#called him my partner and she asked if it was 'business tennis or romantic'

[technofinch]

Microdosing on coming out to my mom by using gender neutral language for the fake boyfriend I'm bringing home

[sundrop-writes]

Hiii !! We were kinda talking about this earlier (I feel like a lot of my Teen Wolf asks are gonna start like this) and it got me thinking

What do you think are the preferred romantic pet names the main pack has? Both what they call their s/o and what they like to be called ?

(would be cool to know about Derek and Isaac too, but up to you !!)

This is such a great prompt omg

Requests for Teen Wolf are OPEN - please read my Rules before requesting!

What would the pack like to be called, and what would they call you as a romantic partner?

Included: Stiles, Lydia, Allison, and Derek. (I didn't include Isaac because I am still getting a feel for his character... what do sad kicked puppy boys call their partner?? aside from Mommy)

Warnings: this is mostly fluff; there is some mild sexual references; I tried to keep the reader as gender neutral as possible; mentions of past Derek/Kate - I think that's it?

Stiles loves pet names in a relationship. He would be the king of calling his partner babe or baby - it would roll off his tongue so easily, every other moment, he would be calling you 'babe'.

"Babe, can you pass my phone?" "Babe, what you wanna do for lunch today?" "Baby, have you seen my keys?"

(This also goes to show how excited Stiles is to be in a relationship. He has so much affection for you and he loves you so much, and his brain is always so excited and vibrating with 'I love them! I love my partner so much! I have to let them know!' So it's nicknames and PDA all the time.)

Your name would almost never leave his lips - unless it was an ultra serious situation and you were in severe danger. Save that, it's babe or baby. (And sometimes the others mock how much he calls you this, but he doesn't care because it means he has a hot partner that he gets to hug and kiss and fuck, which is not something to mock in his opinion.)

What do you call him? You know that he likes being called 'baby' too - but you call him any nickname and he doesn't complain about it. Pookie is one of your favourites, and you call him by that a lot, but you do call him by his name a lot more often than he calls you by your name. The two of you are a very affectionate couple (which can be annoying to the people around you) and this includes lots of pet names.

Lydia is not always a huge fan of being called pet names - in the past, being called things like 'sweetheart', 'baby', or 'honey', have just been things men have called her to objectify her or condescend toward her, so she doesn't like you calling her those things. However, the first time you called her 'angel', it sparked something inside of her and she absolutely loved it. She loves it when you casually call her angel in conversation ("Can you help me with this translation, angel?") and she absolutely adores it when you call her 'my angel' - she loves the bit of possession in the words and how the nickname is sweet and shows how much you truly love her.

If she calls you by a pet name, it is something complimentary and demure. She often calls you 'darling' or 'lover', and slips in 'my love' in casual conversation all the time. If she is talking about you to other people, she will often add complimentary adjectives onto these nicknames. ("You guys wouldn't be talking about my precious darling Y/N, now would you?" "Yes, tonight I have a date with my sweet lover. Why is that any of your business?")

She loves letting people know how good you are, and getting possessive over you in her own way.

Allison isn't someone who naturally gravitates toward calling you pet names. She would call you by your real name at first in the relationship, until something particular happened that made her choose a special nickname for you.

It could be something like - you trying extra hard to win a teddy bear for her at a carnival and nearly dislocating your arm throwing tennis balls, and then she easily shows you up at the game in a minute. (Because her aim is so much better.) And you shyly admit to her that even if it's a cheap little teddy bear, you wanted to have a cute gift to give to her - you wanted to give her a nice memory. So from then on, she calls you Teddy or 'my sweet bear', or 'my teddy bear' - because she says that you're the best gift she could have. (And she does have the little brown teddy bear on her bed as one of her most prized possessions - but technically, she's the one who won it.)

You sometimes call her Alli, and you're the only one who's allowed to do so. (Anybody else who has tried it has gotten smacked.) You also sometimes call her honey, which she thinks is cute because it means she's the honey and you're 'the bear'. But the two of you use each other's real names more often than pet names, and you usually only use pet names in private, behind closed doors, as a private, intimate form of affection.

Derek would pretend to hate pet names. He would be so anti-pet names when the two of you first start dating. And when it comes to what he likes to be called, he really doesn't like nicknames or pet names. If you called him 'babe' or something along those lines when the two of you first start dating, his whole body would freeze up and he would glare at you, and he would either storm off or it would start and epic argument.

Because those kind of nicknames remind him way too much of his time with Kate. (Which obviously ended in disaster.) Kate called him every single pet name in the book as a way to convince him that she truly loved him and sweet talk her way into his heart, so hearing it from you just gives him terrible flashbacks, and when he explains this, you easily understand it, and never call him by any pet name ever again.

But also - he loves the sound of his name coming off your lips. He truly, deeply loves it when you call him Derek. Sometimes you call him 'Der' or 'Big D' (mostly as a joke), and he likes those nicknames because they are uniquely yours, only things that you get to call him, and it makes him feel special, owned by you, loved by you. But to him, there is no better feeling than hearing your voice say his name.

Especially when you're pinned under him and moaning his name loudly - that's when he likes it best. But he also loves it during soft moments, when you whisper it to him before kissing him goodnight, your voice sleepy and sweet. He loves knowing that you feel safe enough with him to fall asleep in his arms.

As far as what Derek calls you - he definitely doesn't so typical pet names. Still, he associates all the usual (babe, sweetie, honey) with Kate's faux affection, and he doesn't want to do that to you, so as well as simply calling you by your name, he gives you a very unique nickname that absolutely steals your heart.

Moonflower.

He doesn't fully understand why you love him, and he considers himself to be darkness, and he thinks that you are the most beautiful, sweet thing in his life, so he calls you his 'moonflower' because he thinks that you are the one pure thing that can grow and thrive in the darkness he inevitably brings. You are a flower that grows in the moonlight, rather than the sunlight. This becomes such a special nickname to for the two of you to the point where you draw a picture of a flower in the silhouette of the moon and he gets a tattoo of it on his ribs, showing how much you mean to him.

(He is down bad for you, that's for sure.)

...

Teen Wolf Masterlist

[hebescus]

remember this ship ask? yeah, i wanna do them all with lawlight bcs they control my brain. but it's a happy no death note au bcs it's me. oh and this shit is long plus it's 3 am rn so my words are very messy. but enjoy.

(i skip some numbers that i answered and the ones that i can't think of btw)

pre relationship :

How did they first meet?

L's investigation hq. he was a suspect of L, still, but this time he told soichiro to bring this 18 yo boy to the hq to test him, asking light to work with all of them. he ends up not guilty ofc, but L still wants to keep him…around.

What was their first impression of each other?

ah, the good old 'what the fuck dude???' from light and the 'oooh he got a big brain' from L. it's hard to get out of canon in this one.

Who felt romantic feelings first?

L. But it's more like thoughts, rather than feelings. It's just these random thoughts that pop out in his head like 'i don't mind kissing this guy, if he asks' but not like 'i want to kiss him' yknow what i mean? idk this is just something i experience a lot lmao. it develops to feelings once light falls for him and L can see that. So in terms of ideas, it's L, but in terms of feelings, it's Light.

Did either of them try to resist their feelings?

Oh our favorite light denial yagami. Of course he's cursing himself for having feelings like this but once L calls it out he's over. 

If you had told one of them that the other would be their soulmate, what would they think?

Light would laugh it off, and be like "i don't like him that way you know". L would shrugs be like "well yes that's possible, i don't think i mind". 

What would their lives be like if they had never met?

boring, lonely, empty, you name it

(more under the cut)

general :

Who initiated the relationship, and how did it go?

hmm, they both initiated the relationship? ykwim? They both notices they had feelings for each other and just...go from there. they never have like a relationship talk, they just go with the flow until at some point they starts to get comfortable to refer the other as partners. They basically can read each other's mind, after all.

Did they have an official first date? If so, what was it like?

Yes, sort of. A tennis game! And a coffee sesh after, just like canon. They plan this to be just "let's just relax, this case has been really exhausting, take a one day break, L" but when Light got home, sayu asked "how's the date going?!" He immediately said "it's not a date, you watch too many dramas it's rotting your brain" And sachiko gave him a smile while shaking her head at this statement and when he's back to his room he immediately calls L and was like "hey does that count as a date?" and L answers with "depends, do you want it to be?" with a smirk that light can hear.

What was their first kiss like?

it was late at night, light was helping L with the case when everybody went home. they were sharing their view about this certain criminal when light notices L staring at his lips, first he ignored it but it happens again and again to a point where their face just got real close and then...kiss, somehow. idk lmao.

Were they each other’s first anything (kiss, relationship, etc.)?

First person who can understand each other and are equals, the only ones who can tear the other's wall down, and just practically soulmates in any form that even their sun & moon signs mirroring each other's? YES. 

What’s their height difference? Age difference?

i hc L as just a little bit taller than light, but it's not like you can see it through the hunch anyway. ofc we all know the 6 years and 4 months age gap

What’s their relationship with each other’s families?

Sayu likes L, Sachiko is kinda surprise Light doesn't date a typical pretty person, but it only makes her heart fonder. L doesn't mind them, he thinks they're nice, light grew up in a good place. Soichiro? Well, he might me a bit reluctant but he loosen up slowly, his son is happier than he ever was, after all.

Who takes the lead in social situations?

Light, obviously. Because he's a charmer and if L takes control, the person they speak to would run immediately the first 2 minutes.

Who whispers inappropriate things in the other’s ear?

it is a universal knowledge that L does this. like, come on, count the fics, you can't, there's just so many. he loves to break that perfect wall and make light feel 🥴😳. it's entertaining. But he knows when to stop. too much of that will be embarrassing in light's part, and he respects his boy's dignity.

love :

Who said “I love you” first?

Light!! The thing is it was said over the phone. He gets more and more comfortable talking with L through calls, since every now and then L travel frok countries to countries. One time he just like "yeah, safe flight. love you, bye" he expected L to say goodnight to him as a response as usual but L was silent and he realised what he just said and realised that he fucking mean it. L seems to still be able to read his mind even thousands miles away so he replies with "i love you too, goodnight". they never missed seeing each other more than that night.

What are their primary love languages?

we had a discussion for this! but as we see in canon, they're both very acts of service with a little hint of physical touch here and there. quality time is also important. words and gift aren't really needed for them.

Who uses cheesy pick-up lines?

L. Only to annoy light. It's terrible that he almost cringed to himself, but it does bring a good laugh for light.

How often do they cuddle/engage in PDA?

PDA is a not their preference, they just love being in private more. They might hold hands sometimes, butmost times they won't. Altho they always stand or sit reaaaaally glued to each other even though there are so many space. 

Who initiates kisses?

both. they want it, they got it. but light gives light kisses (ha) more, not necessarily on the lips, usually when L was really busy working, keeping his feet on the ground.

Who’s the big and little spoon?

They don't spoon a lot, they prefer not touching at all or cufdling face to face, but when they do, Light is the little spoon because being a big spoon makes his sleeping position kinda uncomfy, he feels awkward with his legs, it's just not. thankfully L thinks cuddling light this way is very calming.

What are their favorite things to do together?

Tennis and solving cases, duh. Or sometimes they play video games fighting each other. Anything competitive and/or challenging that make their brain grow 10 times bigger. But sometimes, a comfortingly peaceful and quiet dinner with hushed words thrown here and there about random things feels like the best thing ever.

Who’s more protective?

L. For identity reasons, ofc.

Do they prefer verbal or physical affection?

Physical. They can read each other's mind, they knew it by gesture, touches, and glances. 

What are some songs that apply to their relationship, in-universe or otherwise?

IT'S MY TIME TO SHINE. venus by sleeping at last fits them so well, that song is in the background of multiple cozy couch smooches sessions or even when they're slow dancing (please listen to this tho song it's so good). also i think they would like persephone by the tragic thrills too, L would be like "this song reminds me of you" and Light answers with "i'm persephone?" "Yeah" "i'm a fucking badass then" "yes you are". oh and first day of my life? lover of mine? pink in the night? sweet creature? the lakes? oh god i have too much answers

What kind of nicknames do they call each other?

they don't do nicknames, really. although, L sometimes called light with some snarky tony stark styled nicknames when he feels particularly playful but annoyed at the same time.

Who remembers the little things?

They both do. Big brained assholes they are.

domestic life :

If they get married, who proposes?

It's not really a proposal, they didn't  even remember who said it first. But one sleepy night after a hard case, someone said "hey you wanna get married" and the other was like "sure, why not" "really?" "yeah, i think i'm ready, you?" "me too" "great" and then they go to sleep. at breakfast the next morning L called watari from across the room and said "wammy i need you to prepare [enter marriage stuff here], and light, you must call your family after this". poor old watari chokes on his tea.

What’s the wedding like? Who attends?

The wedding is in a secluded little place near the wammy's house, L used to go there a lot as a kid. With just light's parents, sayu, and watari. Well, not until Light caught Mello, Matt, Near, and Linda peeping from the bushes

Do they have any pets?

A chunky cat the wammy's kids feed daily but never try to keep them in, because no animals are allowed inside the orphanage. L saw it and was like "light let's bring this bitch home" she is, indeed a little bitch, but light and L loves her dearly. her fur has light brown and black colors, like both of their hairs, so she becomes their daughter, L gave him a weird ass name but i can't think about it rn.

Who kills the bugs in the house?

Light because he's the one who's actually bothers to. They ofc annoyed L but he cpuldnt care less to actually get rid of them.

Who’s more likely to convince the other to come back to sleep in the morning?

L. He rarely sleeps and once he did, he wakes up very fucking late and will pull light back to the bed if he's woken up by the empty space beside him.

Who’s the better cook?

Light. L is a spoiled brat. But Light can't bale for shit, that's Watari's job. Light grow up learning and helping his mom making meals for the family. He's not the best, but it's good enough to make L craves them in between his sweets.

Who likes to dance?

None of them. But they would slow dance on rare, sentimental occasions. And it's like so fucking romantic bcs all the lights are off except for a candle or a table lamp or a cabinet lamp whatever that has yellow-y dim light. And they don't speak, they just casually move against each other, but heart ready to combust like i do when i the mental image came into my head.

[witchymarvelspacecase]

Firebug and Freezer Burn

My entry for @tilltheendwilliwrite​ ‘s 7.7k follower (covid sucks) writing challenge. 

Clearly my time management (and mental health management) is lacking, but I figured I would post this anyway. 

Sorry. 

The pic on the right was my prompt, I added the one on the left.

