#for like so much of my life. these white cotton socks with some tiny green stripes at the toe | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lemontwst · 4 years ago

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Nessun Dorma | 01 - f!ver.

he says i am sorry i am not an easy person to want i look at him surprised who said i wanted easy i don’t crave easy i crave goddamn difficult

❥ 𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: harem x f!reader. | male version here.

❥ 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: cyoa + smut.

⟶ index | prologue.

You can’t say no to him.

You don't think you'd ever be able to deny Mira anything, really. Not when he looks at you like a kicked puppy… a tall, imposing kicked puppy with weird horns on his head who could probably cremate you alive without breaking a sweat.

"Of course I would stay with you! Do you even have to ask?" You reach out to touch his face. His skin always feels so cold under your fingers, but the fire in his eyes burns brighter than ever, as if the intensity of his flames depends solely on the intensity of your affection for him.

"I love you, Mira."

Your heart flutters at your own words and for a second you don't even know if you mean that as a friend or as a lover. But, well, you're only sixteen years old. You have a lifetime to figure it out.

You think Mira stops breathing, but it's hard to tell because the rise and fall of his chest is usually pretty much imperceptible anyway.

“I… I love you too.”

He sounds like he’s about to cry. One of his hands rests against your chest. It’s an innocent touch. He’s just feeling your heartbeat under his palm, tiny and steady like that of a little bird, “I will always, always love you. Even if one day you grow to hate me. Even if you forget about me. Even should you fall in love with somebody else��”

You suddenly feel very tired.

His gentle voice is like a lullaby in this field of roses. His words leave you dazed, like he’s casting a spell on you.

“I love you, (y/n).”

The last thing you hear is Mira wishing you a happy birthday before you fall into a warm, comfortable sleep without dreams.

___

A sharp pain in your chest jerks you awake.

It fucking hurts, like your heart is being pierced by a shard of glass. Like the fissures of your very existence are being pulled apart at the seams.

You clutch the spot above your heart, almost elbowing Epel in the face with all your trashing, trying to catch your breath.

"(y/n)! What the hell...?" Your friend rolls away from you, finally letting go of the octopus hold he had on you all night. He's all disheveled as he gives you a weak glare, falling back into the makeshift bed you two share with a groan.

It's not even a bed, really. Just a pile of cotton blankets messily thrown under the skylight of an unused barn. This is your little hiding place, and despite you two having perfectly comfortable beds in the main house with Grandma and Grandpa, you prefer to spend your summer nights sleeping in this very loft, where it's cool and open and comfortable.

"Sorry! I… had a nightmare… I think.”

Your friend is used to it by now, “Do you remember what it was about?”

"No… not really."

"Nothing at all?

"No, just…"

"Green eyes." Epel finishes the sentence for you. You've been having the same nightmare for a while, and your friend knows all about it, considering he sleeps right next to you most of the time.

Green eyes. Burning emerald. It's all you remember, alongside a gut wrenching, heart shattering feeling of longing that stays with you long after you've woken up.

"... Hey, you okay?" You must have looked as miserable as you feel, because Epel leans closer to you, peering into your face with worry in his eyes.

"Yeah… it's just a stupid dream." You shrug, leaning your head against his shoulder, "But you know what would make me feel better?"

Epel shrugs, but the way his brow crinkles tells you he's already prepared himself for whatever dumb thing you're about to say.

He knows you too well.

"I'd feel sooo much better if I had an additional piece of toast for breakfast today…" you sigh dreamily and Epel sighs.

"Fine." He shrugs you off and stands up. When he stretches, a peek of white skin flashes under his light blue shirt.

"What, really?" Your eyebrows shoot up. It's not usually this easy to get him to hand over his morning toast.

"Yeah," Epel walks the length of the loft and starts going down the ladder to the ground level of the barn. Before his head completely disappears under the edge of the loft, he throws you an arrogant smirk, "I wouldn't want the deafenin' roars of your stomach wakin’ up every wolf 'n boar in the area."

