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manachiichan · 7 months ago

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To see the world that you are so proud of...

Synopsis: Growing up obediently following your empress' shadow, your horizon broaden the moment you met a pirate doning a strawhat who somehow ended up on your island.

Pairing: Monkey D. Luffy x Kuja!Reader, Platonic!Boa Hancock X Fem!Reader

Spoilers from the Amazon Lily and Marineford arcs. Reader is a pure sunshine who is both kind and naive. Having mixed feelings with Luffy now.

|| One Piece Masterlist ||

|| Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3

You didn't know what happened after you were forced to leave the arena. You were placed on a cell with two of your fellow warriors guarding as you waited for the outcome of the battle.

"Please! Atleast tell me, Is Marguerite alright...? What about the other two? Sweet Pea and Aphelandra..? Are they alright.?"

"I'm sorry, (Name). But we can't disclose anything to you. All we can say is that the Gorgon sisters are battling that strange man as we speak..."

You sat there in the cell for what it felt like hours. You didn't know what had happened until you were finally allowed to be freed.

However, as soon as you left your cell, you found yourself face to face with one of the Gorgon sister, Boa Sandersonia towered over your form as she gestured you to follow her.

"(Name), Our older sister ordered for you to appear before her."

"May I ask the reason why?"

"You'll see when you get there."

You can see how hesistant her tone was as she refused to look at you in the eye. By her body language alone, you can tell how uneasy and nervous she was being. So to avoid making her uncomfortable, you decided to refrain from talking until you reached the snake princess' bed chambers.

"Oh! It's you!"

Luffy pointed his finger towards you as soon as you entered. His shock expression soon changed to excitement and relief, a grin appearing on his face.

"You're okay! I got worried when they took you away, glad to see that you're not hurt."

You gave him a gentle smile of acknowledgement before focusing your attention towards your empress who sat on her snake, Salome. She was staring directly at you, observing your interaction with the only man in the room.

"Come closer, the two of you..."

She commanded. Unlike Luffy, who approached her without any care, you cautiously took a step forward, expecting for a scolding, a punishment even.

Only for your eyes to widen in shock as she revealed her bare back on to the two of you.

"Snake Princess, but that's-! What about the curse..?!"

You immediately shielded your eyes. Hers and her sisters' backs are a sensitive subject that the whole island knew about. And here she was revealing it for you to see, was this your punishment? For you to turn to stone for disobeying her orders and allowing Luffy to live? Even going far to defending him back at the arena.

"I trust you, (Name). And it is about time you know the truth..."

There on her back, was a symbol dyed in red, circular center with four triangles resembling a claw. At that moment, you see how her shoulders trembled as you observe her mark.

"Is...is it alright for you to show it to us...? my empress, it is something you forbit anyone from discovering..."

You can see how it pained not only her but also Marigold and Sandersonia. Grandma Nyon encouraged to reveal the story, and after a few moments, you finally understood everything.

It was the mark of authority far more superior than of the Pirate Empress. The Celestial Dragon's mark, specifically the mark of slaves that belongs. Everything she experienced and the sufferings she has to endure with her sisters, she revealed it all to you and Luffy.

You stayed silent as Luffy was escorted out, him being invited to the banquet that was host whenever the Kuja Pirates return to the Island with a huge haul. You stayed behind as you felt like you shouldn't leave Hancock alone after everything that had been revealed.

"Has your view of me changer after finding out that I was a former slave...?"

"Can I really speak out my thoughts, Snake Princess? My most honest thoughts?"

You asked, revealing her secret doesn't mean that you should carelessly speak up. Boa Hancock is still the Empress of Amazon Lily, the ruler of the land you were born in.

"I will allow it."

"Then, I will reply with a No....No, I don't think any lesser of you, my empress. In fact, I think....that for to you endure such torment and rise above it is truly admirable. My respect for you just got deepened."

You spoke with true genuine in your tone. Yes, you were anguished with what you just heard. The sufferings of the people who look up upon brought pain in your heart.

"I think that...your past doesn't defy who you are. It just shows how truly strong you are."

For the first time in your life, in years of serving the Pirate Empress. This was the first time you ever saw her smile with tears in her eyes.

It was then night time when Hancock dismissed you from your duties, having kept you around for a longer conversation. You found out the truth about your mother, yet you only found yourself slightly upset. You don't really remember what she look like nor what her personality were when she was alive, however, you could still remember the warmth she emitted whenever both of you share a tender embrace as she on board the empress' ship.

Hancock's attitude around you seems to have slightly changed now. She was more vocal of what she feels and treats you better than she did before, asking for your opinions and outlook of the village. The conversation began changing to how managing the island whenever she was out.

"As you now know, my presence here is somehow a threat. I'm a pirate with a bounty so great, continue doing your duties as usual."

She was more comfortable with you now. Just by thinking about it, made you smile as you nodded at her orders. Eager to aid her with everything.

"Yes, my empress... You can always rely on me."

you immediately went back to the village where the banquet is being held. Now in a more casual clothing, you entered the room and immediately sense the tense atmosphere among the women present there.

The center of their attention was Luffy who was sitting, eating his heart out as dishes were served on his table.

"What's going on?"

"(Name) is it really okay for a man to be present on the homecoming banquet.?"

One of the warriors asked, a look of concern is visible on her face, glancing at Luffy with skeptism.

"The Snake Princess already favors him, therefore we will treat Luffy with hospitality."

Just as you said that, Luffy stood up on the table with a ladle and wok pan, demanding that the women should sing and dance since it is a banquet.

A small smile made way on to your lips, covering them as you let a small giggle of amusement.

In that instant, the atmosphere changed into a lively one with the women eventually joining in, copying Luffy as he danced and pranced around.

Lively to the point, they all got comfortable around him.

"Hey now. Everyone, that's enough."

You scolded, seeing how they all gotten too comfortable around him to the point they all have been reaching towards his rubbery skin.

"Hey!"

Soon you found yourself looking for Luffy as the women all went after him in hopes of touching his skin.

"There you are, Luffy..."

You found him crouching on a building roof. As soon as you said that, his long rubbery arms stretched and grabbed you by your waist towards him.

"Geez...What's the matter with you guys?!"

"I apologize on their behalf. It's just... we barely seen a man this close before..."

You gave him an apologetic smile. Seeing that, he soon let out a laugh as he told you that it was fine.

"I never really got to thank you for defending me in that arena earlier."

"I...just did what I thought was right...."

You told him, slightly ashamed on your actions yet you never regretted it. Yes, you felt guilty for disobeying the Snake Princess, but you couldn't find it in yourself to just allow them to kill Luffy when it wasn't his fault that he ended up stranded on your Island.

"Say Luffy...What does the outside world looks like...?"

You asked. Your curiosity resurfaced after many years of trying to supress it, was it because of Luffy being here? But after becoming Boa Hancock's closest aid, you devoted yourself to follow every command without questions. Your loyalty overcame the curiosity about the world outside of Amazon Lily.

"Are....the seas really that vast? Are there really more islands out there?"

Back then, Hancock barely spoke to you and you could only rely on either Sandersonia or Marigold to tell you all about what they had seen while traveling through the seas. Brief conversations that could never satisfy you. It was thirst of wanting something that you know you will never have.

After all you have a duty to serve and protect Amazon Lily as it's devoted warrior.

"I dunno. Our adventures are always been exciting that I never really cared how big the sea is. But I do know that the Grandline is huge! I can't wait to sail and see everything with my crew!"

Luffy told you about his recent adventures. From his entry to the grandline, meeting Laboon the huge whale, up to his battles on Thriller Bark.

"There are Islands in the sky?!"

"Yeah! I even beated up this guy with long earlobes!"

"Woah..!"

Luffy grinned as he stared at your sparkling eyes that was looking back at him with wonder and admiration. He was reminded of Chopper just by staring at you. He wanted to see his crew badly now.

"I'll sail through these seas and become the King of Pirates!"

"I'm sure that you'll be able to do it!"

You encouraged, getting all hyped up from just his words alone. Luffy's aura reminded you of the sun and its brightness. That's how you felt just being near him.

Warmth.

"You know, you could just get on board that pirate ship your Empress have. You'll see how big the grandline is, with your own eyes."

You faltered at his words, he seem to have noticed and started to frown.

"What's wrong?"

"I just....feel like I have a sense of duty to stay here. And the snake princess said it herself. I'm not ready to leave the Island just yet."

"Why? You're already strong..."

"I can't disobey the Snake Princess, Luffy..."

Why can't you disobey? Was it because obeying her was something that you already drilled into your mind at a young age...? Or is it because you can't make decisions for yourself without having someone tell you what to do.

You grew up never knew how to say 'No'. It was always you doing what you have been told without ever complaining whether the task is easy or difficult. Because you hated to disappoint not only your Empress but also your fellow warriors.

"I see..."

Luffy just looked at you as if he already knows what was going on, yet he didn't say anything. His eyes stared at your tense and slightly trembling form. He then went through his pockets and pulled out a chunk of meat that he managed to save right before he was chased after by the Kujas.

"I do what I wanna do, I'm captain of my ship. Not even my crew can stop me!....Well maybe Nami. She's scary like a demon."

He took a huge bite before looking back at you with a grin. Seeing bits of meat stuck on his teeth made you laugh slightly. Luffy is really is a silly man.

"It doesn't hurt not to listen all the time. You went to defend me even when you know that you'll be in trouble. You do what you think is right!"

Your words from earlier came back towards you. You couldn't help but grew fond of him, hearing his somehow meaningful words as he feasted on the meat was holding without a care in the world.

He doesn't even seems to realize the effect his words he had on you.

"Thank you, Luffy...."

You stood up from your place and immediately waved discreetedly towards Marguerite who spotted you right away.

"Hey...! What are you doing?!.... They might see me and chase me again...!"

"You need a place to hide, right? Don't worry, Marguerite knows what to do. She'll take you there."

When Luffy came back from Marineford, he was gravely injured. You could only watch from the distance as the men wearing white boiler suits docked at the far side of the Island.

The last time you saw him was when he left in a hurry to save his brother Ace from execution. Your Empress gave you a brief summary of what had happened and gave you temporary management of the warriors while her and her sisters sailed off.

"(Name)...Keep watch over those men on the far side of the Island. Report back once Luffy regain conciousness...please..."

The Snake Princess looks very distraught, so you immediately agreed upon hearing her request. Not a command, but a request. You could never deny a request.

Two weeks. That was how long you kept watch. The warriors back at the village would often bring you meals. By following the rules with the exception of Luffy, you kept your distance from the men and hid on top of trees.

Eventually, Luffy woke up. You were happy and was about to report until you noticed something odd.

Luffy went on a rampage.

"Hey...Can you report this to the Snake Princess in my stead? Tell her that Luffy regained conciousness..."

You asked a fellow Kuja who happens to be nearby. From the distance you could hear distant shouting of intense agony and destruction.

"Luffy!"

You stood on top of a tree branch, watching in absolute shock, as Luffy destroys everything around him. Trees and boulders. Nothing was left untouched. You began to worry that he might reopen his wounds.

Fortunately, the blue fish-man managed to calm him down. But the sight of Luffy crying made you feel a sudden ache from within too. As if you could feel his pain. Luffy lost his brother, and it somehow hurt you too.

"It must have hurt so much....doesn't it...Luffy?"

You were hurting for him. You want him to show his usual sunshine smile like he always have. Crying is not something you want to see Luffy do yet you don't even know how to comfort him.

"I want to approach and say something but..."

You weren't naive. You know of the snake princess' illness and how much she needs Luffy if she wants to live long. So to spare your own feelings you decided at that moment, to stay away from him even after growing so fond of him. How much you wanted to be there for him now that he needed someone to lean on as he suffers.

"The....empress' happiness comes first..."

So now, you could only watch on a distance as your heart breaks from hearing his cries.