PLEASE FORGIVE THIS SHITASS TITLE

WC: 3276

Warnings: Fire, cursing, panic, being ill, fluff who the fuck knows

The small suburban neighborhood evening was shattered by the fire engine sirens screaming toward the pillar of fire that had once been a family home. Neighbors who had called 911 huddled outside, speaking to responders as they arrived. The three person family living in the burning house hadn't been seen since the fire started, but as far as anyone knew, they had been at home earlier. The parents had picked up the little girl after school, and returned home like usual. On a normal night, they would have all been in bed by now, if not for the noisy terrier up the street, the fire may have spread farther. Tears burned in throats, and sobs were barely contained as smoke and ash stung sleepy eyes. Lucky. The neighbors were lucky, and they all felt it, the feeling increasing in strength as the minutes ticked by with no sign of the family.

There was practically nothing left of the house now. The supporting structural pieces were still standing, but drywall had been all but disintegrated, leaving an empty shell, filled with smoldering ash. Nothing could have survived a blaze that hot.

An impossible shout came from a firefighter in the house. Firefighters converged on their brother and all blinked in surprise at what they saw. A small body, unconscious but unharmed, wrapped in an equally small blanket. The little girl, she was untouched by fire, though it was clear it had burned through the room around her. Her bed was ash beneath her, and nothing of her room remained standing. She seemed asleep, snoring softly as her dreams went undisturbed by the chaos around her.

The only thing odder still was her skin. It was tinged gray. That could have just been the smoke, if not for the cracks. Like lava creating fissures in soft volcanic stone, lines glowed red-orange all across her skin, visible even underneath her nightgown. The stunned firemen didn’t seem to know how to react, but one of the EMTs on sight already had their phone up to their ear, 

“Phil, you need to get here. There’s someone you’re gonna want to see.”

...Years Later

Having been raised by Phil Coulson, your life was fairly heavily impacted by SHIELD (and the tales of Captain America), it wasn’t a surprise that you became an agent. Though Phil actually wasn’t too happy about his little girl being put into dangerous situations, you gained his approval after pointing out that you would probably involve yourself in dangerous situations whether or not you had the training or backup that SHIELD provided. Working with the Avengers probably shouldn’t have surprised you either, but all you knew you had was your immunity to fire. Turned out that ability, in combination with your martial arts and weapons training from SHIELD, was actually incredibly useful to the Avengers. One mission became several more, and before you knew it, you were living with them.

Phil was a pretty constant visitor, he wasn’t “checking on you”, he was “touching base with the team”, or fanboy-ing over Cap. Mmmmhmm, sure thing. You knew better, but you generally didn’t call him on it, though it got you a lot of shit from Tony Stark. Honestly, Tony would have found something to tease you about either way. Being called “kid” was probably pretty tame, especially considering Tony’s other name for you: “Glow-Stick”. Clint called you “kid” all the time anyway.

The two members of the team who could have called everyone “kid” were usually the most respectful. Steve never called you anything other than your name, Bucky had called you a few different names, but none of them pejorative. Natasha tended to refer to everyone but Clint by their last name, and Sam, well Sam just called you an idiot, but that was for a different reason.

“Well you are an idiot. Seriously, you oughtta man-up and tell him already.” You and Sam were in the lounge area, having reached a commercial break during the game you were watching. He was leaning back against the arm of the sofa opposite you, rolling his eyes.

“First of all, ‘man-up’? Really? You wanna have that discussion again?” you gave him a significant look, eyebrow raised in indignation. He scoffed and waved you off, you continued, “second of all, mind your own business.”

“He’s gonna die in his sleep before you say anything at this point,” Sam’s voice was mocking.

“Stay in your own lane Wilson,” you growled.

“I’m just saying-”

“Nothing. You’re just saying nothing. The game’s back on.”

“C’mon , you gotta -”

“No, Sam.”

“What’s he up to now?” Natasha asked as she walked into the room, dropping into a seat with a bowl of popcorn.

“Nuh-uh, I’m not saying shit to you.” You knew better than to even give a kernel of information to a master spy.

“Pft, I probably know whatever it is already,” she shrugged. She wasn’t wrong, but as long as she didn’t realize Sam was pushing you to admit it, Natasha wouldn’t interfere. 

You turned to watch the game, missing the glint in Sam’s eye as he pulled his phone out of his pocket.

You weren’t going to say shit. The only reason Sam knew about your adolescent crush was that he had hung out with Phil for too damn long one night, and Phil had been a little too open with your story. Years of hearing about Captain America’s exploits had been a basis of your childhood, but Steve wasn’t the character who fascinated you. That was James Buchanan Barnes. Unlike your father figure, your interest lay in the Commando’s sniper, not its leader. Originally, you had wanted to specialize in long-range shooting, but now, having more intimate knowledge of just how involved sniping was, you were even more impressed with Bucky. There were way too many calculations involved in what he did, and he did it so well. 

He had been the yardstick you’d used to measure every romantic partner you’d had, and most of them fell short. That was before you knew he was alive. What was funny was that the Bucky you knew now beat the yardstick you’d made of his past self. 

He was sweet, and mindful of everyone around him, and when he wasn’t too deep in his own head, he was really funny. From the first night you had accidentally stumbled upon him on the roof after a nightmare, you’d been fast friends. Though he was the member of the team you worked with the least, he was the one you spent the most downtime with. Hence, why you put up with all his nicknames. Doll, Sugar, Sweetheart, Darlin’.

When a tennis ball bounced off your head, startling you out of the unintentional mental tangent, you realized that not only had more of the team entered the room, they had clearly been talking to you. 

A blush rapidly heated your face. “Sorry. What?”

“Where’s your head at, kid?” Tony asked. He was sprawled across the loveseat, looking more at you than at the TV.

“Nowhere important; zoned out a little. Guess I’m just tired.”

“Suuuuure you are,” Sam drawled, exchanging looks with Natasha. Your brow furrowed, but you said nothing. 

The topic changed back to the game, as Bucky came into the room. Steve was already seated in the armchair next to Natasha, but instead of crossing to his best friend, Bucky settled on the arm of the sofa, right beside you. Sam cleared his throat, and you shot him a threatening look. 

“Jesus Sam, what did you do to get her looking at you like that?” Steve asked. He sounded almost worried. You would have laughed at his concerned look, but you had to keep an eye on Sam. You let the silence stretch out, not answering Steve and not looking away from Sam, until you were reasonably sure he would keep his mouth shut.

“It’s nothing Steve. Sam just needs to mind his own business.”

“He is nosy as hell,” Bucky grumbled behind you, his arm going to the back of the couch and essentially around your shoulders.

“Aw, you’re just mad cause he’s bugging you about your secrets.”

“Natasha, I don’t care how hard it’ll be, I will kill you.” There was no inflection in your voice, nothing to give away how angry and scared you were. Maybe you should have given a little emotion for the team to read. Maybe then they would have let it go.

As it was, they collectively ganged up on you, grilling you, and refusing to be redirected until you snapped. 

“Just fucking drop it!” you shouted, throwing the tennis ball that was still in your hands at the last team member to pry, Tony.

Everyone was staring. And it took you a moment to process exactly why.

The tennis ball had been on fire.

It hadn’t been on fire before you threw it, and yet it was flaming when it almost hit Tony in the head.

Silence, and slow blinks all around. 

“Holy shit.” Sam was staring open mouthed.

“FRIDAY, when was the last time we checked the fire protocols?” Tony asked, his face still showing surprise, but his voice calm.

“I- I-... That-” you couldn’t seem to form a sentence. Your body seemed frozen to the spot.

“Well that’s interesting,” Natasha mused.

“Is this- is this new?” Clint asked from his seat on the floor in front of Natasha’s chair.

You didn’t know what to say. Was this new? You’d never done it before. You would have known if you had… right?

The only fire you’d ever been in was… oh god.

And just like that, your body was no longer frozen. You shot up out of your seat and sprinted down the hall. You ran into your room and passed through to the attached bathroom without checking if the door was closed, too intent on reaching your destination. Your knees hit the floor in front of the toilet just in time. 

Tears poured from your eyes as you retched. Panic had your chest and gut constricting, making you struggle to breathe. The room would have spun if your head weren’t resting on the cool porcelain of the toilet. As it was, your ears were ringing so much that you couldn't hear your own panting breaths, let alone someone entering the room behind you. You wouldn’t have known Bucky was there if he hadn’t slid his cool metal hand to the back of your neck.

“Shh, doll. It’s okay. It’s just me,” he soothed when you jumped.

You hiccuped in response, taking several minutes to calm to the point that he was able to usher you out of the bathroom. 

Sitting you on the edge of your bed, Bucky stepped back into your bathroom, flushing the toilet and wetting a soft washcloth before coming back to you. He held out the cloth, but when you failed to take it, he began to gently wipe at your face. 

“You know none of the team is upset or freaked out, so what made you run outta there?” Bucky asked quietly.

“What if I did it?” you asked in response, your voice so low Bucky almost missed it.

“Did what, doll?”

“The fire, my parents-” you cut off, unable to say anything more, as fresh tears filled your eyes.

Phil Coulson had been a fantastic foster dad, no doubt about it, but your child’s brain took a long time to adjust to his parenting style. You had missed your parents. Phil had done his best not to erase your parents from your memories. He didn’t know much about them, but your old neighbors had been happy to share stories with you, and you’d created an idealistic version of them in your head. You couldn’t understand why you had survived and they hadn’t, and the nightmares that had followed you into adulthood were still traumatic. What if you had been the cause of the mysterious fire that had killed them. 

“Doll. Hey. Hey Sugar, look at me okay?” Bucky’s hands were on either side of your face. When you met his eyes you got the feeling he had been trying to get your attention for a while. His thumbs softly rubbed your cheekbones as he spoke. “It wasn’t you, doll. It wasn’t your fault.”

“How- how can you possibly know,” you asked in a whisper, trying to pull your face out of his grip, but his fingers tightened slightly. 

“You’ve never done that before. And you’ve only been in one mystery fire.”

“Yeah but-” you started, but Bucky talked right over you.

“If you had been able to start fires as a kid, you would have had it happen around you frequently. When you were angry, when you were scared; it would have happened all the time when you were little, but it didn’t.” He brushed a tear from the corner of your eye and his voice softened. “It wasn’t you honey. I’m sure of it.”

That was a sentiment that he repeated with a few minor variations for several minutes until you calmed down. Once you did, you realized that the position you were in was a little close for comfort. At some point, Bucky had moved from kneeling in front of you, to sitting on the bed beside you, to holding you in his lap. He had his arms around you and your head tucked under his chin. 

However, when you squirmed slightly, embarrassed by your behavior and more than ready to put some space between you and the super soldier you had a giant crush on, Bucky did not let you go.

“Buck,” you said, your voice was a little gravely from crying, “I’m okay.”

“Yeah?” He replied, not sounding convinced.

“Yeah, you can let me go now.” You were fairly certain he could feel the heat in your face through his shirt.

“I can, but I don’t want to.”

“I- what?” you stuttered.

“I happen to like holding you, never got to do it before, but I’ve decided I like it and I’m not ready to let you go yet.” Bucky said it in such a matter of fact tone, it sounded reasonable.

The fuck? Did you hear that right? Uh….

Before you could formulate any kind of response, Bucky’s phone started to ring. He managed to get it from his pocket and answer it without releasing you.

“Hello Agent Coulson, thank you for calling me back. Yes, she’s right here, hold on,” he held the phone out to you.

Still in a sort of shock, you took the phone without question. “Papa?” You used the name you called him when you were little. He was never “Dad” or “Daddy” you could remember calling your father that. No, Phil Coulson was “Papa”.

“Hey sweetie. I heard you had a little scare.” You almost burst into fresh tears, but Phil continued. “You never really asked me about the fire, so I never made it a point to tell you about it. It wasn’t you sweetheart.” As Bucky continued to hold you, occasionally rubbing your back, or rocking you slightly, Phil told you about your father’s business, and the intense and hostile relationship he had with his rival. A rival who had decided that killing your father and your family was the best way to enable a hostile takeover of your father’s much more successful business.

An entire amusement park’s worth of emotions rolled through you as you listened to the tale. Anger so intense you could feel smoke all but coming out your ears.

“Doll,” Bucky softly drew your attention, his fingers ever so lightly grazing your arm. When you looked down, you almost jerked out of his hold.

“Holy fuck!” The lava fissures were glowing across your skin. You knew you let off heat when you were like that. You’d burned plenty of bad guys, guards, and assholes as soon as they made skin contact. “Bucky, let me up.” He did, but he didn’t leave the room as you finished your call with Phil.

Phil felt guilty for not telling you all this earlier, but you shook your head, forgetting he couldn’t see you. “It’s not your fault, Papa. I didn’t know this was even a possibility for me to do, I never questioned the fire before. There’s no reason for you to tell me, I didn't ask.” After reassuring him a few more times, and promising to visit him soon and showing him what you’d done, assuming you could repeat the stunt, you said your goodbyes. “Love you, Papa.”

“Love you too sweetheart. See you soon.”

You handed Bucky his phone back, not getting too close to him. But he took his phone and then quickly grabbed your wrist, pulling you close to him again.

“Bucky, you're gonna get burnt!” “No I won’t. You haven’t burned me before, and I’ve been near you like this before. It’s okay.”

“You’ve what?! Why would you do that?!”

“Why would you let me get anywhere near you?”

“Huh?” Well that was a topic change.

“I’m just as dangerous as you. More so actually, I’ve hurt and killed way more people than you probably ever will. You never hesitated to get near me.” Bucky held up his metal arm, drawing attention to it.

“That’s different Bucky, I don’t have control of this. You have control, you would never choose to hurt me.”

“It’s not different to me. I’m not afraid of you. You wouldn’t intentionally hurt me, and I trust you to keep me safe.” You shook your head, incredulous. “You’ve never burned your clothes. You have burned the shit out of people before, but you’ve never burned your clothes.” When you didn’t respond, Bucky said, “you’re in control, Sugar, and I trust you.”

Too many revelations in one day. That was your explanation. A second after Bucky stopped speaking, you registered what he was saying, and dropped your forehead to his, all the fight leaving your body, as your eyes closed. He settled you more comfortably on his lap but kept your foreheads together.

You sighed. “It’s been a hell of a day,” you said with a laugh.

“You’ve had a few shocks alright,” Bucky agreed. After a short pause, he spoke again. “Think you can handle one more?”