You're rushing after him immediately.

He can’t claim the bread if he’s dead.

___

You live a simple, happy life here in the Village of Harvest.

Your journey might not have had the best start—your parents left you on a doorstep in a basket when you were a small baby, but Epel's grandparents took you in and cared for you like you were theirs, and you grew up surrounded by love in a small farming community.

Sure, your days might not be terribly exciting. You don't have things like a mall, or a cinema or… anything built after the seventeenth century, really, but you have Epel and your grandparents and that's enough.

Oh, and you have Beau.

The little lamb trots towards you as soon as you're out of the house, your belly full with toast and Grandma's delicious apple jam, and starts nibbling at your socks immediately.

Beau is minuscule. The tiniest lamb you've ever seen, always struggling to follow behind you on unsteady legs like you're his mother. Epel says it's because he feels a kinship with a fellow pipsqueak. You're always quick to point out that Epel is not that much taller than you anyway.

"Good morning, sweetie." You pick up Beau in a swift movement and hold him to your chest with one arm, carrying a wicker basket in the other, "Ready to pick some apples?"

Beau starts nibbling on your hair in response. This little guy… he's always munching.

"Just make sure he doesn't actually eat the apples." Epel starts walking in front of you, throwing Beau an unimpressed look.

You can't be sure but you feel like Beau is glaring back at him.

Sigh. Children.

___

You're always dead tired when you finally reach your bed. Farm life is fun and rewarding, but it’s also incredibly exhausting. That coupled with the fact that you haven’t been getting much sleep lately means that you’re out like a light as soon as your head hits the pillow, barely having the strength to say goodnight to Epel before you’re spiraling into a deep sleep.

…

You know you should be surprised to see him, but you never are. You can always feel him creeping around the outer edges of your dreamscape, but it doesn’t bother you. You invite him in every time, even if you forget all about it when you wake up, almost like you know instinctively that he won’t hurt you. Almost like you know him.

The man in your dreams is gorgeous, the kind of beauty that makes you want to learn sculpting so you can attempt to immortalize it. His skin is paler than marble, free of scars or blemishes. His ebony hair looks silky, a stream of ink that frames his handsome face and falls past his shoulders. He is tall, the tallest person you’ve ever seen, and the evil-looking horns on his head make him look ever more imposing.

But what you find most striking about him are his eyes. Emerald gems with flames inside them. It’s the only detail of his that you remember when you wake up, the rest of him a cloud of black smoke when you attempt to picture him outside of your dreams.

“Good evening, Deerlet.” His voice has the texture of silk and when he speaks, it feels like the ground shakes beneath your feet. “Did you miss me as much as I missed you, I wonder?” He closes in on you with slow, purposeful steps, elegant as a cat even as he leans forward slightly, like he wants to keep you in place by towering over you. His expression is curious and serene. You have a feeling he always looks at you like this.

“Why are you here?” You take a few steps back, not because you’re scared of him, but because you're scared of how badly you suddenly want to reach out and touch him. Your bare feet step on something soft, like flowers, and suddenly the dull landscape around you shifts into a view that feels strangely familiar to you. An open meadow and a purple sky above you. An endless sea of black roses around you.

“Your eighteenth birthday is tomorrow.” He closes the distance again, as attracted to you as you are to him. You’re like two ends of a magnet, when one pulls back the other follows. “I really felt quite distressed at not receiving an invitation.” The small, arrogant smile on his face sends a flurry of tingles down your spine.

“In any case, I won’t be able to celebrate with you tomorrow.”

You feel like you already know where this is going.

“So I’ve brought you your gift today,” He reaches out to touch your elbows, languidly pulling you closer to him in a half-embrace that makes your heart skip a beat. There’s too much empty space between the two of you. His fingers linger over your skin, barely touching you.