#luffy x reader #monkey d luffy x y/n #luffy x female reader #one piece x female reader #one piece x reader #luffy x you #monkey d. luffy x reader #amazon lily #kuja reader #female reader #luffy x y/n #luffy x reader angst #boa hancock x reader

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sinner-sunflower · 8 months ago

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A HH Lucifer-centric AU 22/22

PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 4, PART 5, PART 6, PART 7, PART 8, PART 9, PART 10, PART 11, PART 12, PART 13, PART 14, PART 15, PART 16, PART 17, PART 18, PART 19, PART 20, PART 21

STORY 2 - Sequel

I can't believe it?? I made it, Ma!

Luci's General Suit inspired by this FANART on twt by @kajina_97

This is the COMIC that inspired me to write the whole thing because I wanted this ending so bad klajdklsa it's by @Sandranetta_13 on twt

Dk what tomorrow might entai. Might be the first chapter for the sequel?

Let me know what you guys think! Please, I'm very desperate.

I'm willing to do a Q&A regarding your thoughts. DMs and Asks are OPEN! <3

Will link the sequel here once posted

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

Everything was relatively normal the following week. His and Charlie's long overdue moment with no more miscommunication made Lucifer feel a whole lot better. He couldn't ask for a better daughter.

Dressing himself in one of his battle suits, he felt like he could take on the world. Nothing says King of Hell like your best warrior outfit and a badass sword in full display.

Lucifer: Looking pretty dapper there, me.

Lucifer doesn't even bother to style his hair- it now flows animatedly like that of Lilith's.

Flowers were still being sent to him especially when he was first spotted roaming around the hotel after a week-ish long recovery. Charlie had the amazing idea of making a greenhouse or some sort of garden to put all the flowers and keep them alive as long as possible.

They got rid of any red ones after someone sent a buttload of them which then caused him to have a mini panic attack. Alastor is subtly trying to take that moment off his mind by leaving Marigolds everywhere. It's sweet but soon they're going to need a separate greenhouse for just the Marigolds. Where'd he even get these??

Finding his first Marigold of the day, in the bathroom of all places really Alastor??, he makes his way to the lobby. Everyone was there doing their own thing.

Husk and Angel are at the bar as usual, with the latter talking animatedly about something that puts an endearing expression on Husk's face. Nifty is putting on roach puppet shows for Alastor. The radio demon notices him and conveys his most 'help me' face but he just chuckled and gives him a thumbs up. The cyclops named Cherri is today's gift screener, grumbling about the pollen and the shitty taste some demons have.

Charlie and Vaggie were talking to a small group of demons by the entrance. As soon as his daughter sees him, she said something to the group then walked over to him.

Charlie: Good morning, dad!

Lucifer: You look busy.

Charlie: They're sinners who are asking about the hotel! I'm so happy that people are at least coming here to check it out. Did you have a good sleep?

Lucifer: Well, I don't feel like passing out today. So pretty good!

Charlie: That's great, dad!

Angel: Short king! Looking good in that fit!

Cherri: Yeah! Do a spin, hot stuff!

He blushes at the sudden attention. Everyone is looking at him in awe- maybe it was too much?

Alastor: Nonsense, dear.

Alastor appeared beside him in a flurry of shadows, seemingly reading his mind. He bends down at Lucifer's level to whisper in his ear. He plucked the Marigold Lucifer was holding, putting it behind the King's hair.

Alastor: I, for one, think you never looked so.. raveshing~

Damn him.

Lucifer: Shut up.

Lucifer hisses in response. Like, seriously? In front of his daughter? Thank Father, Charlie didn't hear that.

Charlie: Yeah! You look so cool. I don't think I've seen you wear that except for when there's a banquet.

Lucifer: Yeah, well, I wanted to look put together after everything.

Charlie softens at his words.

Alastor: No need for that, sire. I'm sure no one is foolish enough to comment negatively on what the King of Hell chooses to look like.

Lucifer: What does that make you then?

Alastor: Privileged, my King~

Lucifer rolls his eyes at the audacity but he can't help but smile. Man, he never thought he'd miss their constant banter.

Charlie: You look awesome, dad, okay? Al, please slow down with the Marigolds, Nifty's going crazy. Oh! Dad, right, Aunt Bel called said that the Sloth Ring is making incredible progress and that she'll visit again soon. I think Aunt Bee is planning a party with the other Sins and would like it to be held here in Pride! At the hotel! It would be so cool and of course if you're not ready I can tell them and maybe a little get together would be better. I'll even invite Sev! He gave flowers for you too and Vaggie was so jealous when I said he was my ex and thought the flowers were for me, she was so cute-

Lucifer tried, but he stopped listening halfway through his daughter's talk. It was a bit of an information overload but he kept a small, genuine smile on his face for her.

Then something caught his eye that made him stopped smiling altogether.

Charlie notices this causing her to stop talking.

Charlie: Dad?

He should answer but his eyes were locked on the wall behind Charlie. Plastered on the higher part of the lobby's wall was a glowing mark- gold wings with a dot on the center.

Lucifer turns around so fast to look outside the hotel's window. Heaven looks so out of place up there, sticking out like a sore thumb upon Hell's red skies.

A glint in the distance made him act. Without warning, he took off with such force that those inside the hotel were knocked down by the gust of his wings.

He breaks the window on his way out and pulls out Lightbringer. Lucifer brings the sword up and-

A powerful explosion lit up the sky. The sky split in two and fire appeared high and wide over Pride. At that moment, everyone became so hot that they couldn't bear it, as if their whole body was on fire. They wanted to rip their skin off just to get a sense of relief but then the sky shut closed. A strong thump was heard by every demon in the vicinity and then they were all thrown a few meters.

It felt like an eternity before Charlie and the others could get their bearings. Those that didn't get knocked out went outside, once there, they see Lucifer far up in the sky, holding up a flaming sword. The signature pentagram of the city has been fractured by whatever happened and demons all around were either hurt or unconscious.

Charlie: Dad!

Charlie calls out to her dad but he doesn't acknowledge her. His gaze never leaving Heaven, as if he's seeing something that no one else can.

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

A screen locked on Hell zooms out as the machine's voice rang out 'target disengaged'.

An angel looking similarly to Lucifer, except there's blue tints on the spots where Lucifer had reds, was looking down at Hell pulling back a large, golden gun. They blew the smoke residue and sighed.

Michael: Hello, Lucifer... Still causing trouble, I see.

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

it's done??

cliffhanger but don't worry, there's a sequel!

I spent 30 minutes looking for that comic that inspired this ending.

Did y'all catch that Lemmino reference? I'd have that description in my head rent free ever since I watched Grazed by the Apocalypse

Again, I'd love to hear your thoughts on this! This was my first published baby and I'm so proud !

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adore-laur · 1 year ago

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DAD HARRY: PART THREE

— part one | part two

October—Flashback

The leaves on southern California’s oak and cottonwood trees are changing colors at last. Various shades of green bleed into marigold and maroon to commence the beginning of autumn. The weather is pleasant when it nears the end of the year, with temperatures never dipping below seventy degrees. Brisk winds blow by the Pacific Ocean, and migrating clusters of monarch butterflies flutter around orange milkweed with their stained-glass wings, looking similar to the plants they feed from.

Driving alongside the premature sunset, you press your foot on the brake pad and pull into the crowded restaurant parking lot. Harry has been bartending for a wedding's cocktail hour, which he seldom does under his title of head chef. Before he left, he mentioned that he wanted to talk to you about something important after his shift, so he reserved a table in the dining area where both of you could discuss it over dinner. Luckily, he doesn't have to work his way into the early morning since someone will replace him once the reception officially starts.

Today is Harry's last shift before he'll be home for an extended period of time. He managed to save all of his annual vacation days and is free from work for the last month of your pregnancy, as well as being allowed twelve weeks of paternity leave once the baby is born.

It's difficult to imagine how much convincing it took and the scheduling difficulties Harry had to face to get everything sorted. You're worried that the restaurant will crumble without his supervision, but you shouldn't judge his expertise on the matter. He knows what he's doing.

You stroll through the front doors while smoothing the chiffon fabric of your dress over your baby bump. Frequently, you’ve been wearing Harry's shirts ever since your bump has gotten too large to wear your own, but you wanted to look nice tonight. It’s been grueling trying to accept your changing body, which is why you strive to do little things to take care of your mental health. Even though you've been more concerned about your physical health as of lately, if something as simple as putting on a pretty dress can boost your confidence, you'll take advantage of the opportunity.

Carefully weaving through round, decorated tables, you peer at the bar area operating against the farthest wall. Harry's back is turned to you, broad and familiar, as he washes cocktail glasses. His defined muscles shift under the tight, black button-up he wears, and the sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, revealing the array of tattoos on his forearms. He's also sporting fitted slacks with matching suspenders attached to them. He's been growing out his hair during the last couple of months, with curls now flourishing past his ears. He always keeps them pushed back with a bandana or headband so that they don't fall in his eyes while he works.

You don't want to be a nuisance and steal a seat from any guests, so you stand off to the side and wait for Harry to finish his cleaning duties. His bulky rings clink against champagne and wine glasses as he dries them with a rag and sets them under the counter. You can hear him faintly whistling along to the jazz music coming from the connected banquet hall.

Once Harry finishes wiping his station clean, he sneakily takes out his phone and starts typing—you assume he's texting you to let you know he's done. He then washes his hands as another bartender walks behind the counter to clock in. They must be the one replacing him. You're not too knowledgeable about the rotation of bartenders since Harry is almost always in the back running the kitchen. It’s intriguing to see him adjust his skill set in a different environment.

He gives the employee a friendly squeeze on their shoulder before clocking out and heading in your direction. He nearly brushes past you while taking his phone out again, completely oblivious to your presence, and you laugh before stopping him with a hand on his chest. It makes him stumble back with a confused frown, but he quickly smiles in surprise when he recognizes you.

"How'd you get in?" he asks breathlessly, kissing your cheek.

"I told the security guards at the gate that I’m picking up my husband. If they said no, I was going to tell them my water broke."

He smirks proudly. "Clever. How are you feeling? Baby's good?" He holds your upper arms, and his eyes scan your body as if you've changed drastically since you saw him only four hours ago.

"All good. Just a sore back like usual." You toy with one of his suspender straps. "What about you? It's your last shift for a while."

Exhaling happily, Harry clasps your hand in his and says, "I feel fantastic. Let's go eat, yeah? I'm starving."

He guides you through an open doorway leading to the restaurant's dining area, where your reserved table is. In the back of the room, you spot a candlelit booth with plates, silverware, and two glasses filled with ice water. The water doesn't go unnoticed, considering Harry set a goal for himself to stop drinking alcohol along with you.

On the windowsill, a stout vase with beautiful red roses catches your eye as you sit down. Harry slides into the seat across from you. Only a few other booths are occupied—otherwise, the room is serenely quiet, with the occasional clink of metal and a sprinkle of chatter.

"You look angelic, by the way," Harry says before taking a sip of his water.

"Thank you," you whisper, nudging his foot with yours under the table. "I like your suspenders. They remind me of when you used to be a rookie assistant chef that I'd visit. You wore them under your chef coat with a fancy little neckerchief. I thought you looked so adorable."

"Now I'm old and weathered," he replies wryly.

"Well, you're turning thirty soon. And you'll be a dad in a month. Isn't that when someone officially becomes a DILF?" You're not sure why you casually mentioned the racy acronym over a romantic dinner, but it's too late to retreat now.

Harry's eyes gleam, and he fails miserably at hiding a smile under his scrunched nose. "Pardon? What are you trying to insinuate, darling?"

"Nothing! Never mind,” you say, embarrassed that you ever spoke. "I was only trying to bring up a nice memory. Reminiscing, if you will. Forget I said anything."

"I'm definitely not forgetting that. That ugly neckerchief, however..." He laughs at himself. "God, it feels like forever ago. Time flies."

"I thought it was kind of attractive," you mumble around the rim of your glass.

He raises his eyebrows as a warning to not start something you don't want to finish, then clears his throat and rests his forearms on the table. "Speaking of work, that's what I wanted to talk to you about tonight. I want you to keep an open mind, okay?"