You hummed, “probably,” and soft lips pressed against yours. 

A quick intake of breath and your eyes shot open, but you didn’t pull away. “Bucky?”

It was his turn to hum. A small smile slowly spreading across lips that had just pulled back from yours.

“What- why?”

“Been wanting to do that for a while. And if you don’t want to tell me to fuck off, I’m gonna want to do it again. You gonna tell me to fuck off?”

Hesitantly, you shook your head and the smile on his lips stretched. When he pulled back from your second kiss, you could feel a matching smile on your own lips.

Hours later, the two of you emerged from your room, a plan in place to test your new ability. Another plan for how to explore your relationship with both of you being Avengers and having very little privacy. And most importantly, a plan in place to fuck with your nosy, annoying teammates. 

“Hey there, Matches,” Tony called as he spotted you from down the hall.

“Seems I’ve got a new name,” you grumbled. 

“At least you’re not ‘Manchurian Candidate’,” Bucky grouched, pressing a kiss to your temple. A kiss Tony did not miss.

“OH MY GOD! Firebug and Freezer Burn are kissy-face!” Tony Stark, a 12 year old. You rolled your eyes and prepared yourself for handling your teammates.

[2manyfandoms2count]

#MarichatMay Day 24

Long post ft. a Reveal, Marichat, lowkey other sides of the lovesquare and fluff :3 Hope you guys enjoy! xxx

Based on the prompt list by @marichatmay

---

Day 24: Confession

“Purr-incess? I might have to confess something.”

“What have you done this time?” Marinette sighed, barely looking up from her newspaper. She was reading the fashion pages, regularly bookmarking pictures from the Paris Autumn Fashion Week report. She wasn’t so much interested in the stars as she was in the trends that were emerging, although there were a couple of good shots of Adrien Agreste that would definitely be making it to her picture-board.

Had Marinette been focusing on Chat Noir instead, she would have noticed how fidgety he was, a lot more hyper than usual. He paced around her room, biting his claws in a nervous habit. Ever since he’d found out Ladybug was, in fact, Marinette, he’d done his best to conceal his own identity, while secretly trying to get her attention, but not knowing how to. He hadn’t meant to follow Ladybug Home. In fact, he hadn’t realised he was until he had gotten close enough to Marinette’s flat. He’d been blinded by a familiar red flash just as he prepared to jump onto her balcony, and seen his friend casually walk out from behind the chimney, fishing in her bag to get a macaron out for the red being that floated next to her. 

Chat had been meaning to visit Marinette that particular night to welcome her back after her holiday. Which, now that he thought about it, matched Ladybug’s own time off. He thought about all the times he’d missed the connections. How Marinette had never been akumatised. How fast Ladybug appeared when the attacks happened at school, how well she seemed to know the targets. How the only time he’d seen both Marinette and Ladybug together, Trixx had conveniently been amongst the kidnapped Kwamis. How similar Ladybug and the illusory Marinette had looked, down to the hairstyle. For somebody whose main line of business was looks, he certainly had been very blind.  

Chat had almost collided with a wall as he ran back to his room, laughing about his discovery and the irony of him calling Marinette an everyday Ladybug. Knowing his Lady, she probably had been panicking inside at the thought of being unmasked. Yet it made so much sense that the most caring, mindful and genuinely kind person he knew was the person behind the mask. How had it escaped him for so long?

 He’d spent the rest of the Summer pondering what to do with the information. Should he come clean to Marinette? At least about him knowing? She was the guardian after all, surely it was only a matter of time before she ended up knowing about his identity anyway.

When school started again, still unsure about what to do, Adrien had probed Alya and Nino to figure out if they also knew. Alya being hot on LB’s tracks all the time, surely she must have been aware that her favourite superhero was her best friend. After talking with her, he concluded that either she didn’t know, or she played her cards reaaaally close to her chest. She’d let something slip about Marinette liking him, though, which, once he’d calmed the butterflies in his stomach -the girl of his dreams liked him back-, had lead him to spend a lot of time trying to get closer to her. He thought it would be perfect; he’d know the truth, but she didn’t have to.

Except that to everyone’s disbelief, Marinette had gently rejected Adrien’s date invitations. Once. Twice. Three times. Alya could not fathom what was going on in her best friend’s head, and she wouldn’t tell her. She just said she had a secret crush, but that she couldn’t say anything more. Adrien’s heart ached a bit, but guessed that after all the time he’d made her suffer by calling her a “good friend”, it was normal that she had moved on. He might have been slightly jealous, but he had respectfully backed away. 

Until tonight. Chat Noir had been visiting Marinette (just because she wouldn’t date him didn’t mean he didn’t want to hang out with his friend), and she’d left him for a bit to get some croissants from the bakery. Left unsupervised, Chat had skimmed through her latest sketches, her talent never failing to impress him. And that’s when he’d seen her diary, open wide. It had been pushed back behind her computer monitor, probably when he’d arrived. He really hadn’t meant to pry, but as his gaze landed on the page, he saw his name. Chat Noir. 

His curiosity getting the better of him, he had read the diary entry, his cheeks warming as he read her silent confession that she liked him. She seemed a little conflicted about her feelings, but his bad puns were the main thing she held against him. It was all he could do not to waltz with her when she came up the stairs. 

Marinette mistook his delight for over excitement at the thought of eating pastries, which she faced every time she gave Chat anything to eat. She refrained from worrying about his eating habits, given that he’d admitted to being a high level, part time sportsman (he wouldn’t say which sport, but the fact that his right arm muscles were a bit more developed than his left had made her assume it was tennis). His enthusiasm had made her smile, but she hadn’t paid much attention to it as she opened the magazine Chat had brought her.

“I might have agreed to us going on a double date? Adrien Agreste asked if I could organise a dinner with Ladybug, and well, I didn’t want to be the third wheel so I said we’d both go...” Chat was making it up as he went. This could be a solution to his conundrum. An opportunity to tell her who he was, that he knew, and (he could dream) to make out with her on the Paris rooftops.

“You what?” The magazine fell flat on her lap as all colour drained from her face. 

“I’m so sorry, I know I should have asked first, but he has a photo shoot opportunity for us and wanted to meet her in another context first... And Ladybug said yes.” He looked straight into her eyes as he iterated the last sentence, daring her to contradict him.

Marinette gaped at the audacity. The blatant lie. It hit her that there was nothing she could do, nothing she could say except accept the proposition. The way Chat looked at her told her he at least suspected there was a link between her and Ladybug. She couldn’t call him out on Ladybug’s supposed agreement to go. Outright refusing the dinner invitation would be fishy. 

She took a deep breath before replying. “Okay, fine, then.” She could always make up an excuse closer to the date.

Her answer took Chat by surprise, but he did his best to hide it. He promised he’d be in touch as he left, and pressed a longing kiss on Marinette’s forehead, drawing a bright shade of crimson to her cheeks as he did so. 

---

Ladybug swung from chimney to chimney on her way to the rooftop. She’d decided it would be Marinette bailing tonight. How could she explain getting there otherwise? And after all, it was Ladybug whom Adrien wanted to see. 

She landed at the meeting point, expecting to find the two boys she’d ever had feelings for. Instead, only one was present.

“Good evening, Adrien.” She smiled. Her romantic feelings for him had melted as her relationship with Chat bloomed. Adrien’s recent interest in her had further confused her, but she was certain now that her heart belonged to a certain leather-clad cat. “Has Chat not made it yet?”

“Actually, he has.” He gave her an oddly familiar smile, one she wasn’t used to seeing on him.

“Oh?” She asked, discreetly looking around. She noticed the candle-lit table in the center of the rooftop, a single rose laid on one of the two plates. Ladybug stared at him blankly, her brain taking a minute to register the information. “Is he not staying for dinner, then?”

“Just as much as Marinette will.”

“Do you mean...”

“Plagg, claws out.” Adrien called out, holding his hand out. A black blur cycloned towards his simple, silver ring, and in a green flash, the model was replaced by her partner.

Her face was tense from trying very hard not to gape. Her jaw would probably have hit the floor otherwise. 

“You knew.” She managed to articulate.

“I did.”

“Tikki, spots off.” She felt more comfortable speaking as herself. Which she knew was stupid. She was Ladybug. And Adrien was Chat Noir. “I can’t believe you managed to make me fall for you twice.” She knew there were more pressing matters. They were out in the open, they’d both transformed. They now both knew who the other was. But for once she let her heart speak for her first.

“In my defense, you claw-ly have a type.” He chuckled. They were facing each other now, close enough for his hand to come and cup her face, his thumb gently stroking her cheek.

“As if you don’t!” She snorted, her eyes lost in his green ones. They reflected the flickering candles in a warm way, making her feel at Home. 

“Never said I didn’t.” He kissed her lightly on the forehead. On her nose. On her cheek. “You know, I lied the other day when I said I had to confess something.” He whispered as he continued trailing kisses on her face, behind her ears, just below her jaw.

“Oh yeah?” She sighed, savouring the moment.

“My actual confession is, I love you, my Ladynette.” He smiled tenderly as he drowned into the sapphire of her eyes.

“And I love you, my Chadrien.” 

Their lips found each other like two butterflies as they stood in their own bubble, the Eiffel Tower erupting in lights behind them as the clock struck the hour.

[harryandmolly]

Complicit // 11

summary: Shawn is under more pressure than he’s ever known. He craves release and comfort, the simplicity of sex. He gets more than he bargained for.

warnings: language, NSFW, a bulldozer

WC: 6.1k

-----------

Penny stops outside the spotless glass doors of Silver’s home and uses the reflection to primp one last time. 

She’s in fine form today, at least on the outside. In a sleek peach-toned Cushnie pencil dress and the first pair of Louboutins she ever purchased (the nude ones with the pointed toes), she means business. She’s the kind of put together that puts the fear of god into the hearts of every man she walks past. She craves that kind of control right now.

She can’t control her feelings, she can’t control his. But she can control her wardrobe and her hair and the reports she runs for the monthly La Splendeur financials. She fights to focus on what she can control.

Silver’s housekeeper walks her back to the library. Silver in a pantsuit black as night sits in sharp relief against her walls stacked high with colorful books. The first time Penny ever made Silver laugh was the first time Silver invited her here and Penny immediately commented on its resemblance to the Beast’s library in Beauty and the Beast.

Silver looks pleased to see her. Any residual weirdness from their last meeting is gone, at least visibly. She’s serving lapsang oolong from her English garden tea set today.

“Good morning, love. I do like your dress. And your necklace sits above it nicely.”

Penny lifts a hand like she wants to check it’s still there. She’s wearing Shawn’s necklace. It seems a waste to leave it in a box in a safe, where it’s been since Ava died. Silver herself said that. And it does go so well with the dress.

Penny smiles placidly. “Thank you. How was Monaco?”

Silver looks mischievous for a moment. Penny finds herself grinning back, enjoying the spark she sees.

“Hot. A little muggy. Terribly crowded.”

Silver’s expression doesn’t match her words.

“Who is she?” Penny laughs.

Silver lifts her chin in defiance. “Tell me I’m not that transparent.”

Penny snorts indelicately and sips her tea. “Silver, you’re as transparent as a cinderblock. But you forget how well I know you.”

The women exchange a meaningful look. Silver glances down at her perfect manicure.

“Her name is Sylvie. She owns a cafe on the Boulevard de Suisse. She makes the best mille feuille I’ve ever had.”

Penny’s eyebrows lift slightly. There’s something in Silver’s voice now that replaces the familiar mischief with which she talks about her romantic dalliances. It’s a little trembling, a little soft, a little warm. Penny attempts to remain stoic. Spooking her is the worst possible thing Penny could do.

“Wow. Sounds like a nice trip.”

Silver meets her eyes. “It was. I’ll be going back next week.”

Penny only barely manages to school her face out of a delighted grin. Silver shakes her head softly and opens her portfolio.

Numbers are up this summer from last. All the girls have been doing very well. Silver has interest in bringing on a few more, has gotten recommendations from girls on the roster, which is where the best talent comes from. Penny assures her that financially, they’re in an excellent position to expand.

“Speaking of expanding, how are things looking on the non-profit end?” Penny murmurs without looking up from her laptop. She can feel Silver’s curious gaze.

“Still tying up some legal loose ends in the back before we really move ahead,” Silver answers carefully.

Penny looks up now with her game face on. “Anything I can do to help us along? I’d like to get moving on it.”

Silver’s expression goes a little sour. She puts her teacup down more forcefully than necessary. Penny flinches.

“You were singing a different tune during our last meeting, love.”

The corners of Penny’s lips pull in slightly. “I don’t believe that’s true, I checked on the progress and you gave me an update and said it was slow. I’m checking again now and you say it’s still slow. So perhaps I should step in.”

Silver’s eyes narrow. “Please don’t forget how well I know you.”

The words are simple and somehow both threatening and loving. Penny’s stable facade breaks. She looks down.

“I know very well how long you’ve wanted to do this kind of work. I know how important this is to you. That’s why I was surprised when you seemed flippant about it last week.”

“I wasn’t flippant, I--”

“Penny, please. Don’t suggest that I can’t read you. It’s insulting to me and to our friendship.”

Penny’s mouth shuts. She feels like a scolded child.

“And now you’re getting impatient to get started. I don’t understand, my darling. Please. Explain this to me.”

Penny’s lips part. She hesitates and reaches for her teacup instead.

Silver softens. “You’re allowed to be a little lost, you know.”

Penny’s eyes shut as she chews on her lower lip. “Don’t like getting lost,” she mutters.

“None of us do, babe. But you need to choose your path now. You owe it to your clients and to this foundation.”

Penny’s expression goes dark. “Don’t make this about him.”

Silver eschews her infuriating wise owl gaze and leans into sympathy instead. She shakes her head slowly.

“I didn’t. You seem to have gotten there on your own.”

Penny’s face goes hot. Her chin quivers slightly. Silver reaches across the table and takes her hand. The physical contact freezes Penny in her tracks.

“Listen to me, my love. I know this is scary. Everything is changing on you right now. But you always knew you couldn’t escort forever. You always knew you wanted to help in a larger, more lasting way. I know he isn’t the reason you want to move forward with the foundation. But… it’s ok if he’s the reason you want to do it now.”

Penny’s jaw locks up. Her hand slips cold from her friend’s grasp. She gathers her folders and laptop and stands.

“I have to go.”

Her voice is a croak. Silver winces in response, but leans back in her seat and watches her go.

+

Well this is…. Not what he pictured.