“Do you want to know what it is?” He whispers against your ear. One of his hands gently cradles your face. His lips brush against your temple and you shiver, completely paralyzed on the spot, “It’s my love, of course.”

Not granting you the chance to run away, the man picks you up like you weigh nothing, then gently lowers you over the roses.

"I don't… I don't even know you." You meekly push at his chest, turning your head away. It's like trying to move a mountain, and the hardness under your hands makes you blush something fierce.

He chuckles above you, but he's not amused. It's a pained, bitter sound, like you just reached inside his ribcage and crushed his heart in your hand. His ebony hair tickles your skin when he leans down to press kisses against your jaw, "Oh, you do know me, beloved. You are the other end of my soul, as I am yours."

His adoring voice, barely a whisper against your skin, leaves you dazed and gasping for air. Your legs open almost instinctively for him, your thighs wet with excitement. A clawed hand makes his way from your shoulder to your side, slowing down when it passes over your breast as if he's indulging in the forbidden fruit. His fingers reach your inner thigh and he runs a slow circle against the wet, trembling flesh, eager to soak in your juices.

You watch with half-lidded eyes as he brings his hand to his mouth. A forked tongue peaks between his lips, slowly running over one of his lucid fingers. It brings back a memory of that time you dropped jam on your forearm, and that same forked tongue cheekily swept it away. The vision is so clear it leaves the hint of a name in your dry mouth.

"Mi… ra?"

His eyes dart to yours and you think they're actually burning. Emerald flickers to life. His snake pupils shrink. He makes a show of slowly running his thumb down his tongue, leaving a trail of milky fluid behind. Your stomach clenches with need, your entire body lighting up like he just poured gasoline on you and burned it with a match.

"Is… is that your name?" You manage to gasp the words out, suppressing a shiver when he hums low in his throat. Every nerve in your body is screaming at you to just give in already. To stop asking questions and wrap your arms around him instead, letting him use your body until he's satisfied. The urge to make him happy is almost primal in you, cauterizing your synapses. The need for him almost tears you apart.

"It's what you call me." It's a habit of his to sound both sad and adoring, you realize. You open your mouth to scold him for being so cryptic, but snap it shut when his hands rest on your chest. He palms the soft flesh gently, a small smirk on his arrogant face, "My precious Deerlet. Always so insatiably curious."

His thumbs slowly circle your hard nipples. Little jolts of electricity run down your spine, your chest growing sensitive under his ministrations. It's agonizingly slow. The sweet way he rubs you through the cloth of your dress makes you quiver with need, your voice coming out in short little gasps that make his eyes darken to a dangerous jade.

You lay your hand on top of his. You can feel his hard veins move under your palm as he gropes you, and the sensation sends another wave of slick down your thighs. Shaking like a frightened animal, you slowly move his hand to the side and slide it under your dress. A gasp leaves you when his fingers touch your bare skin. Mira exhales a long, pained sigh through his nose, then allows his digits to explore the expanse of your flesh. His fingertips tingle and his muscles tighten almost violently as the impulse to fuck you threatens to overtake him.

"Patience, daelin." He teases you, his deep voice a heated, playful murmur. Your pussy clenches in response. A small, frustrated whine leaves your lips.

"I'm going to savor every moment of this." He takes his hand away and your heart almost breaks, but the pain is soon replaced by scalding embarrassment when he rips the front of your dress apart, easily, like it's tissue paper.

Nothing could have prepared you for the thunder that rattles the landscape of your psyche when his forked tongue makes contact with your perky nipple. Your hands find his broad shoulders and you hang on for dear life as he licks, nibbles and sucks like you’re the most delicious thing he’s ever tasted. His mouth is devastatingly gentle and you weakly beg for more. Mira smirks and ignores you, dragging out his tender torture for as long as he can, even as you desperately grind your drenched core against him.