Your lips downturn in curiosity. Just as you're about to reply, a waiter arrives at the table with a tray of steaming dishes and places them in the center. You texted Harry what you wanted from the menu after he left this morning, and since he's the boss, everything is free, cooked to perfection, and served promptly.

"Thank you," Harry says before focusing on you again. The waiter leaves, and you begin picking at your food to distract yourself from your increasing heart rate.

"Um, did you say work? Did you get a promotion? Is that even a possibility for a head chef?"

You can physically see the color drain from his face. "So," he says nervously, ignoring your questions, "the baby's coming soon, yes? Obviously."

"Right," you reply with suspicion.

Shifting in his seat, he sets his fork down and runs a hand through his tousled hair. "Listen, the restaurant during autumn and winter isn't as busy as the summertime. You know that. And because of that, I want to be home with you and the baby as much as possible. And I will with paternity leave, but once I go back to work, my hours will pick up again, and it'll be—"

"Harry, just tell me," you interrupt gently. He has a bad habit of running circles around topics.

He blows out a long breath. "I'm demoting myself. It's in the works that I'll be the sous chef when I return, so that means fewer hours and more time at home."

You're glad you don't take a sip of water yet because you nearly choke. Demotion? He’s never mentioned that before.

"Can I ask why in the world you would do that?" you ask. You don't mean to sound snippy, but pregnancy hormones, mixed with Harry's revelation, cause a pit of unwarranted annoyance to simmer in your gut.

"Love, let me explain." He reaches his hand across the table and squeezes yours. "This is my choice. It's final, all right? I'm not going to work ten hours a day, six days a week, while you're at home with our baby. That's ridiculous."

"But what about—"

"Stop while you're ahead, because you're going to overthink it," he says calmly. "If you're worried about money, don't be. It's only a slight decrease in my wage. Everything will be fine."

Your annoyance wins as you slide your free hand down your face. "You realize that we'll need more money when the baby comes. It's common sense. Why would you think cutting your hours is a smart idea?"

Harry scoffs like what you're saying is illogical. He leans in closer so that the impending argument doesn't disrupt anyone's dinner, his voice hushed yet stern when he replies, "Would you rather have me come home every day absolutely knackered and then spend a maximum of four hours with our child before I have to get up to do it all over again? Hmm?"

You shake your head in irritation and remove your hand from his. "It's called adapting. It may be tough at first, but it becomes second nature. We just have to wait until the baby gets here to figure out a schedule that works."

Harry falls back against the booth. He throws his hands up in frustration, and they slap against his thighs before he says, "Do you realize how stupid you sound right now? You're talking about money and scheduling like we're—"

"I'm leaving." When you stand, Harry's mouth instantly clamps shut. You don't care that you barely ate your food—you can't listen to him anymore. You're awfully close to lashing out.

Heading the way you came from, you hear Harry's footsteps scuffing the floor behind you. Once you're in the parking lot, you groan when you remember that he has to ride home with you since you dropped him off earlier. While you struggle to unlock the car, you see Harry in your peripheral, striding to stop you from going any further.

"I didn't mean it. I'm sorry." His shoulders sulk, and he looks genuinely distraught. "Can we please talk this through when we get home?"

Your eyes dance over his defeated expression. You can’t say no since you live together, plus you promised years ago never to go to bed angry at each other. So, you nod your head, and he shoots you a timorous smile before withdrawing to the passenger side.

As you drive, you give Harry the harrowing silent treatment. He deserves it, considering he's looking out the window with his arms crossed and pouting like a child. The only sound in the confined space is the air conditioner running and cars whooshing past on the freeway. Your stomach grumbles, and you feel terrible about leaving two five-star plates of food untouched at the restaurant.

After several minutes of dreadful silence, Harry finally breaks the tension when you park in the garage. He grabs a white envelope tucked in the center console and asks, "What's this?"

Oh. You forgot about that.

"Nothing," you mutter, unbuckling your seatbelt.

Harry rolls his eyes and flings the envelope onto the dashboard, then reaches over to take the key out of the ignition. Seconds pass before you hear him open the front door and then shut it harder than necessary.

You swallow down vexation. There have been tiny arguments more often since you got pregnant, and you blame your hormones every time for getting irritated so easily. Usually, Harry isn't the sole reason for those heightened emotions, but there are situations when he can be so stubborn that you just want to shake him out of it.

Eventually, you get out of the car with the envelope in hand and head down to the beach for some time alone. It'll be nice to sit by the water and cool down, figuratively and literally. You have an inclination that if you try to hash it out with Harry right now, it will only result in more regretful words said.

You reach the private stretch of sand that’s part of your beachfront property, holding your bump protectively as you descend the wooden steps. It's chilly by the oceanside this time of year, so you grab a towel that was left on the railing from previous evenings and drape it over your shoulders.

As the October sunset tinges the sky with orange and pink streaks, you sit down and reflect on the unfortunate escalation of your conversation with Harry. You love him dearly and could never feel an ounce of hatred toward him. He has never given you a reason to doubt anything, but to put his career on the back burner without mentioning it to you is hurtful. You almost feel guilty knowing he made the choice because of you and the baby. Sometimes, you shy away from being the main priority because you don't want to feel like a burden. In retrospect, it's incredibly thoughtful that he wants to work less to spend quality time with the baby when they arrive. On the other hand, you can't help but worry that you won't be financially secure because of it.

"Hungry?"

Your head shifts to find Harry walking toward you with a spoon and a strange-looking fruit in his hand. It's impossible not to smile when you note the outfit he changed into—pale yellow trousers and an argyle knit sweater. All of his rings are off except for his gold wedding band. His feet are bare.

He's the love of your life and has nothing but pure intentions, so how could you not trust his decision?

"What is that?" you ask, pointing to the half-cut fruit as Harry gets comfortable beside you.

"A papaya," he replies with a shrug. "A pregnancy blog said that at thirty-two weeks, a baby is as big as one of these bad boys. So, naturally, I bought one."

You have to turn your face so he doesn't see your irrepressible smile. You're not giving him the benefit of seeing you crack from his endearing ways just yet. "You're an unusual man, Harry Styles. Do you plan on buying more fruit for the last four weeks?"

"I already put pineapple on the grocery list," he says unconcernedly as he scoops out a chunk from the fleshy fruit. "Anyway, I didn't come out here to discuss fruit." His tongue sticks out when he takes a bite, the spoon leaving his mouth with a pop before he points it at you. "Still mad at me?"

You sigh, knowing it's useless to continue acting like he's in the wrong. "I can't stay mad at you. And I don't know why I got so worked up. I was just being overdramatic."

Harry hums thoughtfully as he swallows another bite. "Expressing how you feel isn't overdramatic. Don't apologize for having those feelings, especially toward me. Yell at me if I'm being a dick; kiss me if I'm being a dreamboat. It’s simple, baby." He finishes his little speech by shoving another spoonful of papaya into his mouth, chewing introspectively while staring at the waves.

"Was it Socrates who said that?"

He plucks your bottom lip with the spoon and murmurs, "You're feisty today."

"Back to the topic," you say before he can rile you up. "Money shouldn't have been what my mind first went to. It's still a concern, but ultimately, making time for our family is the most important thing. I apologize for freaking out."

"You're forgiven." Harry scoots closer and holds a spoonful to your mouth. You accept the sweet flavor as he continues, "And I'm so sorry for saying you sounded stupid. Please know that that’s the furthest thing from the truth."

"We all say things we don't mean sometimes," you reply. “There's no use in acting like I haven't done the same thing in the past.”

Harry slings his arm around your shoulders, bringing you in for a warm side hug. "What you said is true, by the way. We have time to figure things out and adapt. Let's enjoy this last month we have to ourselves.”

You nod in agreement. "I also want to thank you for being so thoughtful and putting our family first. I trust you with this new life chapter. I don't doubt you at all."

"Don't worry about it," he says, kissing your temple. "I'm proud of you for dealing with every mental and physical change these past eight months. And I will always be here for you through the good and bad moments, all right? In sickness, in health, and everything in between.”

You smile fondly and take out the white envelope that’s been hiding under your leg. "Are you in the mood for a good moment with me?" Harry looks confused but nods anyway. "When you saw this in the car, it's not nothing like I said it was. It's from my prenatal appointment I went to a few days ago. I know we decided to find out the gender a month before my due date, so I had the doctor write the answer down.” You inhale an anxious breath. “I haven't looked at it yet."

Harry's eyes widen, and his mouth parts as he sets the papaya down. "I am not prepared for this. Wait, hold on. Let me breathe for a second." His head tilts up toward the sky as he takes dramatic, calming breaths.

You laugh and place the envelope on his thigh. "Do the honors, Styles. Let's see if your prediction is right."

He picks it up and carefully opens the seal. Unfolding the paper filled with your clinical notes, he quickly skims the tiny lettering to look for the answer he's been desperately waiting for.

"Holy shit," he says, his voice cracking as his hand covers his mouth.

"I'm guessing you're right," you say shakily, your eyes watering.

"Girl… we’re having a girl.”He wipes away his tears, smiling widely. "Why am I crying? I was confident it was a girl."

"Because it makes things more real," you say, leaning over to kiss his damp, rosy cheeks. "Now we know for sure."

"Come here, honey. Let me take a look at her."

You sit on your knees between Harry’s spread legs. He sets the envelope down and lifts your dress, revealing your bump that puts quite some distance between you and him. His hands splay across the taut skin as he leans down to kiss right above your belly button. He gazes up at you under his wet lashes and smiles against your stomach, his dimples carving pure happiness into his cheeks.

"I love you," he whispers with a sniffle. "I love both of you so much. With my entire soul."

In that moment, everything falls into place.

——

July—Present Day

Everything is falling apart.

Well, not really, but it sure feels that way when you bend over the toilet at seven in the morning and empty your queasy stomach once again.

It's the first Sunday in July, marking the tenth week of your second pregnancy. When you woke up with a wave of morning sickness a couple of hours ago, you noticed something peculiar. As you were rubbing circles on your abdomen to ease the nausea, it appeared that your stomach had seemingly popped overnight. The curve was more prominent and firm—a small bump you must have mistaken for bloating. It’s pretty much nonexistent in any loose garment, but anything tight will hug it nicely and be a constant reminder of baby number two growing in there.

Dizzily standing, you move toward the sink to brush your teeth for the umpteenth time, then gurgle some spearmint mouthwash to diminish the rancid taste in your mouth. Pots and pans clang downstairs as you wipe your lips, and the occasional giggle from your daughter mixes with Harry's theatrical voice, which he puts on whenever she watches him cook.

The smell of sizzling bacon doesn't help the swirling feeling in your stomach as you head downstairs to the kitchen. Their lighthearted commotion grows louder, and you stop in the doorway to soak in your favorite part of Sunday mornings. Harry is in front of the island, and your daughter stands on her tiptoes on a step stool next to him, the two of them watching pancakes turn golden brown on the griddle. He's in full Dad Mode with tired eyes and an outfit that screams: I have a toddler and pregnant wife at home. In other words, a black button-up with pink flamingos on it and grey pleated trousers. They don't match whatsoever, but you know he doesn't care. Clothing isn’t his prime concern—family is.

He voyages around the kitchen, pouring orange juice, dropping chocolate chips into the batter, and ensuring your daughter's little hands don't touch anything hazardous. Your hand subconsciously drifts to your bump as you think about how you'll get to see him interact with a newborn again—cuddling them, rocking them to sleep, and pretending to eat their chubby hands and feet. He still does all those things with your daughter, and it breaks your heart knowing she'll grow out of it one day.

"Good morning," Harry says with his back turned, halting your daydreaming. How does he always sense your presence?

When you don't say anything, he turns to glance at you while sliding a heart-shaped pancake onto a plate. Your smile stretches wider as you curl your pointer finger to beckon him closer. He gives you a confused look before unplugging the griddle and instructing your daughter not to touch anything on the counter. She'll be too distracted by the cartoon playing on the television to even notice that the both of you will be gone for a moment.