Shawn’s not exactly sure what he envisioned when he thought about where Penny lives. It shifted depending on her mood when she was with him. Sometimes he imagined her living in a big, scary haunted house-looking mansion deep in the Hills. Sometimes he pictured a bright, vibrant penthouse in Santa Monica.

Not this. It’s so… normal.

It’s lovely, obviously. It’s a little cottage almost all by itself in the Studio City hills. She parks the leased Passat in the driveway and keeps the Aston Martin in the garage. She has a welcome mat that asks visitors to wipe their paws. Pammy’s leash is hanging from a railing on the porch.

He stands in front of her door for almost five minutes trying to prepare himself to walk into her private space and not become a walking heart eye emoji. 

He’s in LA for 24 hours for meetings and a premiere with Bex. He has painters in his house, so they can’t go there. He doesn’t even have time for an overnight with her. So she takes him as an in call.

It’s standard procedure to have a driver meet the client at the courtesan’s house when she’s taking an in call, but Penny waved Gus off. Given that she’s a partner in the business, she has the power to do so. Gus sends her confirmation of Shawn’s wire transfer and tells her if she needs anything, anything at all, he’ll be close by at Jamie’s tennis tournament. He’s a little twitchy, she thinks, because actually, Penny’s never taken an in call before.

Pammy hears him walk up before she does, even over the soft crooning of “Songs for Young Lovers” on vinyl. With little sniffs and gruff grunts, Pammy jogs to the door to greet their guest.

The sun is behind him when she opens the door, casting him golden and glowing as he smiles at her. She smiles back.

“Hi.”

“Hey,” he greets, and she’s beset with butterflies walking him into her foyer to meet her dog and breathe her air.

His attention turns almost immediately to Pammy, who’s very eagerly and politely sitting, thumping her tail and waiting to be noticed. Shawn doesn’t disappoint.

He crouches low, holds out his hand and ducks his head a little, looking non-threatening. “Hi. Are you Pammy?”

Pammy walks up for his inspection without answering him. She thoroughly sniffs the hand he offers and when she decides he’s decent enough to let in, she snuggles up against his chest for pets. 

Shawn, having been recognized by Pammy for the puppy he is, lifts his head to look at Penny in triumph. “She likes me!”

“She does,” Penny agrees, flustered and glancing around her foyer like she’s looking for more personal items to clear out, though there wasn’t really anything there when she did a walk-through earlier, just the painting of the Las Vegas Strip in the 50s.

Shawn stands and pleasantly towers over her. His eyes flit to her lips as he smirks. He looks back up at her eyes for permission.

Penny tilts her head up and lets him kiss her, nice and soft and sweet. Probably too sweet. It reminds her of Silver’s words the day before. When he pulls away, she bites her lip.

“The premiere’s tonight?” Penny mutters weakly, walking him into the living room where the record player whirls and the blinds are open to the hills. Shawn gazes around, memorizing. He nods.

“I have to leave here at 4.”

Penny does some mental math. “Guess we better get started.”

She turns on her heel and plants her lips back on his. He catches her, a bit startled, whimpering into the firm set of her mouth. She backs him into the wall and slips her hands beneath his shirt, feeding on the perfect sizzle of his hot skin. He explores her mouth, keeping his hands on either side of her neck until she tells him otherwise. As he starts to run out of breath, he notices her hands are still and her lips aren’t moving against his with the same fervor. His brow puckers. He pulls away slightly.

“You ok?” he pants.

She nods and sucks him back in. Her thumbs work against the dips in his obliques and it makes him dizzy, but he still feels a disconnect. He settles further into the wall and tugs a little at her hair, feeling like a needy kid. She doesn’t react.

“Hey,” he tries again, pulling back more fully this time, “If you’re not into this, we really don’t have to do anything. Seriously.”

“What?” she asks dumbly.

Shawn goes pink. “I mean, we can just hang out. Or… I can go. It’s whatever.”

If she sent him away, he could totally pretend not to be devastated. No problem.

Penny chews the inside of her lip, then tilts her head forward to rest against his chest. “‘S not you.”

Shawn resists his desire to nuzzle his cheek against her hair. Instead, he cups his hands around her upper arms and rubs her softly.

“I’ve been having… a weird couple days.”

Shawn’s brows lift, but she doesn’t elaborate. He nods.

“Do you want to talk?”

She shakes her head.

“Do you… want me to go?”

Her pause before she shakes her head is the longest of his whole godforsaken life.

He feels a little desperate. “What can I do?”

She lifts her head from his chest. She looks worn and maybe a little panicked underneath. It rises in him in response.

“I don’t know,” she sighs.

Shawn absently combs his fingers through the ends of her hair. He looks around.

What helps him feel better when he’s distracted and wigging out a little? She does. Maybe he just has to be ok with the idea that he doesn’t have the same effect on her.

His heart thuds extra hard for a beat in his chest. Maybe he could.

Shawn sweeps his hands up to position his thumbs under her ears, tilting her face up.

“Do you want me to take care of you?” he breathes.

Her expression goes blank. She looks lost. He wets his lips and tries again, like he’s trying on a suit that he’s not sure fits.

He brushes his nose over her brow and hopes his voice is steady when he says, “You wanna be my good girl?”

Penny feels her hands, still resting on his sides, clench hard. The strangled gasp she releases sounds kind of like a moan. She’s suddenly very aware of him, of everything about him -- his light hint of cologne, the tenderness of his lips on her forehead as he smirks, the sheer size and broadness of him in her arms.

“That a yes?”

Words fail her. Her head is whistling like it’s ready to fly off her body. She’s glad he’s holding her up because otherwise her knees would’ve gone weak.

“I’ve… I mean, no one’s ever…”

“I know,” he soothes, surprised by his own confidence, but he supposes he learned it from her, “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll go easy on you.”

Penny recognizes the words. She’s probably said them before. Being on the receiving end is different. She thinks if anyone else tried them on for her, she’d laugh and pin them into a corner, reminding them who’s in charge.

But as he holds her, she can feel the way his desire to shoulder her burden is seeping off him. His gaze is steady. If he’s anxious at all about stepping into her shoes, she can’t see it.

Is she really about to do this? Is she ready to strip off all the armor she’s so carefully crafted and made a home of? It doesn’t even feel like armor anymore -- it’s a second skin, as close to her as she’s let anything get.

Her own responding certainty runs so deep it touches her trembling bones. She doesn’t feel like fighting it. She wants this with him, wherever it ends up taking them.

“Please.”

When her eyes drift open again, his are locked on her, virile and hungry and so fucking alive. She swears she could come just by looking at them. They watch her for a moment or two, then drop. He pries her claw-like hands off his body and holds them between his own. He cradles them against his lips, blinking up at her lazily, a single curl falling over his hot gaze.

“Where’s your bedroom?”

His words restart her breath. She nods behind him. He gestures toward the hallway she points down and follows her little steps as she guides him.

Her bedroom is bright, surrounded by windows on three walls in the corner of the house. The ceiling gables to a peak so it feels like a little tower. Her bed takes up most of the space -- it’s enormous with white wrought iron head and footboards and blood red sheets. It’s covered in dog hair -- he bets Pammy usually sleeps there with her.

He grins and spends time unapologetically studying. He can feel the way her eyes track him, waiting for his next move. He finds he enjoys being the cat to her mouse. He wasn’t sure it could feel natural, but he finds he wants to relieve her. This is the best way to do it.

He stops in front of a photo print on her wall, a black and white portrait. It’s a close up. Her hair is wet and slung around her face. She appears to be laughing so hysterically it’s almost a scream. Shawn recognizes it and is sure it came from the shoot she used in her La Splendeur portfolio. He glances over his shoulder at her to see her watching him with her hands folded.

“You’ve really never done this before? Not even before you started escorting?”

Penny shrugs. “No. I mean, I wasn’t always so bossy, but I’ve never been… a sub.”

Shawn turns, smiling. “Something tells me you’ve always been a little bossy.”

Penny’s eyes flash for a moment and he can see the domme in her, the one that will always be there, even when she needs a rest. It shoots a thrill up his spine. He gets to give her what she needs this time.

“I’m gonna take your clothes off now,” he says quietly, waiting for her nod before his fingers skip to the buttons of her shirt. He plucks at them, watching more freckled brown skin come out as he goes. He licks his lips, and then remembers he can taste her whenever the hell he wants. With a little murmur, he ducks his head and sucks on her collarbone right next to her throat. She mewls, tilting her head to accommodate him, dragging her hands up his sides. 

Shawn stops. He bares his teeth against her shoulder. Her eyes fly open.

“Baby, you know the rules. No hands until I tell you.”

Penny’s chest tightens. She drops her grasp on him. From her shoulder, he watches her little hands clench into fists. He scoops her closer and sucks harder, working the rest of her buttons until he can shrug it off her shoulders. It flutters to their feet. Shawn starts in on the button of her boyfriend jeans, securing his lips now to the base of her throat to suck a twin burgundy mark. Penny’s breathing is heavy and erratic. She’s having trouble letting go.

Once he gets her clothes off, she’s left in a set of heathered gray Calvin Klein lingerie. He laughs. She preens a little.

“Did you do this on purpose?”

Penny sweeps her hair off her shoulders and looks down, licking her lips. “I fuck in my Calvins.”

Shawn’s eyes go dark. He shakes his head slowly. “No you don’t, honey. Take ‘em off.”

He steps back, rests his ass against her dresser and hopes his knuckles aren’t visibly white against the antique wood. She sheds the sports bra first, bending to drop it at her feet, letting her breasts swing. She rises slowly, teasing him. He’s enjoying it. She loops her thumbs through the panties at her hips and drags them down. Shawn spots the wetness darkening the crotch and grunts approvingly.

He looks her up and down. She stands tall and confident because that doesn’t come from the domme in her, that’s just Penny. He tilts his head.

“Where’s your necklace, Pen?”

Her easy confidence is rocked. She blinks and looks around. When she can’t find the words around her, she looks back at him, wide-eyed.

“Wanna see you in it when I make you come.”

Penny’s thighs squeeze. Shawn bites his lip.

She goes to her vanity and reaches into the first drawer. The red box is cracked and faded by time, but what’s in it still shines like the day it was made. She locks eyes with him in the mirror while she clasps it around her pretty neck.

Shawn takes slow, quiet steps up behind her, eyes trained on hers until he’s a breath away. He looks down and admires the glimmer from the curve of her neck. Now exposed to her other unmarked side, he slips a hand down to her stomach to anchor her against him. The other delicately traces the path of diamonds along her throat.

“It’s so pretty, huh, Pen?” he rasps.

She nods. “Really pretty.”

He hums and presses his lips against her jugular, feeling his pulse thrum as hers does.

“And who got it for you?” His voice is a muffled growl against her skin.

She closes her eyes. “You did.”

He skims up along her jaw to the corner of her soft mouth. “That’s right, baby.”

His warm hand cups her throat, not applying pressure but just to hold her head back while he kisses her nearly upside down. She’s eager and responsive now, gripping the little chair in front of her vanity but still squirming under his control. The hand on her stomach dips between her legs. She’s nice and wet, but still not as wet as he wants when he takes her.

“Fuck, you taste good,” he grunts into her mouth, swallowing the crooning whine she releases when he works the heel of his hand against her clit. She spreads her legs a little wider, giving her the purchase to work back against his hand for more friction. He clocks her greediness and smiles against her sweet lips, giving her clit a rough smack. She yelps and lets it trail into a moan.

“Getting desperate, sweetheart?”

His voice is all sharp honey. She wants to fucking bathe in it. She whines again weakly and lets her weight fall back against him. He holds her up, locking an arm around her stomach so the hand between her legs can come up to offer to her.

“Have a taste.”

Penny looks down at his glistening fingers. She brings her hand up to cradle his, and he allows it, focusing on her mouth as she sucks his fingers in between her lips.

Penny’s not unfamiliar with the taste. She’s sucked on fingers and toys that are coated in her many times, but never like this, never as it’s being presented to her by a partner. It’s headier and more erotic. She moans low, overwhelmed by it. Shawn’s eyes dim.

“Fuck, you like that? You taste so fucking good, huh?”

She nods eagerly, still swirling her tongue around his fingers one by one. The arm around her holds her fast while he grinds, still fully clothed, against her perfect round ass. She releases his fingers with a filthy slurp and pants at him.

“Can I suck your cock?”

Shawn wants to fall to his knees for her, but resists, given her request. He kisses her hard, nodding, letting her turn in his arms and lead him to the bed. On the way, she shucks him out of his t-shirt and jeans. He’s in gray Calvins, too. She giggles. It makes his cock throb.

He sits on the edge of her bed. She kneels in between his legs, charged by the confident way he shifts a hand into her hair and spreads his knees. His eyes are molten, looking down at her. She cups him through his briefs and sighs.

“Missed your cock.”

Shawn groans, his brow wrinkling. “Show me.”

With one last glance up at him, she pulls him free, tugging his briefs off his ankles to fling away with her own Calvins.

Penny leans in, her hands planted on his powerful quads, her breath short at seeing how he’s already leaking for her. She curls her tongue over the tip of his cock greedily to swipe up his salty precome. He hums.

“Gonna take me nice and deep, honey?”

She’s never heard him talk like this. It makes her lightheaded and whimpery. She nods and kisses a path down the underside of his shaft to his balls. She peppers them with kisses, light and teasing, then follows her trail back up.

She stops with her lips brushing his head. It pulses for her eagerly. She runs her tongue along the ridge, enjoying the way his stomach clenches.

“I want you to fuck my throat,” she whispers, her voice sounding like he’s already done it.

Shawn’s eyes nearly roll back in his head. “Fuck yeah, baby. Shit. Yeah, wanna feel your throat around my cock.”

With his hand still firmly in her hair, she slicks him down first with her tongue, bobbing her head a few times until her nose brushes his abdomen, warming herself up. She pulls back up, catching his eye, nodding without releasing him from her mouth.

It occurs to Shawn as he starts to slowly rock his hips that he’s never actually… done this. He’s had many blowjobs -- the good, the bad and the ugly. Penny has sucked him down several times, each more perfect than the last. But he’s never been asked to treat a woman’s throat like her pussy before. He hears himself whine as he grazes the back of Penny’s throat, only to feel her swallow.

“Shit, that feels… Pen…” he breathes, letting himself pick up a rhythm, planting his feet for leverage. Her hands rub at his inner thighs, coaxing them apart as she scoots forward, eager for more.