"Mira!" You're sobbing at this point. Your body is on fire and your core hurts from clenching without something to hold your walls apart, "Please—" He moves to your other nipple and you arch for him, making a pretty line with your back. Mira takes this chance to slip a hand under you, keeping your chest raised to his mouth so that your head falls back, away from the dangerous tips of his horns. But he still doesn't touch you where you want him.

Suddenly, another memory comes to mind, as if summoned by your sexual frustration. You remember something that makes him shiver without fail, and suddenly you feel like you've regained some sort of power over this arrogant man. You bring a hand to his horn and tug and the loud, startled moan that leaves him is enough to satisfy the hunger in your stomach, slick pooling under you like dew against the roses.

"... You little brat." Mira pulls away, struggling to catch his breath. His eyes are full of mischief as he looks down at you, the smirk ever present on his handsome face, "Is this how you treat your King?"

You try not to look too offended that he stopped touching you, giving him a defiant look that makes his smirk grow wider, "It is when the King is mean to his Queen."

His expression falls and he suddenly looks flustered. It seems like he enjoys hearing that you belong to him quite a bit. Mira quickly composes himself, the fire in his eyes now dim and subtle like a dangerous warning.

You yelp when he grabs the back of your knees and pushes your legs against your body in a quick, rough movement, leaving you spread open and helpless under his watchful gaze.

"This is far from me being mean." He growls at you, allowing his instincts to take over for just a second, "So I advise you don't do that again." The stern look on his face makes his presence feel even more oppressing than usual.

It's like he's speaking the words directly into your ears. His voice bounces off the walls in your head, heated and demanding as a spark of his magic runs over your sensitive skin. It's a tingly feeling that makes your heart stutter, more intimate than anything you've ever felt. He shares just a fraction of his arousal with you through the link between your touching powers and suddenly you're crying and convulsing on top of the flowers, the heat between your legs akin to flowing magma.

The world around you loses focus. There's no more questions, no more doubts, you don't need to know anything about him, you just want him to touch you while you moan and gasp and whimper his name. It feels like you're on the verge of shattering and when Mira caresses you with his magic one more time, your stomach squeezes and releases, the dam in your abdomen breaks and blinding white flashes in front of your vision. You're left boneless and dazed and shivering, the shock from climaxing so hard and so abruptly leaving you speechless as you gasp and try to catch your breath.

...Holy shit. You catch his eyes and notice the subtle way he’s panting, sweat coating his forehead as he stares at every twitch of your body with intense rapture. Mira looks almost famished, desperation written all over his face. He looks like he’s in pain.

"I'm trying to be gentle, daelin." He closes his eyes for a moment, trying to keep the pieces of his disintegrating self-control together. Your scent is everywhere. The light spice in the air threatens to render Malleus insane and he has to momentarily block you out to keep himself from turning into his half-draconic form.

No no no, he can't do that to you. Not now. Not during your first time. He wants to cherish and protect you. He won't let his feral instincts get in the way of this precious moment…

"...I know."

Malleus opens his eyes. A small, tired smile greets him. Your face is sweaty and flushed, like that one time he took you deep into the woods.

"I trust you, Mira."

Love washes over him like high tide across a deserted shore, filling every crack on his eroded heart, replacing the pitch-black ink that constantly threatens to swallow him.

You trust him. Of course you do. You love him. You are his and he is yours. Forever, like you promised him.

"... I'll make you feel good." He sounds oddly resolute as he looks at you, his pupils large on a background of gentle flames. He kind of looks like a happy cat and you can't help but giggle. He's still as awkwardly sweet as the scrawny boy in your memories.

"You already did."

He snorts, "I'll make you feel better."

You let out a surprised gasp when he lowers his face right between your legs. You hear him take a deep breath and then he's exhaling right against your wet pussy. Your legs tremble in response and Mira chuckles. You don't need to look at him to know he's smiling that closed-eye smile you like so much.