"What's up, baby?" Sauntering toward you, Harry sticks his thumb in his mouth to lick some excess pancake batter off.

"I have a surprise for you," you whisper, accepting his slow, relaxed kiss.

"Yeah? S'it my half-birthday or something?" he asks, his voice still gravelly and slurred from sleep.

"No, this isn't about you," you tease with a pinch to his hip. "Come with me."

You grab his hand and lead him to the bathroom just down the hall. Flicking the light switch on, you stand in front of the mirror and say, "I'm ten weeks along. I woke up with a little morning sickness, and look!" You lift your shirt and turn to the side to show him a better angle of your stomach. "It was just pudge before, but it's an actual bump now."

Behind you, Harry rubs his warm hands over the swell and marvels at it. "Well, I’ll be damned. You... fuck, this happened overnight. I was spooning you this morning! How did I not notice?"

"I don't know. I didn't notice either, and it's my own body." You shake your head disbelievingly and place your hands over his. "I read that a woman's second pregnancy will have them showing earlier. I guess that's why I popped so soon. Last time, I didn't show until fourteen weeks or something like that."

He hums lowly, pulling you further back against his chest. "I've missed seeing you like this. It makes you glow more than usual." His mouth is by your ear when he murmurs, "Makes me hard."

"You're so naughty in the mornings," you say, removing yourself from his grasp and pulling down your shirt. "C'mon, let's eat breakfast."

Harry whines in protest, gently grabbing your face and turning it toward him so he can nip your nose and then lock your lips together. After your stolen moment alone, the both of you head back to the kitchen to enjoy another blissful Sunday morning.

——

Takeout pizza is on the menu tonight. The Volvo’s trunk is open, with blankets and pillows strewn about to create a fort-like space for the three of you to sit in. Harry drove the vehicle down to the beach so you all could watch the sunset and feel the ocean breeze.

You get comfortable in the trunk and set paper plates and napkins down. Harry and your daughter are in the nearby beach grass, picking wildflowers that blossom there. They wander, her tiny hand gripping stems while her other holds Harry’s. Her precious strawberry-patterned dress flows in the wind.

Moments later, they come strolling toward the car with content smiles. Your daughter crawls into the trunk with your help and hands you a makeshift bouquet of yellow and purple wildflowers.

"Thank you, sweetheart," you say, kissing her windswept hair.

Harry places his hands on either side of your thighs and leans in for some of your affection. You peck his lips—they're pink from the fruit punch he made earlier. Before he retreats, he glances at your baby bump and then looks at you with a crooked smile, his thumb delicately stroking the curve.

"Kumquat," he says, clicking his tongue.

You laugh, albeit not understanding. "Come again?"

"A baby at ten weeks is the size of a kumquat," he explains, like it's a well-known fact.

"Interesting," you say. "Well, the kumquat is hungry, so get up here and cut the pizza."

Your daughter is oblivious to the conversation as Harry scoots next to you and begins rolling the pizza cutter. His forearm muscles flex, the veins popping out. "Small bites, little lady," he tells her as he puts a slice on her plate.

Reaching behind you, you grab the bottle of sparkly pink nail polish you brought out. "She wants you to paint her nails."

Harry nods and pats his lap. She sits between his legs and waits patiently. While taking the bottle of polish from you and shaking it, his phone’s ringtone suddenly goes off. He juts his lips out as he reaches into his pocket to check the number.

"Hello?" he answers, balancing his phone between his ear and shoulder. He opens the polish’s cap and begins painting her nails.

You observe his facial expressions. He has a serious look and frequently nods as he listens to whoever's on the other end of the line. You pluck a green pepper off the pizza and eat it, feeling a swirl of anticipation in your gut.

"Tomorrow? Are you sure?" he asks. You hear an unfamiliar muffled voice before he says, "Awesome, thank you. Call me if anything changes. Okay, bye." He sets down the nail polish and hangs up before resuming painting her pointer finger.

"Who was that?" you ask while tucking a wildflower stem behind his ear. He looks handsome in the evening light.

"My boss," he says, licking his thumb and wiping a smudge he made. “I don't have to go in tomorrow since there are barely any reservations."

"No sparkles," your daughter blurts before you can reply. Harry freezes and eyes you perplexedly.

"What?" you ask. She points to one of her painted nails and frowns. You gently take her hand and observe it closely—no sparkles are showing up. "I'm sorry, sweetie. It must be icky polish. We can take it off and get another one."

It's almost scary how quickly the waterworks start. You exhale as you take the plate from her so she doesn't throw a fit and make a mess. She's crying and staring at Harry like he's the cause of no sparkles. Well, maybe he didn't shake the bottle enough, but you keep your mouth shut so you don't make matters worse.

Harry grabs her waist and props her in front of him. "Mommy said we can get some more, all right? We’re not throwing a tantrum right now. Behave, or I'm not painting your nails."

You could have predicted what happens next from experience. Her harmless fists hit his chest in frustration, and undried polish smears all over his shirt. Harry has always been good at controlling these minor mishaps, so he inhales deeply before lifting her writhing body.

"Early bedtime it is, then," he mutters while walking toward the house.

You begin cleaning up the short-lived dinner. It isn't anything new you've had to deal with, but it exhausts you, especially when she has a tantrum during family time. You take the pizza box out of the trunk, then close it and decide to clean everything else tomorrow. You drive the car up to the garage and lock the doors before stepping inside.

After putting the pizza in the fridge, you stand outside your daughter's bedroom door and listen for any crying or screaming. A sigh of relief leaves you when only subsiding whimpers indicate her tantrum has deescalated for the night.

Opening the door, your heart softens at the sight you walk in on. Harry sits against her headboard, his feet hanging past the edge of her bed, as he cradles his baby girl. He soothingly rocks her side to side with his eyes closed as he rubs circles on her back. Her heavy eyes are barely open, and her tear-stained cheeks are smushed against Harry's chest. She's in her pajamas now.

You kneel next to her bed, and she extends her arm, reaching for you. Harry jolts awake and opens his eyes. His grip loosens when he notices that she wants you. You stand and take her in your arms, her legs hugging your waist. You then sit by Harry's thighs and quietly laugh when you see the residue of pink nail polish staining his shirt.

Harry grins and clasps his hands behind his head, stretching his limbs. "It's not funny. I bought this shirt because of her, and this is what I got in return. She's a menace."

You squeeze his ankle in good nature and say, "I wonder where she gets it from."

He gasps in faux offense and grabs your daughter's hand, shaking it playfully. "Mommy’s being mean, don't you think?"

She sleepily shakes her head. You raise your eyebrows smugly before smattering her cheeks with kisses until she smiles and tiredly whines into your neck.

Harry yawns before catching your gaze and jerking his head toward your stomach. "Should we tell her?" he mouths.

Your heart rate quickens. You're not worried that she'll be upset, considering she’s asked—as best she could with her limited vocabulary—if she could have a sibling on a few occasions. You think it's time to tell her the news now that you're showing.

When you nod, Harry swings his legs over the mattress and crouches between your knees. You shift your daughter so she's settled sideways on your lap, then nod again to let him initiate the conversation.

"We have something to tell you, sweetheart," he says with a fond gentleness reserved only for her. Her head turns away from the safety of your neck. "You know how you've been asking about a baby brother or sister?" She nods languidly, prompting him to ask, "Can you look at Mommy’s belly?"

You situate her beside you and lift the stretchy material of your tank top. Harry says, "There's a baby in her belly." He guides her hand to your bump. "Your brother or sister is growing in there."

Her expression is unreadable at first, but then she gazes at you with curious eyes. "Baby," she utters drowsily. She's about one second away from slipping into a deep sleep.

"I don't think she'll remember in the morning," Harry says with a laugh.

You smile dotingly and stand before tucking her into bed. You kiss her forehead and watch her doze off as Harry tells her goodnight, whispering his boundless love for her and sealing his truthful words with a feather-light kiss to both of her cheeks.

Shutting off her bedside lamp, you leave the room with Harry hot on your heels. You're in the process of pulling your tank top down on the way to your bedroom, but before you can reach the door, Harry grabs your hips, stopping you in the dim hallway.

"You can't look this good and go straight to bed," he says, his breath warm and intimate.

"Mom needs her sleep before work tomorrow," you reply with a smirk. Although you wouldn't mind staying up a bit longer if he continues complimenting you.

"Please, baby," he murmurs, his hands drifting dangerously lower. "Just a quick one, yeah? I'll let you do whatever you want to me."

Don't give in, you tell yourself. Make him work for it.

"Anything?" you ask sensually as his fingers begin to brush along your inner thighs, causing your knees to weaken temporarily.

Harry licks his lips, his tongue poking your neck with the faintest touch. "Don't act like I wouldn't let you ruin me, darling."

You clench your thighs around his hand, and he groans against your neck. "But I'm so tired, Harry. It won't last very long if I do what I want with you."

"Like I give a shit." He cups your core with his palm, his impatient fingers stroking over the fabric of your silk pajama shorts. "You could give me the sloppiest blowjob ever, and I'd still worship the ground you walk on."

You bite your bottom lip, suppressing the urge to moan. "Will you run me a bath afterward?"

"We can fuck in the bath instead."

You ponder for a second. "It would be an easy cleanup. We'd have to do it in the downstairs bathroom, though, and you'd have to be quiet. Think you can handle that?"

"I don’t know. Do you plan on making me scream?"

"I could always put those suspenders you wore today in your mouth to shut you up."

He exhales a sexy breath, one that reveals you caught him off guard. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

You hum and grab his hand, raising it to your mouth to nip at the calloused pad of his thumb before walking down the stairs to the bathroom just around the corner. The porcelain tub awaits, and you turn the knob and plug the drain. The bay window it sits in front of exhibits an endless ocean and a sky that’s fading into starlit shades of dark blue.

Once the water is high enough and sufficiently warm, you shut the faucet off and begin removing your clothes. Harry enters the bathroom a few moments later and locks the door behind him. He unbuttons his shirt slowly while facing the mirror, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

You step into the tub and watch him. He's taking his trousers off now, his exposed back muscles flexing along with his biceps as he shimmies the garment down his legs. His body is truly something from a beautiful dream. Every inch blesses your eyes.

He's entirely naked when you break away from your reverie. His long legs gracefully step over the tub's ledge to settle behind you. A muted moan escapes him when his cock rubs against your lower back.

"Already making noise, and I haven't even started yet," you tease, leaning into his touch.

"Can you blame me? I have my wife"—his fingers glide against your pulsing entrance—"dripping for me. Absolutely soaked."

"Then do something about it."

Harry palms your clit, and you instinctively bend your knees. "I thought you wanted to be in control tonight."

"Will you be good? You have a reputation for getting antsy and taking over."

His hands travel to your sensitive breasts, squeezing them. "Yeah? Does that bother you?"

"You know I like it when you're submissive. Especially when you whine for me and try to touch me when you know you can't."

"Go on, then. Take care of your husband."

"I'm going to take care of myself first." You turn around and straddle his thighs—above his kneecap, your name is inked permanently.

"Ride it. You're the only one who's allowed to." His hands try to latch onto your waist, but you slap them away.

"Touch yourself while I ride you."

Harry's tongue pokes the inside of his cheek as he grips his cock, squeezing and twisting to satiate himself. You grind on his thigh to relieve the building pressure and stifle your moans into his neck. You’re slick with arousal as his thigh muscle flexes with each motion. He starts pumping, his arm resting on the edge of the tub. Your palm presses against his abdomen, causing him to release a choked moan.

You shush him. "You have to be quiet. What do you need? Tell me what you want, and I'll give it to you since you're being so good."

"You," he whispers with a pained look etched on his face. "I need you around my cock. Please, please, please."