He watches in amazement until he realizes he can’t because he’s so fucking close to coming in her pretty mouth and he’d so much rather come in her warm cunt. He eases her back by her hair, watching her slurp at his bright red tip, popping her lips around it in a way that almost makes him thrust back up into her mouth and say screw it.

“So good, honey, shit, fuck, we gotta…” He chuckles at himself, at the way he sounds like he’s really ready to bust. He shakes his head and falls back into her sheets, inhaling deeply.

“We gotta slow down. Not ready to come yet.”

Her sheets smell like lavender fabric softener. She leans her cheek against his inner thigh, sneaking a little kiss.

“Shawn?”

Her voice is softer than he’s ever heard it. He lifts his head to look at her.

Her brown eyes are peering at him from over his thigh. She blinks quickly.

“Hmm?”

“Can I ask… you for something?”

His heart squeezes. He nods.

Penny turns her face into his thigh, brushing her nose through the downy hair there.

“Will you spank me? Please?”

Shawn lurches upright, leaning on his hand as he stares down at her.

“Say it again.”

He hears himself give the command but doesn’t remember thinking it.

She folds her hands in her lap. “Please spank me.”

Shawn beams at her, reaching for her hand and yanking her up onto the bed and against his warm, needy body. They both writhe and moan in reaction to the fullest contact they’ve had, skin against skin, desperation mixing. He tastes her desire on her tongue, mixed with his own saltiness. He groans and bites into her lower lip, cupping her firm ass in both hands. She arches into it, fisting the sheets in her hands as she fights her instinct to touch him, to take whatever she needs.

Instead, she lets him give it.

Shawn holds her close and sits up, cradling her in his lap. He spreads tender kisses across her cheeks and chin and mouth, his fingers crawling over his most precious -- her shoulder blades.

He gets her so soft and pliant in his arms he almost decides not to let her go. But she’s squirming and wet and he thinks maybe he’s about to fulfill a long held curiosity and fantasy of hers, and what could be better than getting to do that for someone you love?

Shawn sighs into her hair, tucking it back behind her ear so he can whisper.

“Lie across my lap.”

The responding whimper is so sweet, so charged and eager, Shawn’s hips rut up against her before he can stop them. She’s dripping in his lap and he thinks her spanking is only going to make her wetter. The heady power makes him growl again. His toes curl against her rug.

He helps position Penny across his lap facedown. Her thighs are clamped together, likely to offer her some relief as he traces patterns across her smooth hamstrings. The well-used muscles clench magnificently. Her back arches, offering him her plump, round ass like a fucking Christmas present.

Penny holds herself up proudly, taking the first teasing smacks against her soft flesh with only gentle, approving coos. He distracts her, teasing his fingertips down her thighs and out over her hips. She breathes shakily.

When the first hard spank comes on her left cheek, she yelps. Shawn’s hand holds tight, squeezing to make a mark, keeping the bite in place just like she does when she spanks him.

Suddenly, the pressure is gone. His hand rests limply.

“Penny, what’s your safe word?”

His voice is totally sober and clear. She blinks out of the haze.

“Uh… I don’t… have one.”

His thumb rubs a circle into the palm mark he left. “Can you pick one?”

Penny squints. She can barely remember what day it is, she’s so gone. She glances around the room, looking for inspiration. Her eyes land on her closet.

“Stiletto.”

She can hear Shawn’s smirk. He accedes and goes back to massaging the nice welt he left from his first strike. He leaves another on her other cheek to match. Penny squirms. She knows he can feel her wetness pooling in his lap. She knows that’s why he isn’t afraid to spank her a little harder -- the harder it gets, the more she drips.

Penny lies slack across his lap, weightless, worry-less. The pleasure-pain has her higher than any other substance she’s tried. She feels so fucking free with him, safe and cherished in a way she can’t quite replicate on the other side of a punishment.

There’s an element of awe in a D/s relationship. If it’s right, it’s shared by both parties -- the dominant partner in awe of their submissive’s willingness, their singular desire for whatever the dominant wants to give them; and the submissive in awe of their dominant’s ability to strip them of everything that stresses, aches or bothers, leaving them only to feel what the dominant wants them to feel. Penny thinks she understands both now so fully as she arches her back a little higher and murmurs into the pillow, waiting to see what else he’ll give her.

On the third slap across her left cheek, she cries out and comes off her elbows, letting her cheek rest against her duvet as he rubs her and coos.

“Fuck, such a good girl for me,” Shawn marvels. His erection is trapped between his stomach and her side. She writhes against it, gifting him the same relief he’s giving her.

His hand slips between her thighs. Penny moans, leaning her weight back into it. Shawn slips two fingers inside her, sighing.

“Fucking soaked. Want you nice and ready for my cock.”

Penny’s gurgling mewl would be embarrassing with anyone else. She thinks he likes watching her react when he flicks his wrist a certain way, brushes her g-spot teasingly, or scissors his fingers apart. She gasps and squeaks and moans and whines and cries out when his free hand slaps at one of the livid marks her left on her perky ass. He soaks it all in with an easy smile until she’s panting, desperate.

“Please, I need your cock,” she sobs, pressing her hip up against it again, tempting him. His eyes droop, showing weakness.

Shawn doesn’t see the point in waiting any longer. He’s ready to make her come all over him, to burst inside her in that way that could never be so satisfying with anyone else. He eases his fingers out of her, lavishing them with his tongue while she watches. Her pussy clenches again, waiting for him to fill it.

He helps her off his lap, still smirking, easing her onto her stomach with her head on a pillow. He pauses.

“Pen, do you want a condom?” he asks softly. She shakes her head no, facedown. His cock gives a twitch.

Shawn straddles her, his knees bracketing hers as he lowers himself down against her back, reveling in her sharp inhale when his cock slips between her thighs. They start to rock in time like they planned it, but it’s just them. Shawn moans contentedly against her neck.

“Been so good and sweet for me, Penny. My perfect girl.”

Penny hums in reply. It rumbles through Shawn’s chest where he’s pressed against her.

“Gonna make you feel so good, honey. Wanna make you come so fucking hard for me. Can you do that?”

Penny nods before he’s even finished the question. He grins and kisses a mark he left on her shoulder.

Shawn eases back and positions himself at her entrance, held up just barely by his knees. He takes a breath, closes his eyes, and presses his hips forward.

Shawn remembers the first time she let him in. She reached between her legs, her eyes never leaving his, and guided him in herself, slinging a leg over his shoulder like they did it every day. It was hot and brazen and he came a little embarrassingly fast but she just beamed at him and let him play with her nipples until he fell asleep, only to fuck him harder when he woke up before dawn. It wasn’t intimate, it wasn’t elevating, it was just satisfying.

Shawn turns his face into Penny’s neck. He can feel her pulse and hear her sharp breathing into the pillow as her body adjusts to his. With his weight against her, she’s enclosed by him and still reaches for more, sliding a hand up to clap over his, linking their fingers. Shawn’s hips snap forward once, hard, in response to her instinctively personal gesture. Penny rocks with the motion, gasping wetly into the pillow. 

“Feels good, sweetheart?”

Penny squirms at the pet name, one she’s never heard from him before, it only made an appearance tonight after he donned his dom costume. 

“Good. So… good,” Penny sighs, running her thumb against his. Shawn looks at their fingers and it has him rocking back up against her to start a comfortable rhythm.

She’s cradled beneath him, wet and content, holding his hand, her body gripping his cock like maybe they’re in love but fuck, he’s not gonna say it, he’s definitely not gonna say it because she hasn’t said it and he’s still paying for the privilege of being balls deep inside her, even if it’s the greatest privilege of his life.

So he swings his hips a little faster into the red, welted flesh of her ass and absorbs every moaning breath she gifts him like he’s losing his hearing tomorrow.

Penny is melting. She’s smearing makeup onto her pillow, she’s dripping wetness into her sheets, she’s fucking coming apart. But it’s more than that. She’s never felt like this before. And she’s seen and heard a million women say it. She understood conceptually what they meant, but she never got the glassy awayness in their eyes when they said it. Penny can’t see herself now, and she’s glad she can’t, but she bets her eyes are pretty thoroughly glazed.

Beneath his perfect hips and pressed up against his broad chest, she’s somewhere she never thought she’d be. She’s under, not over, out of control but not powerless. She didn’t think the happy medium could exist in her life, not when she’s spent most of it fighting for as much control as she could gather. Control meant comfort. If it was broken, she could fix it. If she couldn’t, it was on her. But it was a burden she could deal with. She never had help. She didn’t ask for it. She didn’t want it.

But that’s not really true. She’s always had Peter. She’s always had Gus. She’s always had Silver. The man shifting his hips above her to find her g-spot while he sucks on her earlobe and squeezes her fingers is new to the picture but becoming maybe just as important.

Perhaps the things she values most in life are those she can’t control.

She presses her forehead into the pillow. Her chest is caving in with each swing as it bottles up inside her. She shakes her head slightly, wetting her lips. Holding it in.

“Penny, fuck, honey, I’m so close.”

Her release of breath is a sob so sudden and so violent that Shawn’s rhythm falters. He slows, tucking his head over her shoulder to check on her. His eyes are wide. His lips are parted.

“Pen--”

“Mia.”

Shawn’s hips stop altogether. He’s buried so deep neither of them can breathe, but neither of them moves, either.

“What?” he pants.

She turns her face, brushing her nose against his. His eyes fall shut.

“My name is Mia, not Penny. Mia Violetta Bianchi. My name is Mia.”

Mia. Mia. Mia.

The connections snapping in place in Shawn’s brain feel like livewires sparking all over the place. He pants harder into her ear, though he’s stopped moving. 

Mia. Mia. Mia.

He holds her hand tighter and starts stroking harder, feeling her body pulse around his, a hot, wet warning.

Mia. Mia. Mia.

He doesn’t realize until now he’s been saying it out loud. Her name. Her real name.

“Mia,” he breathes, his lips brushing the shell of her ear, “Come for me, Mia.”

Her body pops like a bottle of champagne. She goes impossibly tight around him, pulsing erratically, desperately seeking his mouth to cry into as she comes harder than he’s ever fucking seen. He follows blindly, his hips taking off without him. He calls out her name over and over as he releases inside her, like he’s trying to make up for every time he’s said the other name. By the time his most powerful orgasm to date abates, leaving him shaking and ready for collapse against her soft, languid body, he can’t think anything else.

Mia.

+

He feels something’s wrong before he even wakes up. He turns over to find her sitting on the edge of her own bed beside him, staring at him mournfully. She doesn’t appear to have been crying, but she looks close enough.

“Hey,” he whispers, starting to sit up.

Mia turns her head, looking at the floor. The motion makes one of the center diamonds in her necklace catch the light. He’s never wanted to touch her so badly.

“I need to ask you for something.”

He nods. “Anything.”

“I need you to leave me alone for awhile.”

Shawn’s eyes slide shut and he thinks maybe his body is willing him back to sleep so he doesn’t have to face this.

“Ok,” he breathes.

“Just… I need some time. I know if you call I’m supposed to see you, so I’m asking you, please, if you care for me at all, don’t call me. I… don’t know how long. But I need this, Shawn.”

Her sincerity is jarring, as is the tightness with which she’s wrapped up in her terrycloth bathrobe.

“Yeah. Ok. I--”

He was about to say he understood, but he doesn’t. Not really. He bets there’s a lot he doesn’t understand. He drops his gaze.

She stands and looks at him again. “I’ll be in the shower.”

Don’t be here when I come out.

The message is unspoken but clear. In a daze, Shawn dresses and walks out. On his way, he passes a stack of mail on a credenza addressed to Mia Bianchi.

---------

Taglist: @smallerinfinities @the-claire-bitch-project @achinglyshawn @infiniteshawn @mendesoft @singanddreamanyway @alone-in-madness @abigfatmess @shawnitsmutual @awkwardfangirl2014 @september-lace @sinplisticshawn @rollingxstone @yslsaint @randi-eve @fallmoreinlove @heyits-claire @itrocksmysocks @parkerspicedlatte @simpledomain @abeautiful-and-cloudy-day @thecurlsofgod @magcon7280 @bensbuttercup @shawnsmusical @paigeasourous @tell-me-when-ur-ready @softmendesss @searchingunderthestars @buggy-blogs @tnhmblive @greedydevil @tamegray @meltingicequeen @havethetimeeofyourlifee @normalcyisoverrated-beyou @t-i-n-y-d-i-n-o @hannahlouiseee @sarahlauramendes @shawnsmoose @mendezlatte @1dbetch @graysonmendes @shawnsababe @ineffsi @ultradreamologistblog @bluerose711 @sauveteen @valedictorian65 @cleocc

[walkingshcdow-a]

All I Want For Christmas (Is You) : Drabble

Summary: Finnegan spends Christmas with his aunt and without Victor.  Ships: Finnegan/Victor Trevor @tinfoiltemplar

Snow glistened on the branches of the trees stretching across Edie’s property. Finnegan, tucked neatly into himself, alone in one of the castle’s libraries, glanced out at the silent, Scottish countryside. He hadn’t wanted to come home for the holidays. This year, like most years, he’d intended to stay in London for the holiday season. It was Charity Gala Season, Christmas party season… Usually, Finnegan glittered among London’s elite. FinneCorp’s Christmas party was tonight. Finnegan hadn’t missed a single one since he was eighteen. He couldn’t bear to go this time, though. He’d be alone - he was often alone - and Victor Trevor would be with Shanon. The holidays were a time for family, after all. Finnegan usually enjoyed trying to show up or show off his lover at galas. He enjoyed completing his outfit with a date who was accomplished or gorgeous or both and watching Victor watch him with someone else. It wasn’t so tempting when the tables were turned. And, of course the Trevors were invited to the FinneCorp gala. It would have looked strange not to invite them after a year’s worth of cat-and-mouse games in ballrooms and board rooms, tennis courts and country clubs. Maybe Finnegan was a coward for not wanting to be reminded that his favorite plaything was a married man, with obligations more important than Finnegan could ever be. Maybe he was a coward for only getting as far as Scotland when he tried to run away. He could have set out across the world with a dozen lingerie models and sent Victor the pictures. Instead, he was here. He was home. The closest thing to a “home” he thought of when everyone else in the world was talking about “going home for the holidays”. Edie received him well enough when he called two weeks ago to invite himself. 

“I’m not dying yet, you know,” she said coyly. 

“You’d better not be,” Finnegan said back, tone just as teasing. “I don’t have time to take your seat in Parliament. Big things are happening at FinneCorp just now. I’d hate to give it up.”

