching across his shoulder. Maryse and Robert had both freaked, screaming at Jace for how he would be presenting himself at the restaurant. Alec and Isabelle, Alec and Jace’s sister, had loved it. Alec remembers tracing it every chance he could with his eyes, back when he was still closeted and hating himself, when Jace stirred up someting more than just brotherly affection. He’d been fascinated by the dark lines racing through Jace’s golden skin, running his fingers over his own pale forearms at night and wondering what it would look like on him.

He came out to his parents soon after that, followed by his first tattoo to erase the pain of his parents’ rejection. His tattoos are his response to pain, and he’s been getting at least one a year, if not more, ever since.

Magnus is still staring at his neck and Alec’s face heats up like a stove top.

“I bet Sebastian stole it,” Magnus jokes-- sort of. Sebastian, their closing prep cook/dishwasher, isn’t the most trustworthy person. Alec has it on good authority that he’s pilfering spices; the only reason Magnus hasn’t fire him is because he’s their fastest dishwasher.

Alec can’t stand the guy, and almost hopes Sebastian actually did steal the sherry so Magnus stops dancing around letting him go.

“Wouldn’t shock me,” Alec says, glancing down at the notebook and scribbling a case of sherry on the ordering chart.

Magnus watches him; Alec fidgets under his gaze and looks back up.

“Anything else?” he asks, desperate for Magnus to go back into the kitchen so he can breathe normally again.

Magnus shakes his head.

“Nope,” he says with a coy grin. “Just looking.”

Alec’s cheeks grow so hot eggs could fry on them. He sputters, feeling clumsy, clearing his throat and shuffling his feet.

Magnus laughs, like the tinkling of chimes, pushing himself up from his lazy slouch over the bar. He winks at Alec.

“Thanks, darling. Back to the dungeon I go,” he sings, spinning on his heels and sashaying back toward the kitchen’s double doors.

Alec watches him go, frozen, eyes hypnotized by Magnus’ hips swinging back and forth.

Goddamnit.

His phone buzzes, snapping Alec out of his stupor shamefacedly. He shakes his head like he’s getting rid of a fly and glances down at the screen.

MOM: I’m getting Max and coming in for dinner. I cannot be around your father. Reserve me a table and get out the merlot I like. Tell Magnus I’m not doing carbs, I want the spaghetti squash in place of the pasta in the bolognese. Did the Sonoma rep call yet? I need you to do payroll I won’t be able to this week with all these damn meetings, your father is impossible.

Alec’s head falls on the bar in despair.

How he’s going to get through tonight, he has no idea.

He lifts his head up like it’s an anvil and sighs, rolling his neck and relishing in the crack of his joints.

“Alright, it’s showtime,” he calls, looking toward Simon and nodding at him to flip the sign. “Let’s open.”

#i'll probably post this on ao3 at some point #be gentle #but also gimme feedback i need it #my fic #shadowhunters #malec #sizzy #clace #tmi #tsc #shadowhunters au #tmi au #track vicious velvet i guess #or track my fic #vicious velvet #restaurant au #don't kill me im only playing

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