His voice dies with each plea, and you cradle his limp head as he fully submits to you. Whenever he begs, you unravel too. Your dominant wall crumbles with his whines, and his deep voice always goes a pitch higher to show his desperation for you. His pink lips form solicitous praises and carnal noises of desire. You want to kiss them until they’re swollen and numb.

"I know," you say, kissing the indent between his eyebrows. "I'm ready."

Shakily lifting yourself off his thigh, you get Harry to sit up more in the tub so he can line his cock up with your entrance. When you slowly lower into him, he stretches your walls and sinks deep. Your fingers scratch his chest, your body leaning into him as you ride him. He moans, and you cover his mouth. His muffled whimpers encourage you to go faster.

Through ragged breaths, Harry says, "Let me come on your stomach. You're so beautiful like this."

Who are you to say no to such a filthy request?

"Are you close?" Your question lingers in the air, and Harry seems to be spaced out from pleasure because he doesn't answer. You feel him throb inside you as he jerks his hips up at a different angle. His glistening chest is heaving, and his eyes are pinched shut.

"Harry." You cradle his cheeks to bring him back to earth. "Are you close?"

He hears you this time, nodding fervently until, little by little, he slips himself out of you and stands up in the tub. You follow his lead and sit on the edge so that he towers over you. He holds his cock and looks up at the ceiling as he comes. You hold his free hand to balance him, his legs trembling and his lips pulled inward to stop any moans from escaping.

Harry’s warm release drips down on you, and once he finishes, he falls to his knees in the water, some of it splashing over the tub and onto the floor. His hands grip your ankles to put them over his shoulders, leaving sloppy kisses on your legs. You spread them more so he can finish you off. You could orgasm in two seconds flat if he puts his mouth on you.

"Fingers or mouth?" he asks.

"Mouth. Can I come on you too?"

He whines against your inner thigh. "Yeah?"

You nod, and Harry immediately latches his mouth on your clit. There's already pressure building in your lower stomach. He moves down to lick inside of you, his nose nudging your clit as his hands splay on your bump. It’s a protective move on his part.

"Feels so good," you say, placing your hands on the tub's edge to steady yourself. "I feel it. Please don't stop."

He licks a long stripe upward, not holding back by going inside so deep that it makes you ache. Your legs tighten around him until you sense your burning climax approaching.

"Harry. Please, I need—" You can't finish your sentence because Harry stands up abruptly and hooks his hand under your knees to lift you, carefully stepping out of the tub and setting you on the rug. It's messy and uncoordinated—however, he's never the one to give you a stagnant sex life.

He cradles you as your body quivers, then lays down on his back so you can fulfill your request. You straddle his torso, your slickness settling on his abdomen in the dim lighting of the bathroom. His thumb presses onto your clit, a move that always makes your orgasm boil over. Your neck tilts back, and you come. Harry's hands are everywhere—kneading your ass, rubbing up and down your thighs, and groping your breasts. You ride out the last of your release. His skin is sticky with your arousal, and you eventually collapse on your back next to him in exhaustion.

"C'mere, love," Harry says, his arm extended. “You're too far away."

You exhale, your hands resting on your bump. "I can't. My legs feel like jelly."

Harry snorts a laugh and sits up. He quickly unplugs the drain and crawls over to hover above you, placing a kiss on your stomach. He blindly finds a towel nearby and begins wiping you clean.

"This is the lamest aftercare ever," you say, laughing tiredly. The dry towel doesn't feel nice on your sweaty skin, and Harry's movements are lazy.

"That's enough out of you," he replies through his exhaustion, gently cleaning your stomach.

"Should I take off work tomorrow?" you wonder aloud. "I want to sleep in."

"Yes," he whispers, grabbing your hands to position you upright. His eyes take in every bit of you. "Look at you. You're going to be the death of me."

Every nerve of yours seems to tingle at his words. "Remember when I was pregnant last time, and you nearly broke my back during sex?"

Harry cackles way too loud, and you hush him as his hands slap over his mouth. "I was so scared when that happened. But I could only take you from behind because you were ready to pop, so it's not entirely my fault."

"Excuse me? How is that not your fault?" You yank the towel from his loose grasp and begin cleaning him. "I'm surprised my water didn’t break with how hard you were going."

"Jesus, you've got a dirty mind. Save it for later, would you?"

A comfortable silence ensues while you both wrap towels around your bodies and then head to the bedroom. You pick out one of Harry's shirts and a pair of underwear. He slides into some black boxers. While you ruffle your slightly damp hair, he sneakily picks you up and lightly tosses you on the bed, making you squeal in surprise.

"Are you really going to take off work tomorrow?" he asks, kissing along the column of your throat.

"Yeah. I'll lie and say my morning sickness is bad."

His kisses move to your cheeks. "And what if it actually is?"

"Then my husband will wait on me hand and foot," you say with a grin. "He’ll feed me soup in bed. Massage me. Kiss me better."

Harry tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear. "You know I'd do that anyway, right? Just say the word, and I'll do anything."

You stare at his kind eyes and inviting lips. The shadow of his dimple even when he's not smiling. His perfect nose that resembles your daughter's. His cheeks that were meant to be pinched fondly. His simple smile that made you fall in love from day one. The love of your lifetime, with a soul that shelters his heart that overflows with love.

"I love you,” you say.

A whispered reciprocation is spoken, and it's all you need in the world.

——

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #dad!harry #dadrry #harry styles au #dilfrry #harry styles #adore-laur

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romanceisdeadbutimnot · 1 year ago

Text

I guess I maybe had a couple expectations

💌

Summary

When a spring dance is announced for campus everyone collectively agrees that Gojo will be crowned King of the Night. So why are rumors going around that you’ll be queen? And why is everyone convinced that you and Gojo are going together?

In which Gojo ropes you into being his fake dance date without your permission and then promptly falls in love

ao3 masterlist

4- I guess I thought that prom was gonna be fun

Gojo watches your form disappear into the building, agony building in his chest.

Fuck.

He was going to have to ask Shoko how to talk to women.

He was not going to ask Shoko how to talk to women. He’d never live that down.

It wasn’t his fault. He reasoned with himself the entire ride home. He only made up that you had asked him to the dance because he wanted everyone to leave him alone, and your little crush on him was cute. He wasn’t into you, not then anyway, but he enjoyed your presence far more than he had any of his previous girlfriends. He only invited you out to go dress shopping because Geto bet you would reject him. Geto was so confident that your disdain for Gojo would outweigh whatever puppy crush you had. And Gojo, he just had to prove him wrong.

So he took you shopping, he enjoyed your company more than he’d like to admit. You had this look about you, this knowing glance that you’d give him, like you could read his mind. So he thought he’d have fun with you, just for a little bit. But meeting his mother. Meeting his mother was a mistake. You weren’t supposed to see him so vulnerable, so weak. You weren’t supposed to defend him, so fearlessly, so recklessly. And your hand, it wasn’t supposed to be so warm in his own.

Okay, so what, he reasoned. He developed a small crush on you. So he did what he always did when he was interested in someone. He followed you around wooing you. A fool proof plan really, get into a relationship with you, get dumped (eventually like he always does), and forget you ever existed. It was a fool proof plan, until he realized how much he actually liked you. And oh, there was so much to like about you. The way you gave him pointed glares, the way you’d scrunch your nose and squint your eyes, the cherry red blush on your cheeks. He loved how you smelled, like jasmine and marigold, and the way you challenged him at every opportunity. So he panicked. He didn’t know what to do, how to court you properly and so he panicked. Very uncharacteristic of him, but he panicked and bought you gifts. Girls like getting gifts, didn’t they? Sure he may have gone a bit overboard, but he was Gojo fucking Satoru, and who was he if not a bit much.

Still. It seemed like you didn’t quite enjoy the gifts as much as he imagined. Instead you seemed rather flustered and off put, which was dreadfully endearing in its own way. But you didn’t immediately jump into his arms and kiss him like he had thought. Besides it didn’t matter anyway, you were going with him to the banquet. He’d have plenty of time there to show you what a good boyfriend he could be. That’s where it all went awry. Apparently, being a good boyfriend was a lot harder than being a good fuck. He just wanted to kiss you, to be near you, but you were so defensive, and the bonus of pissing off his mom was too good to pass up. So he kissed you, and pissed off his mom. He knew by the half lidded look you had given him, the way he could feel your heart pounding against him, that you had liked the kiss. He was a great kisser, after all.

So, why did you look at him with such disdainful eyes? You liked him, that much he was sure of, yet you seemed to abhor when he paid you any attention romantically. It made no sense to him. How could you like him, and hate him at the same time? It was plain as day how flustered you were, how you’d always protest in his hold, but never make any real move to distance yourself, how you always looked to him in a crowd, how you stood closer to him than you did anyone else in class, you liked him, he knew you liked him. So why? Why did you cry such angry tears when he was trying to give you everything you asked for.

Somewhere he knew deep down, that it was his fault. Somewhere along the way you decided that he couldn’t be trusted. That was why you gave him such a pitiful look. It was because you wanted more than anything for any of his flirting to be true, but you would never believe it was. He knew he should apologize, but he was bad at them. He hoped that if he gave you the weekend to cool down, everything would go back to normal. He could continue flirting with you, and you’d continue rejecting him like always. He could be okay with that. He could live with that, couldn’t he?

The next morning, you grabbed three random bags, and headed to your friend's cluster. Anne, Aliyah, and Wen. They regarded you with strange looks, as you burst in carrying two Dior and one Kate Spades bags into their living room, looking like a hot mess -not even bothering to change out of the golden dress, and holding Hermes purse, since it already had your wallet.

“Did you finally have a psychotic break?” Wen asks. Anne hands Aliyah a five dollar bill, indicating that somewhere along the way they had made a bet about you.

“Gojo is an ass.” You hold up a finger to halt their impending protests. “Before you ask, he bought these, and I have a shit ton more just lying in my room. So don’t feel bad.” You sigh, setting the bags on the table and collapsing onto one of the couches.

“What did he do wrong? I thought the two of you weren’t dating?” Anne asks.

“He kissed me!” You throw your hands into the air.

“How’s that a bad thing? You’ve wanted him to kiss you since freshman year,” Aliyah pipes in, inspecting one of the Dior bags.

“Because! He kissed me, then told me it was only to piss off his mom, ugh,” you groan, rubbing your hands over your eyes.

“Oh,” Wen pats your shoulder affectionately.

“Yeah oh, he’s been playing with me this whole time and I’m a fool because I knew that and I still fell for it.” You wouldn’t be lying when you said you wanted the world to swallow you up whole.

“Don’t feel bad babes, tons of people would have a hard time staying cold hearted if a man that gorgeous was doting on them.” Aliyah attempts to cheer you up.

“Yeah don’t feel bad, Gojo is like totally hot and really charming.” Wen pipes in. “It’s not your fault, he’s a pro at this.”

“Let’s forget him. He’s an ass anyway.” Anne smiles, grabbing her car keys from the wall. “Let’s get overpriced coffee and blast music.”

It worked. You were able to forget Gojo, at least for the weekend. But when Monday rolled around, you couldn’t avoid him forever. To your absolute detriment, (you had arrived just as the class starts in hopes that you could avoid sitting next to Gojo), the only seat visibly open was the one right at the front. It was right between Gojo and his best friend Geto.

“Fuck me,” you groan, setting your notes for class on the table.

“Happily if you decide you’re done with the tomcat,” Geto snickers next to you. Gojo gasps, grabbing the bottom of your seat and dragging it closer to his own. Closer so that it would be so delightfully easy to wrap you into his arms. Which he does.

“You can’t steal my girl that’s bad form,” he sticks his tongue out at Geto who sticks his tongue out right back.

“That would imply that I’m your girl Gojo, and I’m not,” you elbow him in the ribs, struggling harder than you’ve done in the past to break free from his hold. “And to reply to you Geto, never in a million years if this is the company you keep.” There’s venom in your voice, Gojo heard it, Geto heard it.

He lets you go, watching as you scoot your chair back to the middle, maybe just a tad closer to Geto than Gojo, and promptly ignore the two of them. There was no blush on your cheeks, no hidden smiles.