“But you won’t go to your own company’s Christmas party?”

“I’m reevaluating my priorities, Edith.”

“Michael Finnegan, if you tell me you’re dying, I’m driving to London to kill you myself.”

“I’ll be there on the twenty-second,” Finnegan said. “I won’t inconvenience you for more than a few days.”

“Stay through New Year’s,” Edie said. “Or is it only your own Christmas party you’re avoiding?”

Finnegan had forgotten what it was like to be seen by someone who didn’t keep you a dirty secret. He’d forgotten what it felt like to feel good in another person’s company without realizing that the feeling wouldn’t last past morning. He’d forgotten how good it felt to be able to take someone’s love for granted. 

He stared at his phone. Right now, Victor was probably getting ready for a gala - his? - while that wife of his shrilled at him about not embarrassing her. Would Victor look for him at the gala? Worry and wonder when Finnegan wasn’t there? He hoped so. He hoped Victor scanned the room and could only find the vacant places Finnegan ought to be. He hadn’t outright told Victor he wouldn’t be in attendance. A week ago, wrapped around Victor in his bed that was now too large for Finnegan alone, he pressed his lips to the nape of Victor’s neck. 

“I’ll miss this,” he said quietly. “During the holidays.”

Victor had rolled over in his sleep and snuggled small against Finnegan’s chest, mumbling something of his own - a question, maybe. If he wasn’t so canny, Finnegan would have asked Victor to run away with him. Instead, he carded his fingers through Victor’s wild curls and smiled grimly.

“Oh, our social schedules this year,” Finnegan said vaguely, thinking he answered the question. “We’ll have some catching up to do come January.”

January couldn’t come soon enough. 

After all, what was he meant to do? Bring his lover home to his aunt and the ancestral walls that had silently judged Finnegan with the same stoniness as most of the figures he remembered from his youth? How would he explain to Edie that he was willing to waste his time as Victor’s shame when he would have been anyone else’s pride? How would he say why he hadn’t yet devoured Victor whole and spat back his bones? His teens and twenties were a graveyard of lovers who took second place to FinneCorp or his ego or a thousand other things. Edie had watched him then with exasperation and a little something like guilt. It wasn’t her fault Finnegan didn’t know what love was supposed to look like. Had his mother and father ever missed each other this miserably? Of course not. God, of course not - unfeeling creatures. They’d never watched sunrise crawl up a sleeping lover’s back; never subtly touched a lover’s wrist at a dinner party to say ‘I’m still here; I’m glad you’re here, too”. They’d never admired the grace and power of a lover whose backhand could send the tennis ball distressingly far or whispered secret commands into a cell phone the night before reuniting with your lover, things only the two of you would know. They’d never exchanged glances, redesigned their schedules, risked their reputation. Passionless. 

He envied them. They hadn’t even been able to get a passionless marriage right - both long dead before Finnegan’s thirtieth birthday, no golden anniversary. The dry pages of their love story provided kindling for their quick, burning funeral pyre, which lit the way for their only child to map the world. Finnegan knew his world well. He knew his place in it. He knew that his place was not to be cheaply tossed aside by the likes of Victor Trevor, not to be exposed for indiscretions that lesser men would have, not to die in disgrace. That was the ruinous road he trod now, so sure that even if the map spelled disaster that one thing was clear: Victor would not cast him aside. Finnegan could come and go as he pleased, as he did now, and Victor would remain stubbornly loyal, maybe more afraid of being alone than he was in love with Finnegan. After all, as Finnegan well knew: those who loved him were a rare and dying breed. Edith crossed his mind again. She would pity him because she loved him and she’d tell him to wash his hands of the whole thing because she loved him. He envied her. How much simpler it was to wash your hands of love than to be covered in it. Finnegan wanted to scrub and scrub the feeling away so he could forget, at least until after New Year’s that he was in love. Instead, he felt Victor’s fingerprints smudging him still, a week after they last touched. It didn’t feel dirty. It felt like someone re-molding him, fashioning him into something new. For so many years he’d been sharp, a weapon. What would it be like if he let Victor make him into art?

Good God, he wasn’t even drunk. He was simply sitting in the upstairs library, smiling at his phone as he silently begged it to buzz. Not work. No, his work phone was plugged in by the bed, charging. This phone, his personal phone, rarely saw the light of day. Since he’d arrived, however, he’d waited and waited for it to show a sign of life. He tried to be discreet, pretend that he was answering emails, but the crestfallen disappointment that sank his whole bulk into the corner of the couch ricocheted off of him, drawing the eye with a flash of light and then its sudden absence. Why wasn’t Victor texting him? Finnegan sighed and cast his eyes out the window once more. 

“Don’t tell me you’re already regretting staying home from the party,” Edie said from the doorway.

Finnegan didn’t jump, but he certainly hadn’t noticed his aunt enter. Her sharp, pale features complemented her dry wit, much the way a fluted glass complemented white wine. Putting the phone on his lap, he looked at her, composing his own features into a Sauvignon Blanc. 

“I’m sure the party is suffering far more in my absence than I am,” he said. “What’s in those mugs?”

“Mulled cider,” she said, crossing the room. “Not as romantic as a champagne toast, but…”

“I’m not married to my job,” Finnegan said, pointedly avoiding the point. “I can’t imagine what would be romantic about any champagne toast I might give FinneCorp this year.”

Edie arched an eyebrow and joined him on the couch carefully, handing him one of the mugs. Finnegan wrapped his hands around it for warmth. Even though a fire blazed in the fireplace, the castle was old and drafty. No dignified amount of jumpers ever seemed to make this part of the castle warm enough. 

“What’s really wrong, Finn?” she asked. 

“Nothing.”

“Usually at this point in the evening, you’re texting me for second opinions on identical bowties,” she said. “Tonight, you’re sulking in the coldest part of the house.”

“It isn’t the coldest part,” Finnegan said. “I’m sure if I want to freeze to death, I could spend the night in the stables.”

“How dare you,” said Edie. She took great pride in her racing horses and the quality of care they received, but Finnegan didn’t expect her to sound so insulted. She glowered at him over the top of her mug. “I know you better than just about anyone. This is sulking.” 

“I’m just enjoying the quiet,” Finnegan lied. “It’s nice to put my work phone on silent.”

“So who are you waiting to call you?”

He narrowed his eyes.

“No one.”

“Then why have you been gazing wistfully at your phone since you got here?”

“I’m not gazing wistfully at my phone-”

“Michael Finnegan, I know I raised a better liar than that,” Edith said. She lowered her mug. “Try that again: who are you waiting to hear from?”

Finnegan paused.

“A business partner,” he said hollowly, “who I’m planning a new venture with.”

“Mhmm.”

“It felt disloyal to discuss it at the FinneCorp gala,” he continued. “And I hoped he was as enthusiastic about the prospect of going into business together as I am - was. I know I’m probably dodging a bullet, of course.”

“Of course.”

“He’d be a fool to let such a golden opportunity walk out his door. I don’t consider side ventures with just anyone. I won’t make that mistake again any time soon.”

“Of course not, darling,” said Edith. “How long have you been sleeping with him?”

Finnegan scowled and looked at his phone again. 

“I don’t know why you’re keeping it a secret,” said Edith. She shrugged and took a sip of her cider. “You could have brought him with you.”

“Things aren’t that serious,” said Finnegan. “Are they ever?”

“Darling, you referred to yourself as a business venture,” she said primly, in that pointed way she had long ago taught him meant that what you didn’t say was everything: I know how you feel about business ventures. “It’s a big enough castle, don’t you think?”

“He has other plans,” Finnegan said. 

Finnegan and Edith exchanged looks. 

“Does he know you wanted to see him?”

“If he knew that, then he’d have the upper hand,” said Finnegan. “He knows that I’ll be glad to see him in January.”

“That’s a long time,” said Edith. “I won’t judge you if you invite him here for New Year’s. It might be nice to see you smile instead of gazing longingly out windows.”

“He won’t,” Finnegan said. 

“You’ve finally found someone who can tell you ‘no’ and now you’re refusing to let me meet them?” Edith asked. “I’m hurt.”

“He can’t tell me ‘no’,” Finnegan said. “That’s the problem, which is precisely why I didn’t invite him.”

“You aren’t giving your HR department headaches because of a scientist or a secretary, are you?”

“No. I’m not twenty-five anymore.” 

I’ve moved on to bigger and better scandals, he thought miserably, taking a swig of his cider. It warmed him inside-out and he realized that he would be very sad and cold when he drank it all. 

“No, you aren’t,” Edith said. “Which is why it baffles me that you’d be willing to waste time the way you are now. If I was your age and I had a handsome young man in London-”

“I never said he was handsome.”

“Finnegan.”

Finnegan nestled back into the couch. He checked his phone once more before staring into the fire. The flames twisted and danced with much more merriment than he could muster. 

“Are you two fighting?” Edith asked, voice softer, less poised to make fun of him or roast him. Finnegan lifted his gaze to his aunt and shrugged. “Call him.”

“It’s not that simple,” said Finnegan. “We aren’t fighting.”

“Then why haven’t you called him?” Edie asked. “I bet he’s doing the same thing with his phone, hoping to hear from you first.”

Finnegan could imagine it. Victor, drinking and staring at the phone deep into the night. Victor, sitting for family Christmas photos and checking his cell phone. Victor, tonight, at the gala, hoping to at least see him and getting drunk when he realized Finnegan wasn’t coming. Finnegan took a sip of his cider. Then another. 

“I hope he has a miserable Christmas.”

“Michael!” 

Nominally, they were Church of England; neither side of Finnegan’s family had ever been religious. You still would have thought he’d told his aunt that he wanted to punch the pope square in the jaw a few times. 

“I do,” Finnegan said. “It’s what he deserves.”

“Because he had plans with his own family for the holidays?”

“Precisely.” Finnegan said. “He had plans with his own family for the holidays.”

“Finn...”

As the pieces came together for Edith, Finnegan feared the worst. He feared her pity, her horror. He feared she would think he was still a child and that he didn’t understand the enormity of the situation, how colossally he’d ruined his own life, their legacy, everything. Instead of tucking into the couch tighter, though, Finnegan maintained his aunt’s gaze levelly. He refused to be ashamed. Refused. He already lived like a fugitive in the city he owned because of the affair. He refused to be shamed here. This was to be his castle someday. Surely his ancestors had worse secrets buried on these grounds. Surely Edie had heard worse - from his own mother, perhaps…

“Goddamn it, Michael.” she said, leaning back. “Tell me this is one of your boyfriends from Eton… someone you knew before…”

“No.”

“So he was married when you met?” Edie asked. Finnegan said nothing. “Does he have children?”

“Not yet, thank god. I’m sure his family will apply pressure soon enough.”

“Do we know his family?” Edith asked. 

Finnegan shrugged. The Trevors were of middling importance. Millionaires, not billionaires. Nouveau-riche, relatively speaking. He set his mug down and searched his pockets for a cigarette and lighter. 

Edie’s brow creased. 

“Is he someone important?” she asked. 

“That depends on your definition of ‘important’.”

“So he is.”

“He’s not that important,” Finnegan said. “Not to me, not really. I could discard him if it suited me.”

“It doesn’t suit you to discard a married man?” The ridges scripting themselves into Edies’ forehead deepened. “But he’s not important?”

“I’m still enjoying him,” Finnegan said. “When I tire of him, that’ll be the end of it.”

“Oh, Finnegan.” She sighed his name so pityingly that Finnegan choked on a lungful of smoke. Coughing, he looked at his aunt through the bluish haze. Her hand, adorned with jewels Victor’s family might have mined and sold, rested on Finnegan’s knee. He studied the sharp cut of the diamonds as they glittered in the firelight. It was easier to focus on the small details of ancient family jewels than the diamond-sharp pain in his chest. He tried to breathe it out. His eyes stung. “If he was just a plaything, you would be at that party tonight. It isn’t charming for you to delude yourself - you’re the only one here you’re fooling.”

“Yes, well, so long as I delude social London, too, I’m the only one who can get hurt by it,” Finnegan snapped. He pried his aunt’s hand from his knee. “I don’t need you feeling sorry for me.”

“I don’t know if I feel sorrier for you or for him. You aren't the only one who could get hurt, Finn. He’ll look for you at Christmas galas all throughout the holiday season. God only knows why, if you’re as warm towards your lovers as you are towards your family.”

Finnegan glowered. 

“I’ll see him in January,” he said. “He’ll wait for me.”

Edie said nothing, strategically retreating into her mug of cider. Wielded by her, silence was a weapon. Finnegan could feel the crushing hit of her judgement without words to soften the blow. 

“He will,” Finnegan insisted. “I’m worth waiting for.”

“You’re worth so much more than that,” Edie said softly. In her hands, softness, too, was a weapon. Finnegan grimaced into another drag from his cigarette. “You deserve a lover who can give you their all, no hesitation.” 

“You think I don’t know that?”

“Clearly,” said Edie. “If you knew it, you wouldn’t waste a minute more on the heartbreak of a married lover.” 

“I’m not heartbroken,” Finnegan said. “And it isn’t a waste. It… builds character.”

Edie laughed sadly, so sadly Finnegan drew tighter into himself for warmth. 

“Oh, Finn,” she murmured. “No one who knows you would ever think you were devoid of character.”

She rose from the couch and drained the rest of her cider.

“I’m going downstairs,” she said. “I kicked the chef out for the night and I’m going to bake Christmas cookies. I’d like my sous chef at my side, like when you were little.”

Finnegan groaned. Neither he nor Edie were talented bakers. He was very good at fetching ingredients from the pantry and little else. He mostly perched atop the counter and watched as Edie overmixed the dough. Their cookies were always a little tough. Every now and then, one had a gooey center, but many more had burnt edges. The frosting was always too thick or too thin and Finnegan usually lacked the patience to frost cookies when they’d sufficiently cooled. As a child, he’d watched frosting melt and run down the sides of his cookies and wondered why his cookies looked nothing like the ones Edie’s personal chef made for them. 

“I’m in no mood for disappointing family traditions,” he said. He took another drag from the cigarette and smoke billowed from his nose. 

“I’m afraid that’s what you signed up for when you chose to come home for the holidays.” 

Finnegan heaved himself to his feet and tossed his cigarette into the fireplace. 

“Do I have to leave my phone upstairs?”

“You can bring it on one condition,” said Edie. “Either you text him a ‘merry Christmas’ or you delete his number from your phone. Come downstairs once you’ve done one or the other.”

She walked from the library to the hall and Finnegan listened to her descend the stairs. Then, picking up his phone, he typed two words to Victor Trevor. 

Merry Christmas, he typed.

Maybe I won’t give you up for my New Year’s resolution after all, he wanted to say.

I miss you, he thought. It aches. 

And then, silently, he slipped his phone into his pocket and followed Edie’s path downstairs. 

[schrijverr]

I Wrote My Own Deliverance

Chapter 7 out of 10

Alexander Hamilton is reborn as Alex Hambleton. He is desperate not to make the same mistakes twice, but it seems he is stuck in the narrative, unable to get out. Familiar faces pop up all around him as he attempts to keep his previous life a secret and write himself out of the story.

On AO3.

Ships: none

Warnings: blackmail, bc Reynolds, though not for cheating bv I made Alex a decent person lmao. Tell me if I missed anything or if you want me to tag something!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~

He was looking forward to the debate team. Arguing with his classmates was fun of course, but none of them could really match his wits and he hoped that the debate team would bring a challenge.

Luckily, or unluckily, he was not disappointed. There was another kid, tall Afro-American, introduce himself as Tom Jamesson that was on his team.

They shared opinions about the state of the economy, but their solutions were so different that it had soon turned into a screaming match to each other, while the others just witnessed their verbal tennis match with a horrified fascination.

It was only three meetings later that Alex realized he was looking at the reincarnation of Thomas Jefferson.

Tom, as he was known now, had quoted the Declaration of Independence at him like Jefferson had done in the past. Alex didn’t know if it was that or the cadence of the speaker that forced him to make the connection, but when he did, he had to force himself to not react.

He had not yet figured out if Jefferson had made the connection to him or if the other did not remember himself, but he didn’t really want to find out.

Somehow he had taken a liking to Tom. In this world they shared more opinions, though their approaches were still on the opposite sides of the spectrum, and he was a fun debating partner when the future of Alexs career and the country didn’t depend on the debates.

Tom was better than Jefferson and Alex wasn’t about the ruin the sort of friendship they had built up. So, he kept his mouth shut and tried to avoid using obvious Hamilton-esque phrasings as much as possible, even if it was difficult and he slipped up more often then not. It was hard not to fall back in old routines.

It was easier to keep suspicions of his back in his classes. Aaron was the only one going into law as well and he wasn’t about to create a stir between them, afraid of having Alex remember the duel that had gotten him killed.

As far as he knew the others had only taken the Revolution course last year for History credit, but Laurens was going to do medicine, while Herc was becoming a tailor again, though more fashion-y, and Laf was doing something with international relations. He had also gathered that Tom was doing architecture.

So, he was quite surprised to come face to face with Angie, or Angelica, in an economics class. She had sat down next to him and raised brow as she pointedly said: “You never showed up again after the party, not even with your friends.”

He looked at her like a deer in headlights as he answered: “Well, uh, we’re not really friends anymore, but are they doing alright?”

“I suppose, they are sad about you leaving, so care to explain why I have three heartbroken men that I have to listen to?” she asked.

“They were acting all weird about someone I don’t even know.” he told her the best lie he could come up with on the fly and a story she could confirm with Peggy, god was he glad for Peggy right now.

Angie wasn’t entirely convinced, so he added: “They all knew each other from another life and apparently also a guy named Alex, it was weird that they looked at me expecting someone else. I just needed to get away from it and then it was awkward. Besides, you punched me.”

That didn’t satisfy her completely, but enough for her to let it go and focus on the lecture. Leaving Alex a stressed mess as he prayed for himself to survive this course.

In hindsight it was a bit of an overreaction, but Alex was never known for being anything other then dramatic, so he let it slide.

It seemed Angie was still as sharp witted as always and she was a great study partner. It also seemed she had taken his words to heart, or maybe she just didn’t trust him to fuck over Eliza again, because she didn’t force him to socialize with anyone he’d known.

Instead they debated economic plans and compared notes. He would show up tired with two coffees and she’d force him to eat something in the morning classes.

They had a system that worked.

Not that it surprised Alex much, they had always been close. The musical had interpreted their friendship as romantic, but that had never been the case, they just clicked. And if there had been anything between them, that was now gone as she excitedly told him about her girlfriend.

It was good to have a friend like Angie.

She wasn’t afraid to call him out on his bullshit and after the years apart with her in London, she also wasn’t the most likely to recognize him, especially with how he adjusted his behavior in econ classes.

Alex still had a lot of opinions and the whole class knew, but he would wither when Angie send him a look during his tirades and leave it be.

Though, if later a smash dunk on said wrong person showed up in the school paper that Alex wrote for, or an essay about that weeks topic under his name, well, then that was his own business.

Life was actually going well for a change, which was why it should not have come as a surprise when it fell apart again.

He was working in the library when a guy came up to him. Alex thought he was a year above him, though he did not know his name. At first he pretended he hadn’t seen the other coming and tried to focus on his reading.

“Hello, Alex Hambleton, right?” it didn’t work, “I’m James, James Richardson.”

Should the name have send alarm bells ringing? Probably. But Alex was tired and hungry, so blissfully unaware he replied: “Yes, that’s me. Can I help you with something?”

“That depends on how badly you want a secret to be kept.” James told him.

The blood seemed to freeze in Alexs veins as he tried to remember where he had met this James character before and how the other could know who he had been. He was almost certain he had never seen the other and, as far as he was aware, he hadn’t been careless.

“I have no clue what you’re talking about.” Alex said, trying to play it cool, hoping his many years in politics had helped his poker face.

“Really?” James replied, as he nonchalantly leaned on the table, “I wonder what the board will think when they find out you’ve fucked yourself into the accelerated courses. Was Washburns dick as good as the girls theorize?”

“What?” Alex chocked out, this was not what he expected.

“Don’t play dumb with me.” James said, “Every Sunday you go out, you go to Washburns home and I’ve checked and apparently his wife is away on a case. He’s all alone and you just happen to visit each week.”

Mama M had been on a long case for her top client, who had sadly moved to the other side of the country, but none of them had thought to stop the Sunday Dinners, while she was away. And Alex was certain Washington had written that letter based off his skill, not his past.

He knew this, because he had asked him about thirty-two thousand times and read the letter himself about twice as many. And on top of that he had also gotten letters from his other professors, just in case.

James had nothing, just the fact that Alex had gone over to the Washingtons while Mama M was away, and that was pretty damning if you didn’t have the whole story.

“Not only that,” apparently James was taking his silence as guilt, “but I have also heard someone say that they’ve seen you with Washburn in his vacation home in Virginia over the break, while his wife was having tea. And before that, you got a hug, not very subtle, I have to say.”

He got out his phone and showed Alex two pictures. The first was of the hug by the car, the other of him leaning against Washington while he typed, Mama M cleverly cut out and the next one of them in the garden under the fig tree with lemonade laughing. They looked comfortable, and it was really up for debate how they related to each other based off the pictures alone.

“Those prove nothing and what you are saying isn’t true.” Alex argued.

“I think the board would disagree.” James replied.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” Alex said, “You’ve got nothing and I did nothing, now leave me alone.”

“I will.” the dramatic pause was unnecessary in Alex opinion, “For a price.”

“Do I look like I have money to pay you hush money for something I didn’t do?” Alex couldn't have stopped the eyeroll if he’d tried.

“Maybe you don’t, but Washburn does.” James said, “Heard his wife was rich. Wouldn’t that be something, your precious Washburn paying hush money for an affair with his wife’s money. You just had to get laid, didn’t you.”

“If you want him to pay, why are you threatening me?” Alex asked.

“Because his little boy-toy will be more convincing then me. Maybe you’ll get on your knees to beg him to pay me, keep you in the little program you love so much. Maybe you’ll even cry.” at this point it was just sadistic.

“Neither me nor Washburn is going to pay you, fuck off.” Alex was pretty done with this.

“Well, then I hope neither of you are interested in a future career.” James said, “Hope you have a great excuse ready, or my money. I want 20.000 dollars on this bank account by tomorrow, you have till 8 AM.”

He slid over a piece of paper to Alex with the number of his bank account, before sauntering off like he hadn’t just blackmailed Alex in public.

Alex pinched his nose and tried to think. At this point he regretted not expanding his friend circle, because he could really use the support right now. There was already an idea forming in Alex’s mind, but he couldn't do it without permission of Washington.

Cursing he packed his bags, it seemed Sunday Dinner would be early.

Mama M tried to convince him to threaten James back with a lawsuit after he had explained the whole thing, but Alex just sighed: “He’s not going to budge, if we do that he’ll just think he’s right and push even more.”

“And we can take legal action against him.” Mama M argued.

“But the damage will already be done and we’re too late.” Alex countered, looking guilty at their slumped shoulders, “I’m sorry, it’s my fault.”

“And why would you say that, son?” Washington asked.

“I knew it was a bad idea to get acquainted with people I’d known in my past life, but I gave in and now I’m dragging you down with me.” Alex explained, “I saw it coming, but I still let the comfort blind me. So, sorry.”

“Don’t apologize for that, dear.” Mama M said, gathering him up in a hug, “We’re just as guilty if you reason like that.”

“But-”

“No, no buts, Alexander.” Mama M told him, “We all made out own decisions and we have to face the music. We’ll make it through, don’t worry.”

“So, is that a yes?” Alex asked, unable to say anything else to that.

Mama M shared a look with Washington, who sighed, then nodded. She turned back to him and said: “Yes. We can still take legal action after that, if the issue doesn’t get resolved.”

They gave him some food and a lift back to campus, where Alex opened his laptop.

He had so much work to do and he needed to do it fast, he needed to be quicker than James, needed to save both himself and Washington, the only person he had ever willingly followed.

When he was done, the light was shining through the window and there was apprehension in his whole body.

He decided to text Angie, hoping she would understand. She’d always understood.

To Queen Angie [6:15]: Remember that punch?

To Queen Angie [6:15]: I might need a new one and I deserve it

To Queen Angie [6:16]: But pls be here for me this time

Alex clicked post and prayed for the best as he crawled under his covers to hide from the world, for once grateful for the quiet and glad Aaron wasn’t home. This was it, the moment of truth.

From Queen Angie [7:52]: Alex?

From Queen Angie [7:53]: Alex??

From Queen Angie [7:53]: Alexander?????

From Queen Angie [7:53]: God fucking dammit you asshole

That morning Columbia University woke up to a breaking news story.

[dreamingsushi]

Before we get married - Episode 1

Before I start my recap of this episode, let me mention that it is not the first time I watch it!  I first had a look at it a few weeks ago with a friend and I must say it was quite a weird experience.  Anyways.  Whan I saw the previews of the drama, I was quite intrigued by it because the theme and the plot seemed a little bit different from what we are used to and I thought it would be interesting to watch.  We’ll see from now on.

The first episode starts slowly by outlining for us the characters.  On one side, we have Chu Kehuan, apparently a very successful business man, while on the other side we have Zhou Weiwei, your average white collar it seems.  Both main characters have their first encounter in and out of a cab.  Zhou Weiwei is hurrying out of the car while Chu Kehuan is trying to get in.  On her way to meet some director, Zhou Weiwei bumps into a kid on a skateboard and spills the whole content of her purse including the taxi bill.  Since she needs to keep it to get reimbursed by her company, she runs after it.  That little piece of paper does have a will of its own as it flies from left to right back and forth.  Naturally, it’s Chu Kehuan that picks it up for her and as a quite arrogant little rich guy, he makes fun of her.

There, I’m already a little bit disappointed : the male lead is a rich little jerk and the female lead is scrapping every penny to live. I wish we wouldn’t have the rich-poor pattern, even though I don’t think Zhou Weiwei is poor, from her apartment and job I guess she would be from the middle class.

Destiny could have stopped her magic right there, but after they part and Chu Kehuan get in the cab, he finds Zhou Weiwei’s red planner.  Instead of asking the driver to wait and to get off the car a few seconds to hand it back, he keeps it.  That scene is really weird.  It’s like “Oh! A planner!  Nice, I’m going to keep it!” Maybe Chu Kehuan is just a really indifferent person?

Well not when it comes to his work and his opponent.  Apparently Chu Kehuan is the run for a CEO position against Shu Mingge, another investment expert I believe.  To build up the tension, we have then getting set up in their office, as if going on the finals on a box-ring.  I think the whole preparation could have been edited out, it’s a waste of time.

We switch right away, before knowing who is going today’s big bet, to another office filled with overexcited workers trying to buy some camera that’s at a really good price.  Nice product placement there!  This scene is to introduce another character though and probably the most boring character ever : doesn’t own a credit card, believes cellphone is enough to take pictures, paper money is better than virtual money.  I think we have here a guy very much in love with money.

Better news! That office is also Zhou Weiwei’s office and boring guy... Well it’s obviously her boyfriend.  While on the bus, previously which I didn’t mention, she texted him, saying she wanted to meet with him after work.  He answered : “Even though today is a week day that we are not appointed to meet, I also want to see you.” I can’t stand the guy already.  He is a bore.

Up till now, it seems I really hate that show...  Well it only has been 12 minutes, maybe it’s going to get better!

Another little scene of the competition between Chu Kehuan and Shu Mingge.  Chu Kehuan is obviously losing with the value of the stocks he invested in going down, but he looks quite confidente still.  Pass.

Good.  Zhou Weiwei finally realizes that she lost her planner.  She goes to her roommate asking about it.  Han Kefei really is portrayed as a sex-addict.  Earlier in the morning, she’s showering with a guy that slept over, now she’s in a conference room trying to seduce (it looks a lot more like she’s forcing him to be there though) an employee.  Shouldn’t a manager like that be fired?  Why is she doing this in the conference room?  Why is she so violent about it?  I mean, what is happening there... Abusive boss in every way and Zhou Weiwei just tells her “you even eat what’s raw.”  I know they are roommate, but shouldn’t she report her to high ups?  I really don’t understand a thing about this.  Why is everybody so abnormal?

Again to the competition, Shu Ming gets cocky and naturally, that is when his stocks start dropping as Chu Kehuan’s are climbing higher.  No big surprise.  Lots of shocked faces, lots of slow motions to show the face expressions.  And finally, Chu Kehuan looks human and he waves his fist for victory.  So unlike him, but thanks for the effort for not being too sure of yourself.