‘You fucked up,’ Geto mouths to him, across from you.

‘I’m fixing it,’ he mouths back, flipping his friend off. He was fixing it, or at least he was going to try.

Lunch rolled around. You had done your best to ignore Gojo all through class, and nearly ran from the room the second class was over. You entered the cafeteria only to find Gojo’s eyes immediately trained upon yours. He perks up, moving to stand and bickering with Shoko who’s turned around and trained her eyes on you as well. Okay so no lunch today. It didn’t bother you too much, this wouldn’t be the first nor last meal skipped. You exit the cafeteria with haste, heading instead to the student activities office where you could hide. That was mostly a success until he caught you trying to study later in one of the several nooks across campus later that afternoon.

He beams at you as he jogs over. You quickly as you can try to shove everything on the desk into your backpack, but it’s too late. He descends upon you like the morning sun, shoveling you into the booth as he moves to sit next to you.

Damn. Trapped.

“Gojo, can’t you see I’m trying to ignore you,” you glare.

“Oh no I can see you’re trying to ignore me, that’s exactly why I’m here,” he tells you with a grin, rifling around in his own backpack.

“Oh perfect, what an excellent plan,” you roll your eyes, debating on whether you should climb over or under the table to escape.

“That’s what I thought!” He exclaims excitedly, before pausing. “You’re not being sarcastic are you?” You give him a pointed look. He relents, finally finding whatever it was in his backpack.

“I brought you a sandwich because you ran away from me at lunch.” He pulls the sandwich out. It was your favorite. It’s followed by a bag of gummy bears, a bag of pink marshmallows in the shape of hearts, a couple zebra cakes, and a handful of jolly ranchers.

“Thank you but I’m not-“ you were going to say you’re not hungry, but as you say it your stomach rumbles loudly. Gojo looks at you, a self satisfied smirk on his face.

“What was that?” He asks.

“Shut up and eat your candy,” you grab the sandwich secretly happy to have something to eat.

“Okay,” he grins at you, a wicked and contagious grin. God he was so gorgeous it was unfair. You try your hardest to not smile back, to ignore the way your heart fluttered when he smiled at you, to forget the way he kissed you, the feeling of earth that blossomed all over your chest.

He pops a marshmallow in his mouth, chewing rather loudly -on purpose- you assumed. You roll your eyes doing your best to ignore him. What would you even say? That you were mad at him? That you weren’t going to the dance? That you hadn’t even opened the rest of the gifts you’d dumped in your room.

You ate in silence. Gojo started talking about some pastry store in Paris that had the most delectable marshmallow cream puffs, you mostly tried to tune him out, but it was hard. You kept thinking of your kiss, how warm his hands felt on your thigh, how soft his lips were, how he tasted like the chocolate covered strawberries he was feasting on earlier that night. With him acting so normal so non-flirtatiously it was hard to remember how mad you were.

You hear the loud ‘mwah’ before you feel his lips pressed against your cheek. Even though you despise it, your cheeks still grow red. You try to play it off.

“Don’t kiss me.” You turn to glare at him, but turn away just as quickly. He was looking at you with rapture, the bright blues of his eyes piercing through your very soul, as if he could see through you. The small satisfied smile on his face.

“I had to do something to get your attention out of your thoughts,” he tells you laughing. You open your mouth to protest his methods but as you do he presses a marshmallow between your lips. You nearly choke on the sweet before glaring at the offender. You chew, begrudgingly, glaring into his eyes. He looks at you pleased. You open your mouth again, clearly having learned nothing from the first time, and he places the zebra cake against your lips. You refuse to open your mouth further, locked in a silent battle, until he adds more pressure, beginning to crumble the cake against your face, smearing frosting against your lips. You swat his hand away annoyed, before as gracefully as you can manage after getting a cake smeared in your face, eating the damn pastry.

“Good I was worried you were gonna starve yourself in pursuit of avoiding me. Can’t have your ass getting flat, and your boo-“ Gojo begins before you cut him off with a slap to his arm.

“Could you bring your mind from the gutter for one minute? I was almost beginning to enjoy your company,” you chastise. That has him shutting up quickly as he locks his lips with an imaginary key for good measure. “Now leave, I'm trying to study.” And despite all odds he actually listens, packing up his candies and leaving the second zebra cake in case you were still hungry.

The rest of the week goes something like that. You try your best to avoid Gojo, and maintain your anger. He finds you, and makes it really difficult to even imagine that you could’ve been so mad just days before. You wouldn’t say that he wasn’t annoying or pushy, but he seemed to have a sixth sense of what lines to cross, and which to stay behind. Was he touchy? Yes, but they were mostly friendly, aside from the occasional kiss on the cheek, or the forehead or the hand. It was hard to stay mad, when he looked at you like the universe was unfolding in your eyes. You had never seen him with such an expression, not with any of his previous lovers, not even with Geto. It was flattering, it was intoxicating, it was down right addicting, and that was bad for your health. It was bad how high he lifted you, boosted your ego at every opportunity, while somehow keeping it light and teasing.

If you were screwed before, you were definitely screwed now. You were holding your own, at least in front of him. At night, his sunglasses that sat on your desk, the ones you kept forgetting to grab to return, taunted you. Your dreamers were haunted by a blue eyed white haired ghost. It was utterly infuriating, but you were managing. Keeping him at a friendly distance. It wasn’t until Sunday night, that your resolve finally broke.

“Come on girl, it’ll be fun and help you get over Gojo. He’s sticking around like a bad cold, and that’s not good for you,” Aliyah begs you, already dressed to the nines in clubbing attire.

“On Sunday night? I don’t think so,” you smile at her, amused but confident in your decision. Wen was rifling through your, still unopened bags, doing a poor job of masking her excitement and shock. She wasn’t the one you needed to worry about though. It was Anne, because she had the look in her eye. The look that you knew was going to destroy your whole plan.

“You promised me on my birthday when you ditched us to study for that exam, that I could have one free pass, as long as you didn’t have an exam the next day. And news flash you don’t have an exam Monday. You have to go!” She was looking at you with pleading eyes.

“Besides, you have the perfect outfit right here!” Wen pulls out a sexy silky black dress. It looked short, and skin tight, and very expensive.

“I don’t know guys.” You try to plead your case.

So it wasn’t technically your doing, you liked a good party every now and again, but you weren’t feeling it tonight. The glaring lights, the loud reverberating music, the stench of alcohol and the smoky haze all seemed more headache inducing than fun. You friends were well on their way to becoming tipsy. You had had a drink or two, and were starting to feel the effects. Not enough to get you in the mood, but just enough that it was hard to emotionally regulate.

You were trying to have fun, you really were. You were dressed up, all hot and sexy, in the expensive little black dress. One that Gojo had bought. You were kinda miffed at how good you looked in it. Yet despite all that, you weren’t having a good time. You were annoyed and grumpy. It seemed like the more you wanted to have fun, the more upset you were. You wanted to be having a good time like Wen who was making out with a smokin hot woman at the bar, or Aliyah who was dancing and grinding with strangers on the dance floor. Anne was doing her best to get you in the mood, pointing off your potential suitors and fending off her own. You could tell though that your bad mood was dragging her own fun down. As much as you thought it might be fun to flirt with random strangers and grind the night away, you just weren’t feeling it. They didn’t fit your standards, everyone seemed lecherous and greasy and foolish. Since you weren’t feeling it, you weren’t feeling confident, and the lack of confidence led to an increased lack of interest in you. Something that stung considering it rubbed salt in the wound of you believing Gojo was only messing around. If you weren’t pulling more than 5/10 how was the 10/10 even remotely attracted to you. The revolution only soured your mood more.

Eventually you decide not to waste anymore of Anne’s time citing that you were gonna call and Uber and head home. You promised you’d be safe, and text her the car plate and when you get back. With that you were off, weaving your way through the club, looking back to see Anne joining a rowdy and eccentricity dressed group of individuals on the dance floor, smiling and laughing with the biggest grin on her face. You were happy she was enjoying herself now, and happy that you were leaving instead of bringing the whole mood down.

By the time you make it out of the club you’re more than ready to be back in bed. Instead you were standing in the pouring rain, trying to order an Uber while the cars kept canceling. It was more than frustrating, you were just about ready to say fuck it and cry while walking back home.

For the last 45 minutes Gojo had been sitting in his car, outside of the club, willing himself to go inside. Usually it was completely his scene, plenty of people to flirt with, plenty of alcohol, and zero responsibilities. The whole reason he had decided to go out in the first place was to convince himself that whatever infatuation he had with you, that it was just that. Over the week he had begun to realize that whatever crush he had on you was starting to get really serious, a little too serious if you asked him. If he thought he was panicking before, he was certainly freaking out now.

So he was going to get wasted, flirt with people, and have a one night stand. He was desperately trying to convince himself that the feelings he held for you weren’t real feelings and that you were just filling the gap like so many had before you. So he was going to go drinking and clubbing without worrying about what you were doing knowing that his actions could and would hurt you. It was a genius plan by all accounts, and after banging some hot chic he’d certainly realize how little you actually mattered.

It was going to work, his plan was destined to work. Except- he couldn’t get himself to actually go into the club. Every time he thought about leaving the car he’d get such an intense bout of nausea he thought he was dying. The pain he felt in his chest had him googling heart attack symptoms with the ambulance on speed dial. Maybe he ate something bad, or he was coming down with some strange cold. It didn’t strike him til about the 35 minute mark that what he was feeling was guilt for treating you thoughtlessly. Even considering going out and flirting with anyone other than you was gut wrenching.

If that revelation wasn’t bad enough, it had started to rain. It was absolutely pouring, enough that it was starting to get hard to see out of his windshield. He was just about to leave when he sees you exit the club, looking worse for wear standing in the rain. He watches you for a moment, apprehensively, as if you were a figment of his imagination, a hallucination brought on by his realization of how deep his feelings for you ran. Especially because you were in the little black dress he had bought, especially because even with your hair in sopping ringlets around your face you looked more beautiful than any model he had ever seen.

After about ten minutes of you standing in the rain, he sees you turn and begin walking toward campus. It’s like something in him snapped, and before he’s thinking properly (about how he could’ve driven to you, or grabbed the umbrella under his back seat) he’s out of his car and running toward you in the rain.

At first you think Gojo’s voice is a hallucination in your brain. After feeling practically unfuckable, bringing the whole mood of the party down, and getting drenched in water while the immediate area became a Uber desert he was there to taunt you. Except he wasn’t. He was real, wearing a really wet white button down with white pants, running toward you in the rain. You can barely make out his car behind him, the headlights refracting through the rain. An angel. He looks like an angel, the light casting a brilliant halo behind him, his eyes piercing even in the rain, porcelain skin dewey and bright. Oh, oh, you could fall just like that. When he reaches you, he towers of your form, eyes searching and scanning, noticing every twitch of your hand, every flutter of every eyelash, how the water cascaded around your body. He was looking at you like you were art, like he was enraptured with your entire being, every angle, every side, every emotion, each hidden meaning and knowing glance. And maybe it was the shitty day, or the rain, or the week, or everything that you were going through, maybe it was the club, or how he looked at you, but you threw yourself into his arms.

#jjk gojo x reader #gojou satoru x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo x reader #gojo x you

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a-libra-writes · 1 year ago

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Hi, how about some content for Asa with a reader who is the sister of Savoy but more calm and open to communication with others.

the comedic potential of this is too good (kind of a shortie!)

Being both oldest and most-levelheaded of the Savoy siblings, you're often the one doing the talking when it's time for introductions or making nice. Being easy on the eyes helps, too. When the three of you were approached by the much larger Marigold gang to leave your current employment and join up with them. That's when you came in contact with the Hotel Maribel's night manager, Asa Sweet.

The relationship was purely professional at first. You were the messenger between Asa and your siblings - initially he was good-humored but wary of them. They weren't particularly keen on making nice and behaving, but when did they ever? These meetings start going from talking in the office to talking at a café or restaurant. In Asa's words, the office is too stuffy for a lady. It's best to talk business over a good meal.