And what better to celebrate this big win than playing tennis with a friend!  I must agree with you, being a CEO is the best.  Money making wise.  Workload wise, I can’t say.  And is anywhere better than the locker room to look through Zhou Weiwei’s planner?  He says he’s looking so he can find her, but by the way he’s flipping through, he’s going way too much in detail.  Her name and phone number are probably on the first page...  Ah, no, her business card is a the bottom of the planner.  Good job.  I must remark here that it looks like a bullet journal and I really love that because I love bullet journaling myself.  Bonus point for the bujo.

Well it seems Zhou Weiwei has a really bad memory and that’s why the planner is so important to her.  During her meeting, she can’t open the ppt for her project because she doesn’t remember the password for it.  The meeting is about to be cancelled when she is called by... no one else but Chu Kehuan!  So nice of him to bring the planner to her at her office building.  Not nice of him to try to hit on her.  Is it true that in western country, inviting somebody for coffee means you want to hook up?  To me it has always been a way to thank somebody for something they did for me.  I don’t know, maybe I should change my thanking methods...  Well, let me tell you that we are going for another love-hate relationship.  No clichés.  But at least, the meeting is saved.

So on her date with her boyfriend, she is clearly embarrassed by how cheap he is.  Then a collegue pass by the street and the try to hide : turns out it’s forbidden to date somebody from the company.  What a crappy rule : where do you expect your workers to find their partner if not at work?  Anyways.  It’s their three year anniversary, they are happy and the best way to celebrate is... by scanning old receipts to see if they can win some money.  Haha, Weiwei’s face is so funny, how romantic.  She definitely hates that her boyfriend is so cheap.  I can’t believe she still puts up with him.  Well at least it’s to buy a house together, I guess he is serious about her at some point.

Oh... I totally forgot.  The guy started dating her because on their first date, she paid her part of the meal they had together.  Darling, dump him.  This is so cringy, it’s not romantic.

Her three year anniversary gift?  A cup he bought with points he saved...  CHEAP.  CHEAP. CHEAP.  And when she wants to stay the night, he says no because it’s not Saturday and they agreed they would spend the night together only on Saturday.  DUMP HIM.  I know she most likely will somewhere in the future, but it’s already taking too much time...

At least she is unhappy with it so after she leaves she goes to a solo KTV.  I so want to try these, it’s like my dream.  Naturally, outside the cabin, BAM!  Chu Kehuan is there.  Fate is really strong between those two already, they bump into each other pretty much everywhere. Kehuan obviously also thinks so.  Three meetings in one day, that’s an amazing fate.  But he needs to ruin it by reciting by heart everything he saw about Weiwei’s finance.  He is so annoying.  Weiwei’s reaction in that particular moment the most realistic part of the whole episode so far.  I have to congratulate Puff Guo for her acting, I enjoyed it very much.  Well actually, even though Weiwei’s reactions are most of the time weird, I have to say the acting is on point.  At that point, I think the script is just strange.

Anyways, she gets mad and when she tries to go, she rips her shirt open.  I watch the scene a few times, I don’t get how it happened, she didn’t touch anything.  Maybe it was too tight on her, I don’t know.  Anyways, her underwear is showing, she’s shook.  For the first, Kehuan acts like a gentleman and cover her breast with his jacket.  If they were a couple, it would be such a sweet moment.  Please redo it 15 episodes later.  Thank you goodbye.

So she goes back home, tells the story to her sex addict roommate, gives herself a pep talk in front of the mirror : girl, it’s about time you realize you’re not happy.  Kehuan is annoying, the character is so unrealistic to me up till now, but at least, he knows how to turn somebody’s mind upside down.

The next, dear Kehuan keeps on calling Weiwei on the phone.  It’s really childish honestly.  Doesn’t he have anything more important to do?  Like, maybe... I don’t know... working?  Well at least we know he has a party that night and he makes his subordinate make sure that Weiwei attends.  Naturally, because it’s fate, the guy knows Weiwei’s roommate, seems like they had a thing sometime.  Well anyways, he convinces her to make Weiwei attend the party so they can find her a boyfriend.  This is so twisted.

So they go to the party, Weiwei tries to leave when she sees Kehuan, her friend threatens her to end their friendship if she leaves, twisted, twisted, twisted.  Lots of wine drinking.  Somebody teach them how to drink wine.  Please.  I don’t even drink wine and it bothers me.  And then they... THIS IS TWISTED OKAY?  WHAT IS WRONG WITH THIS DRAMA??  They bring a crane game.  It Kehuan grabs a teddy bear successfully, he gets to sleep with any girl he wants at the party.  IT’S DISGUSTING!  I JUST CAN’T. NOPE.  THIS IS WRONG!!

As expected, he grabs one.  I don’t need to see the reste of the episode to know who he will ask out.  Yuck.  Dude, your morals are wrong.  Yup.  Of course, she doesn’t want to.  So instead he gives her three chances to grad a teddy bear to refuse him?  Okay.  NO.  And the crowd is cheering so she wouldn’t catch it?  What is this?  This is so inappropriate.  I don’t think something like that should be allowed in a drama.  And it wouldn’t be a drama if she didn’t loose.  They end up in a BDSM room and I am just thinking... what the hell am I watching...  At least, he just handcuffs her to the bed.  AS IF THIS WAS NOT BAD ENOUGH ALREADY...  He leaves the key hanging too far away for her to reach it.  In the process, we learn that he has a girlfriend.  Poor girl, I wouldn’t want to date somebody like that.  Dirtbag.

After he leaves her like that, he sees on his phone thousands of phone call, from whom I assume is his girlfriend.  I feel another twisted relationship coming.  Maybe it makes him regret or whatever, but he goes back to free Weiwei.

She runs to her boyfriend, but she can’t bring herself to tell him what happened even though she insists on staying over even though it’s not a Saturday night.

Kehuan gets home to his girlfriend, locked outside because she forgot the door’s key.  I can already tell the relationship is so unhealthy.  She basically worships Kehuan and if she could, she would be his slave.  That’s really not a good start.  I can already see he’s bored with her.  Two unhappy couples.

The episode ends on Weiwei deleting Kehuan’s invitation on a social media to be friends or to follow her, I couldn’t recognize the app.

Overall...  This is twisted.  I will try the next episode, the preview are still intriguing me, but so far I am not enjoying it so much.  I hope it gets better soon.  If ever you decide on watching, just be prepared : this drama is kinda more adult like.  It is definitely not for a younger public.

Thanks for reading, see you on another episode!

[2manyfandoms2count]

#LadynoirJuly Day 1

I’m back for Ladynoir July! I’m really glad I got an excuse to write something for this side of the Lovesquare :D Hope you like this first piece, it started out slightly angsty but then I decided to save most of it for the Breakdown prompt 😉

Thanks @ladynoirjuly2020 for organising the event!

---

Day 1: The Wall Between Us

“Ladybug, wait!” Chat Noir jogged up to his partner, who’d been about to yoyo away. 

“Yes, Chat Noir?” She interrupted her movement and waited expectantly. The patrol had been very quiet, for once, so it wasn’t as if she had to be somewhere. 

The pair had long abandoned their nicknames for each other, some time between their battle against Miracle Queen and their first relationships. It hurt somewhat, at first, but they’d quickly learned how to interact without them. There was something slightly uncomfortable about lying to Luka and Kagami about their comings and goings, which wasn’t helped by the fact Ladybug felt like she was cheating anytime she’d call Chat by his pet name. Chat Noir refrained from calling her ‘my lady’ or ‘Bugaboo’, afraid he’d slip up someday with Kagami.

Unfortunately for Marinette, the secrecy and sneaking around had  done little to help her develop a lasting relationship with Luka. Add to that the fact that her boyfriend had been singled out by Jagged Stone as a back up guitarist after a competition and was now touring Europe, one could say that long distance, both emotional and physical, had signed the death of romantic Lukanette. They did remain friends, Luka sending her postcards of every city he stayed in. They were gradually replacing Adrien on Marinette’s board. 

“Did you think about it?” Chat asked.

Ladybug sighed as she finally let her hand fall to her side. She should’ve known Chat wouldn’t drop the topic. The previous month, drunk on lack of sleep from repeated Akuma attacks and anxiety at the idea that her relationship was slowly, but surely unraveling, Ladybug had carelessly told her partner that she was getting tired of secrets and that they deserved to know more about each other, if only just to facilitate out-of-costume communication. She tried not to rely on Chat too much with the Guardian job, but she was determined to make him realise how important he was to her (and, incidentally, to Paris) by delegating more tasks to him. She was tired of the mystery that surrounded their identities, which prevented them from communicating as freely as they should’ve been able to. With all due respect to Alya, Chat Noir was her best friend, and something told her that she officially held the same place in his life now that he had a girlfriend. 

They were the only ones who shared the burden of saving Paris every day, while still having to juggle friends, family, school, and extracurriculars. All of their conversations, however, were censored by the looming wall between them, a filter which she thought it was high time to tear down. She couldn’t take the duality of their conversations anymore, either far too mundane or way too deep, the constant being the vagueness that surrounded their anecdotes. She just wanted something in between. Chances were they didn’t know each other anyway, so what difference would it make to be able to talk about the Françoise Dupont shenanigans without making the story convoluted enough that it couldn’t be traced back to the Collège?

At first, Chat had been ecstatic at the idea. He’d dreamed about this moment since the first time they’d gone home from fighting an Akuma. He’d daydreamed about a proper way to reveal his identity at least a thousand times, but scrapping all his ideas as either too sappy, stupid, obvious, in short not right. It had actually made him rethink wanting to tell her who he was. 

There was no way the person behind the mask hadn’t heard about him. His father had made sure of that by apparently buying the ad spaces on all the Paris billboards, buses and whatever else could hold a perfume poster (not to mention the fact Ladybug had saved him a good dozen times), and that was the problem. What if her opinion of him was tarnished by his celebrity? Worse, what if she started treating him differently because of it? He desperately wanted to get to know her, to share his whole life with her, but the wall between them did provide a shelter he was reluctant to give up. As much as he tried to be himself in his day-to-day life, he could tell he got special treatment from a lot of people, and many of the remaining crowd was intently studying his every move, waiting for him to slip up. With Ladybug, as Chat Noir, he got to be… well, not completely ordinary, but they did share a status. He could slip without worrying about what his father or the press would say, and he knew that the fall wouldn’t be long anyway with his partner around. He was terrified about losing what they had.

Ladybug shook her head lightly, looking at her feet. Chat Noir took her hand in a reassuring gesture, and helped her sit down facing him.

“I’m sorry.” She said, hiding her face in her hands. “There are a million reasons why we should do this, but I always feel like why we shouldn’t outweighs them all.” 

Chat placed his hand on her knee tentatively. “It’s alright, LB. I actually wanted to tell you… I don’t think this is the right time.”

Ladybug’s head snapped up. Of everything he could have said, this was probably the last thing she would have expected. She looked attentively at her partner, who looked more serious than she’d ever seen him before. 

“Really?” She breathed, squeezing his hand in hers. She didn’t quite know how to feel, frustrated that they were putting off something inevitable again, offended that he didn’t want to know anymore, or relieved by it.

He gave her a sad smile in response, his eyes filled with fondness and something else she couldn’t quite make out. “M’lady,” her old nickname rolled off his tongue before he could register what he was saying, his thoughts directed solely towards his very best friend. “If this was it, we’d know. And maybe it won’t even happen then, purr-haps we’ll be caught off guard when the time comes, but it should be something we don’t lose sleep about.” 

“I guess you’re right, Chaton.” She smiled softly, absentmindedly stroking the back of his hand with her thumb. “What made you change your mind?” She asked curiously.

“The reasons why we shouldn’t started being louder than the others.” He shrugged, his gaze losing focus as he looked into the distance.

“You know you can talk to me if you need to, right?” Ladybug said tentatively after a short pause. “Maybe we’re not ready to know who we are, but I still think we should loosen the rules a little.”

 “That could work.” Chat nodded. “How do we do that?”

“We could change the names of the people we talk about. And the exact story.”

“Okay, so for example… My girlfriend’s name is... Kelly?” He tried. She nodded encouragingly. “I met her because we both… play tennis in the same place. I like her very much, but I’m afraid she’ll get tired of me finding flaky excuses when the city’s attacked by Akumas. It’s not very honourable.”

Ladybug patted his knee with her free hand. “As long as you know you’re doing the honourable thing by protecting her and this city, I’m sure you can find a way to compensate. I promise that someday, she’ll know why you couldn’t stay by her side. And if you need me to talk to her, I’ll gladly do it! She should know how amazing her boyfriend is.”

Chat was thankful for the darkness around them, which concealed his blush. Ladybug’s compliments were becoming less rare, but they generally concerned his skills or actions, not himself directly. He cleared his throat. “What about you? Didn’t you say you have a boyfriend?” 

“Had.” She corrected. “Louis and I are still friends, but he left town to… study.” It wasn’t that far from the truth. “He’s a little older, so we didn’t get to see much of each other, anyway. Especially with the whole Guardian business and everything.” She gestured vaguely at the city at their feet.

“Was he the boy you had talked to me about before?” Chat pried. 

Ladybug thought about Adrien. Seeing him so happy with Kagami, she had abandoned her pursuit, which had led her to Luka. In both cases, she thought, the outcome would have been the same anyway, especially since Adrien had an even busier schedule than the blue-haired boy. They would have barely seen each other if they’d dated. “No. That was… Arthur. He was a very accomplished musician. He wouldn’t have been happy with me; like you said, I would’ve been very absent for a supposedly caring girlfriend. We’re good friends, though, and I’m satisfied with that.”

“His loss, I guess. And who meows, maybe it’ll work out someday.” He winked at her.

They continued chatting for a while, moving to the edge of the roof to get a better look at the illuminated streets. Soon, they had more or less rebuilt their lives and were talking freely, Alya becoming Alice or Audrey, Nino, Nathan or Nicolas, Marinette, Madeleine… The way they distorted things, or pulled up older events they’d meant to talk about earlier made them unrecognisable, although there were times where the stories felt familiar, without them being able to put their finger on it. They laughed, more than they’d had in months, talking about their excuses to justify their absence during a fight. It felt good to finally talk about something else than strategies, Akumas or Sentimonsters. 

When the Eiffel Tower flickered for the third time since the beginning of their conversation, Ladybug and Chat Noir agreed it was probably time to go home. As they walked away, both turned around before leaping off the roof, giving each other a small wave and a wide smile before leaving, already looking forward to the next patrol. Ladybug realised they hadn’t shared a moment like this in a while, if ever. 

Maybe they’d be okay sitting on their own side of the wall, after all.

[loveinthewriteway]