While Nico is amused with these outings, Serafine is the one whose a little bothered - sure, getting cozy with the "night manager" might be advantageous in the future, but that's her sister, damn it! She gives Asa unsettling grins across the Marigold Room, as if he wasn't totally aware how dangerous the two were. If you were also a gunman - well, he didn't get that level of fear from you, but still. He treads carefully, making sure his compliments aren't too forward and gauging your interest first. Look, he's a gentleman - he'd never start flirting unless he knew you'd be open to reciprocating. And that's before he found out you always carry a gun.

(Mordecai has had the unfortunate pleasure of sitting in on a few of these these conversations-turned-dates. Yes, he looks utterly miserable and annoyed. He thought you were the reasonable Savoy, apparently he was wrong.)

Once it's pretty clear you have a similar interest, Asa would buy you little things here and there. Some pretty flowers to your suite after a successful job, maybe a pretty little bracelet or set of earrings for a holiday or birthday. Nothing ostentatious, and you figure the only thing he likes more than conversation is giving you lovely, inconspicuous gifts... Serafine notices anyway. She's still wary of the whole thing, but she still joins Nico in teasing you mercilessly about liking such an "old man".

Anyway, Asa's a charming, fun and gentlemanly date. You don't feel any lesser for sounding 'strange' or essentially growing up in a swamp, and he always wants to flatter and spoil you. It's nothing serious, just you two enjoying each other's company. When's the last time you had such fancy dates, anyway? Heck, if it interested you, he'd take you to the theater or fancy banquets, delighting in how awed and curious you are. And obviously he wants to buy you pretty things to wear for the events. Overall, it's always a good and interesting time.

Regardless of your personal preferences, you and Asa agree it's best to keep any physical affection on the down-low, especially around your siblings. (Yeah, no matter how much you reassure him, he's certain they want to tie him up and leave him for the gators ...)

You've talked it over with Nico and Serafine several times, and while Nico went from apprehensive to indifferent to amused, the relationship never really sits right with your sister. You think if Asa was closer to a rumrunner instead of say, an upper class manager, she'd be more at ease. She doesn't like all the fancy gifts and dates, because that isn't who you are. It'd be one thing if you stringing the older man along, but you're actually happy. Serafine wouldn't stop you or try to break it up, but expect lots of extra snark when you get back from a date.

#asa sweet x reader #lackadaisy x reader

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bhjuyeon · 1 year ago

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heylo everyone, i'm xydo (25+, they/them, gmt+8) and i bring my sweet boy kang juyeon, the third born child from the house of mugunghwa! read under cut to be hypnotized in making you plot with me!

dossier / connection / moodboard

basics!

raised as the 3rd child (and currently) the only male among siblings, there's a certain expectations that his father holds on him even if he isn't the heir apparent. his upbringing is a little more strict, since he can't be married off as easily as they do with daughters for political gains or for the benefits of families, so his parents decides that juyeon should learn as much as he could.

he started picking the gayageum when he was four; a genius they would call him. his father's men would predict him being a traditional music instructor down the line. but as juyeon grows up, sure he enjoyed the gayageum but his interest lays elsewhere just as his fear continues to impede on him as he grows older.

young juyeon has a fear for disappointing his father, as much as he hates being compared to his older and younger siblings. there's this line of being in the middle as well as (currently) being the only son that makes it hard to appease his father in living up the house of mugunghwa's name and honor.

in present time, juyeon attends beonhwa academy on alternate weekdays. no one knows why someone of his age is still learning when he's good enough to teach in the academy itself, but studying has always been what juyeon knows best ever since a child. what better way to keep learning than to be in the academy he has rights to. knowledge is vast to him regardless.

however on certain weekends, you may find him at the orchid opera house as a performer. something he's been doing since a child though when he was younger where he used to perform once every two months. now it's more biweekly in comparison due to his flexibility in performance now that he's older and more skilled in his crafts. if you're lucky enough to attend a session by the honored member of the house of mugunghwa, you may find juyeon showing his crafts in gayageum, daegeum or in modern piano. mostly in solo acts rather than in groups unless performed with his siblings. being able to witness his performance is considered a high honor of invitation or wealth indication.

because knowledge is power to him, he ends up being addicted to info exchanging. a fancy term he uses for gossiping. perhaps addiction is an understatement. it's a form of payment he receives as 'yeon', the anonymous tea ceremony host who is known to wear a traditional korean mask that changes every week and every client. he doesn't speak much in these sessions to maintain his anonymity, often only brewing the finest tea one could savor and using the tea as a form of a 'yes' and 'no' indication. you cannot physically purchase a session with yeon no matter how much you can pay for as he only seeks you out if there is any valuable information amongst the houses if one can provide. likewise, if one wishes to seek information that he has then they will need to exchange another information of their own to him. in such case where a deal is struck, he will write the information on a paper in hanja only.

there's a lot more to unravel about juyeon and his relationship with his family as well as himself but it will be developed eventually as he gets more interaction!

things i would like to write!

fellow beonhwa academy attenders. whether they share the same class and what not!!!

a regular of juyeon's performance attender??? maybe someone who is interested in him (musicality wise, wants him to perform in their own banquet or whatever??) or like a crush on him???

people he could exchange vital information on houses for the tea ceremony he hosts. whether he sends you out information or that your muse is desperate to know of.

someone who feeds him the info that a family member WITHIN the house of mugunghwa (marigold) is not holding alliance to the house name. (this is more so for the development of his letent rose canon) can be done discretely, or in his tea ceremony session.

a possible betrothed ??? for political stance/for the benefit of the family, so both families could be richer and what not???? they don't have to necessary be romantically acquainted. could be a pact, maybe they plan a divorce down the 2-3 years of marriage?? slow burn even??? (applicable for muses aged '99-'03 liners, family in different houses/upcoming merchants/rich business owners)

fake friends or whoever just want to be acquainted to the house of mugunghwa. i would say juyeons a loser. doesnt have much friends so i could see some people try to take advantage of that eventho he may?? will??? reject their advances.

at some point maybe one person who discovers he's yeon. tries to either blackmail him, or for their own benefit. get info out of him.

also i feel like i would eventually like for juyeon to move out from the house of mugunghwa's residence eventually. so a possible housemate/roommate??? or a discussion of it, if they are friends

#bhrp:intro #＃ 𝐱𝐲𝐝𝐨 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐬!#late to the party cus i just woke up

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blpalace · 1 year ago

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Missed out Marigold's talk about writing consent (and non-consent), from the BL Palace Grand Banquet 2023? Find the link to it on the BL Palace Discord (#reception-hall pins)!

#writing #yaoi #writing tips

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frodothefair · 1 year ago

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Frodogold wedding outakes, aka Dessert

(a lot of this may or may not make it into the final work; just having fun @konartiste)

Since many hobbits get married the year after the Scouring, Pippin, being in possession of a good voice and a felicity for composition, made a tidy sum performing his songs at wedding banquets. Briefly, the Planning Committee wondered if was right to ask Pippin to work at Frodo’s wedding, but it did not take long for them to agree that Pippin delighted in being seen and heard, and indeed they were not wrong: Pippin showed up with fiddle and sheet-music before they had even finished asking him.

----

At the pub, Gaffer laments that a daughter marrying into the gentry is not the boon everyone thinks it is – at least not in the short term – because of the "little matter" of the wedding gifts.

----

“If this ankle doesn’t a-meel-yore-ate anytime soon, I won’t be able to walk Mari down that aisle,” gruffed the Gaffer, raising his foot to the table for Sam to see. The bee sting shone red and lurid, like a ripe berry. “I might have to della-gate that bit to you, son.”

Sam considered for a moment, his heart sprinting in secret, the thought of walking down the aisle towards Frodo.

“No chance that a father of mine’s going to be missing out on that walk," he shook his head. "You keep off your feet all week, and I’ll ask Mari to make you a compress.”

----

There were, of course, a few other things that caused Marigold a great deal of distress, and those Sam would not reveal even under the influence of drink. For instance, that the Gaffer had made him read every line in the marriage contract twice in case “not all that glittered was gold,” and that even though Frodo was paying for the wedding and had declined a dowry, the Gamgees were still scouring their coffers and calling in favors and stretching their budgets as thin as threadpaper to make sure that their gifts to the couple did not look wretched alongside those from the Brandybucks and Tooks.

----

Hobbits do not use wedding rings - far too much risk that they’ll get lost while gardening. Marigold wearing a ring is also out of the question - not only bad memories for Frodo, but she is far too busy with her hands. As a result, Marigold gets Belladonna Took's necklace as an engagement gift - it has a choker and cameo design with a locket. Everyone has something to say about it: some think it too dear and too fancy, some think it not nearly dear enough. Marigold likes it because it is understated and does not clash with her existing outfits.

----

Pippin likes to catch the bouquets at weddings, so his only ask of Frodo and Marigold is that Marigold throw her bouquet to him. When they wonder why he wants that, Pippin announces proudly that he’s caught four bouquets at weddings already, and it leads to jolly good fun, because there’s no better way to get a bevy of indignant lasses to chase him, and if he’s lucky, pile on top of him. He then adds that weddings are a “great way to meet people.” Frodo shakes his head and reminds Pippin that he isn’t even of age yet.

---

“Marigold, how are you at throwing?" Pippin asked.

“Passing fair, I reckon,” she replied uncertainly. “I have three brothers.”

“Great! Then you’ll throw the bouquet to me? It’s the only compensation I ask.”

----

But on the day, Marigold has such poor control of her faculties due to nerves that the bouquet ends up in the party tree.

#frodogold #flowers of mordor au #marigold gamgee #frodo baggins #ok i cheered myself up i think #lotr fanfic

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daffodillydilly · 1 year ago

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The Marigold's Larkspur - Chapter One

There was an unfamiliar man staring at Cressida from across the room. He stood only two feet from the entry way among the shadows and potted plants of the Banquet Hall. It took her a while to notice him as his clothes reflected the same shades of black and green.

“…in your family with a talent for the arts?” Someone was asking her a question. Cressida slid her eyes back to the conversation and raised her lips in the very picture of a demure smile.

“My father enjoys painting.” she answered, hoping she understood the gist of the question. “And my mother has a talent in needlework.”

There was a slight pause at the table, and then a bit of shared glances between the six well-dressed individuals. The woman in a pale peach dress, who had apparently asked the question in the first place, tilted her head, and clarified; “A talent. Or a…” She grimaced, holding her teacup aloft, gesturing elegantly with her other hand, “talent?”

Ah. She was asking about magic. They had managed to avoid the subject thus far, but Cressida could see each noble perk up with interest now that the taboo topic had been broached.

Cressida glanced at the old man sitting directly to her left. Salt and pepper coils tied up by a dark green cloth framed his face, which was the same shade and texture of the bark of an oak tree. His arms were crossed, hidden beneath the long sleeves of his grey robes. He raised an expectant eyebrow at her, leaning back against his seat. His expression seemed to say, ‘Go on.’

Cressida hesitated for a moment, before making sure to keep the demure smile firmly in place, only adding a twinkle of a laugh. “The most exceptional thing about my mother’s needlework is the amount of hard work it took for her to become so accomplished. It’s really a wonder what practice and patience can do.”

A chorus of approving nods and murmurs. The old man sitting next to her snorted, a sharp exhale of amusement- or perhaps disappointment- through both whiskered nostrils. Cressida lightly stomped on his foot under the table, hidden beneath the ivory tablecloth. He gave no reaction, except to grin across the table at the woman in peach.

“Do you have any talent, Countess Fenella?” he asked, emphasizing the same word she had.

The countess’ complexion paled. “Oh no!” she declared. “Not at all. Not in my family either!”

The old man, Quail, snorted once more, and under his breath muttered, “Clearly.” Cressida stomped his foot again. Harder.

“Although no disrespect meant towards yourself, Sir Walerian…” spoke the large man in a burgundy coat.

“…here we go…” Grand Scholar of Magic Quail Walerian whispered.

“Talent is still a rather undesirable trait in Ashlar given our recent history. I’m sure you’ll understand our nobility’s aversion- “

“Oh yes, I understand aversion, Marquess. Sitting at this table and listening to you talk has become a lesson in it.”

Cressida’s smile was plastered on by spite and willpower. Her heel dug into Quail’s- apparently- steel toed boot.

“Sir Walerian, as I said no disrespect.” The Marquess bobbed his head. “Your, ah, profession has many uses- “

“Ah…profession...! A step up from ‘talent.’ At least professions pay.”

Cressida took a sip from her teacup to smother a bubble of genuine amusement.

“-but here in Ashlar talk of…your craft-"

“Oh a craft now, is it?”

“-may make people feel…. uh…. uncomfortable.”

Quail snickered, each exhale making the coarse hair of his beard and mustache dance. “Me? Make people uncomfortable? I haven’t been concerned about that in years.”

“Sir Walerian,” the countess said with a nervous hiccup that she tried to pass off as a giggle, “Aside from your, ah, extraordinary profession…You introduced yourself as her highness’s instructor. Correct?”

“Yes, that’s me.”

“Instructor in…what exactly?”

“He is my botany instructor.” Cressida interjected before Quail could get the chance to speak. “Among other things. Including penmanship, philosophy, and literature.” He glanced at her, a single eyebrow raised, but didn’t say anything to contradict it.

An unspoken tension in the room eased up at once.

“Ah!” laughed the old earl in blue. “All fine subjects of study. And you are a singer and musician as well! I don’t suppose Sir Walerian also instructs you in music?”

Cressida glanced at him, and he raised his other eyebrow, as if to ask, ‘Do I?’

“He does.” She answered truthfully. “Although he cannot play or sing for the life of him, he is able to easily instruct me on various improvements.”

“How unusual,” commented the young lord in a cream-colored doublet. “Writing, music, botany, and such. Where did you learn all these skills, Sir Walerian?”

“Well,” Quail dragged out the word. “I suppose you could say I am a man of many talents.”

The table fell into unamused silence.

Quail grinned ear to ear, while Cressida cast him an exasperated glance. There was a pause, before the grizzled earl sitting across the table made an admirable attempt to change the subject.

“I should have thought to ask this already, but how was the journey, your highness?” he asked, sounding nearly sincere in his curiosity. The other nobles quickly chimed in with “Oh yes, how was it?”

“It was fine. Thank you for asking.” Cressida said automatically, having already fielded the same question from the head steward, the chamberlain, and the Marshal in charge of the stables.

“The roads weren’t too rough?”

“Not at all.” She easily lied, before adding in a snippet of truth. “I enjoyed the warmer weather. It’s remarkable how much warmer it is in Ashlar. Is it true it never snows?”

“Mostly true!” chirped the countess. “It snows at the very tip of the north near the border, but never here in the capital. Summer all year round.”

“It’s a bit of a distance from Eflia.” piped the young lord on her left. “But if you made the journey, your highness, how hard could it be?”

Cressida blinked, quirking an eyebrow. Was that a slight? She glanced in Quail’s direction reflexively.

“Carriage ride from Amberlin, Boat across Cabrilla lake, And another carriage ride across the border, then a two week’s journey to the capital. Most evenings without a decent inn. Twenty-seven days and nights.” Quail stated, ticking off points with his dark freckled fingers. “So, I appreciate your collective understanding if I suddenly set the table on fire due to my lack of proper rest.”

An uncomfortable tense silence swept over the table. The Marquess and the countess shared a brief look. The Marquess made a nervous sort of cough into a pale-yellow handkerchief, his face blanching to the same shade.

“Sir Walerian…” the countess began with a stiff but patient smile, “You’ve newly arrived with her highness this morning, so you may not be aware- “

“Yes yes, I am aware.” Quail replied, annoyance now coating his words. “I am aware that you Ashlarians are so afraid of ‘talents’ that I could sneeze, and you’d all lose your socks!”

Again, there was silence at the table, and then.

Quail lunged, arms outstretched, at the Marquess, “Achoo!”

Marquess squealed, clutching one gloved hand to his chest, dropping his handkerchief into his tea. There was a clattering of porcelain teacups as several others at the table jumped in their seats before casting dirty glances towards the now cackling old man.

Cressida inhaled sharply through her nose; lips tightly pressed together. Her gaze drifted towards the entry way, lingering on the greenery and sculpted figures. The man from before had moved closer, now standing by a polished stone statue of a woman holding an emerald eyed snake.

“So, your highness,” Cressida turned her head. The middle-aged duke in a beige waist coat smiled, clearly doing his best to ignore the old sorcerer chuckling beside her, “As you’re studying botany, you must be fond of flowers. His highness, Prince Ferox owns a marvelous garden.”

“Is that so?” she replied, relieved to have a change in subject. “I would be delighted to see it. I must ask him for a tour when we speak this evening, if he is not otherwise occupied.”

The countess perked up. “He should also show you the Great Hall.” she exclaimed, also doing her best to pretend Quail didn’t exist. “It’s the pride of Ashlar!”

“If it is anything like the splendor of this Banquet Hall, then I don’t doubt it.” Cressida replied, gesturing to the room with an amiable smile. “I will have the pleasure of dining there this evening.”

“Then his highness should also show you the Golden Courtyard.” The duke remarked, nodding his head presumably in the distant direction of the courtyard.

“The marigolds are in bloom.” Commented the quiet duchess next to him. “They are the same lovely color as your hair.”

“The head steward offered to give me a tour.” Cressida replied. “I wouldn’t dare ask Prince Ferox for anymore of his time.”

“He shouldn’t be too busy for his pretty fiancée.” The countess trilled. “Especially when you’ve only just arrived. As the Ashlarian saying goes ‘passion burns brightest at meetings and leavings.’”

“Meetings and leavings, eh?” Quail yawned. “I’m about to feel very passionately about all of you.” The old man’s long grey sleeves brushed against the table as he raised an arm to scratch his nose. “I’m still exhausted from the long journey. And as you know, I can’t truly enjoy a cup of tea without first sacrificing a goat.”

Cressida stifled a laugh at the way the Marquess’ jaw popped open. She took this as her cue to leave and placed her half-filled teacup on the saucer. “Thank you kindly for the company.” She addressed the table of six nobles, smiling brightly in hopes of softening Quail’s harsh impact. “I should have expected such a warm welcome, given what I’ve learned about your country.”

“I visited Eflia when I was a young man” commented the old earl, “The hospitality there was just as generous, and your nation has the finest of wines. I shall have to visit again and compliment your father on raising such a well-mannered daughter.”

They each purposefully ignored Quail, as they continued to chirp out pleasantries. Cressida smiled politely, laughing demurely when required. Her cheeks were beginning to ache from the strain.

She was about to excuse herself when the nobility abruptly stopped speaking mid-sentence. The duke’s joke about Eflian cuisine died in his throat, and the countess’ smile wilted. Their eyes collectively trailed up and over, locking on one focal point located just above and to the left of Cressida’s head.

There was complete silence at the table, which made Cressida realize just how large and empty the Banquet Hall was. The faces of the nobility were like deer, wide eyed and frozen. Cressida’s eyes darted to Quail, who was sitting with his hands tucked into his sleeves, head tilted as he observed the reactions of the people in front of them. Quail briefly met her eyes and raised an eyebrow in a way that said, ‘I don’t know either.’

The awkward silence after Quail’s attempt at a joke did not even compare to this deafening unnatural quiet that draped over the room, thick and heavy. Cressida turned her head to get a look at who or what had taken the air from everyone’s lungs so easily.

Thick black hair styled in a side part framed the square jawed face of a man who appeared to be in his late twenties. His skin was the color of the warm brown rocks that surrounded Cressida’s favorite pond at home and his eyes were like the cloudy water after she cast a stone into it; dark, smooth, and unable to see what was lurking beneath.

His phthalo green tunic tucked neatly into dark trousers, and although the design was simple, the cloth was high quality with golden embroidery at the neckline and wrists. He stood an arm’s reach away from the back of her chair, slightly on her left side. She recognized him as the man who had been staring at her from across the room.

His deep brown eyes locked onto hers immediately. They had already been looking in her direction.

“Good day…!” Cressida breathed, more out of shock than an actual greeting. A startled reaction from seeing a man so suddenly behind her. A reflex of ingrained pleasantries. The moment she spoke, the muscles in his neck tightened like ripples in a pond which smoothed when he swallowed.

“…good afternoon.” He replied. He had a soft clear voice, like the lower range of a viola.

The duke shared a long look with the duchess. “Good day, your highness.” He said, addressing the man without looking directly at him. “What brings you here?”

The man held Cressida’s gaze for a moment longer, then directed his eyes towards the table. The Marquess visibly shrunk back against his chair, and the other nobles either did the same or, like the duke, their gaze became permanently affixed somewhere, anywhere else.

“I am here to show the princess and her travel companion to their rooms.” He said, gaze moving to Quail and then, as if he couldn’t help it, back to Cressida.

Quail made a muffled sound of disbelief, the mix between a scoff and a laugh. He placed a hand on the back of Cressida’s chair, as he turned his torso to better look at the man.

“Did the steward resign?” Quail asked, raising both eyebrows. “Or is this just something you ‘like’ to do?” he paused, and then with a quirked brow. “…your highness?”

“I volunteered to.” The man said simply, momentarily switching his attention towards the old man. “Since I have a personal interest in Eflian culture.”

The stranger once again met Cressida’s eyes, and she felt compelled to speak, so he would at least have a rational reason to stare at her. “Your highness…Prince Callidus, correct?” she inquired.

His pupils were unusually large, the brown of his eyes nearly overtaken by them.

“Yes.” He said, more of a breath than a word.

She gave him a courteous smile and explained. “I’ve met Prince Ferox before, and you are not the right age to be Prince Illian and certainly not the young Prince Varyan. I would be grateful to have such a prestigious and well-respected escort.”

She made sure to hide the unease she felt behind a thick smile, eyes darting to the nobles who were mute in the presence of the prince. No one met her gaze, either to confirm or deny her statement.

“It’s an honor to meet you.” Cressida continued. It was strange to introduce herself to someone who was standing over her. Even stranger to do so without a curtsy. “I am Princess Cressida.”

“Cressida.” He said, his voice overlapping her own.

She paused, forehead wrinkling briefly, before she consciously smoothed it out. “I suppose it’s easy to know who I am.” She laughed lightly. “I am the only princess of Eflia after all.”

“We’ve met before.” He said, expression soft.

Cressida’s smile wavered. “Ah, we have…?”

“Yes, briefly.”

“I must apologize, but I’m afraid I’ve forgotten.” she said, feeling both embarrassed and puzzled.

“I did not introduce myself.” Prince Callidus said smoothly. “And it was a long time ago. Furthermore, I now have the pleasure of meeting you for the second time.”

Cressida blinked, eyebrows raising, before melting into a more authentic smile. It had been a while since someone was able to make their flattery sound sincere. He extended his hand towards Cressida, and she was taken aback by the sudden warmth of his smile. She hesitated, eyes landing on the offered hand.

Quail took it instead. “Oh, thank you.” He warbled, pulling himself to a standing position. “My back isn’t what it used to be. Especially after how long I’ve been in a carriage this week.”

Cressida took the opportunity to quickly stand on her own. She turned toward the table to thank the nobles once again for their company. They muttered their pleasantries, but their eyes kept darting to the prince in the green. The countess twisted a ring between her thumb and pointer fingers. The duke gave her a thin smile, while the marquess firmly focused on his empty teacup.

“Lead the way, your highness.” Quail said, eyebrows quirked. He inclined his head towards Callidus, and then caught Cressida’s eye with a look that said ‘Well, isn’t this interesting?’

#original story #original writing #male yandere #fantasy #The Marigold's Larkspur

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