Your excitement flares back to life as his tongue traces the line of your entrance. The split in his tongue feels… weird, but it's also strangely erotic, and you can't help but moan shamelessly as he teases your slit. Then he runs his tongue up until it finds your clit and suddenly you can't bear to look at him anymore. Your eyes squeeze shut as little earthquakes shake you from head to toe, your hips going numb as he draws slow semi-circles around the sensitive nub.

"Which one feels better?" He has the nerve to ask you even as you convulse under him.

"The tip…" his tongue flicks your clitoris and your head falls back, slick dripping out of you like a fucking river and coating his face in a lucid sheen of arousal, "Or the base?" He drags his tongue under the hard nub and slooowly licks up and you nearly lose your mind, your hands tangling in his raven hair and gripping his horns for comfort. Mira gasps loudly against you, claws digging into your legs from the shock of the sudden stimulation, but you don't even notice it, lost as you are on the edge of your release.

Your core pulses desperately with the need to cum all over Mira's face. Everything feels wet and hot and stars, his tongue is lapping up everything you have to give him. It's like he's desperate not to let even a single drop go to waste…

"Mira!" You cry out in a broken voice, trying to grind your core against his eager mouth, "Mira—I'm going to—"

He suddenly lets go of one of your legs. The boneless limb falls over his shoulder, your soft thigh caressing the side of his soaked face. He doesn't grace you with a warning before one of his fingers plunges into you, finally granting your clenching walls some sort of relief.

Your moans increase in volume. You trash under him as if you want to get away. This is almost too much. It's scary. He adds another finger in and rubs that sensitive bundle of nerves inside you and suddenly the bliss is debilitating. Your back arches as another orgasm crashes over you, scalding hot and earth-shattering and too fucking vivid for this to be just a dream.

You completely miss the dazed expression on Mira's face, the dark jade of his eyes fading into a glassy mint.

You're so out of it as you slump back against the roses that you almost don't hear him when he speaks again.

"This scent is—addicting—" his chest heaves and he looks almost intoxicated, "I feel like I'm getting drunk on you..." his cheeks and chin are all shiny and sticky but he clearly doesn't mind. Not when he starts wiping the cum off with a hand before bringing it to his mouth, swallowing as much of it as he can. It's strange how he looks like an animal and a prince at the same time. An otherworldly creature of indescribable beauty, even as he eagerly eats your essence off his face.

“(y/n), I can’t take it anymore…” He breathes frantically, finally allowing himself some sort of relief as he takes his erection out of his pants. His dick is so hard it fucking hurts. He really wanted to take things slow for your sake, but he only ended up edging himself to the point of almost going into a rut.

He lets his hot member fall against your stomach. He’s fucking huge, you stare with wide eyes at the point where his length ends across your abdomen.

"It… it won't fit…" You mumble, even as your pussy clenches with traitorous want.

"Not this time, probably not." Mira cradles your little body in his arms, "I'd have to train you for it to fit. Stretch you out until your insides have my imprint." He runs a hand down his face in a quick, agitated movement. Every single cell in his body is fighting against the urge to ravish you. His muscles hurt from tightening so violently and Malleus has to force himself to count to ten to keep from showing his cock inside you at once.

“It’s… fine. I won’t hurt you.” He promises, searching your face for your approval as he lines himself against your entrance. He’s been alive for centuries and yet his heart has never beaten so fast. His hawk-like eyes are focused on you and you alone, burning the image of you laying helpless under him inside his corneas.

Then you nod up at him, looking so cute as you try to put on a brave face that Malleus almost cums right then and there. The head of his dick slowly pushes inside you. Your head lulls back and Mira's hands shake violently.

It's so big. Your vision goes out of focus as your hole clenches around him greedily. Stars, it's stretching you so well. You're soaking wet and yet he still has to push to enter you because you're so fucking tight. Your legs shake uncontrollably, the feeling of being filled completely wiping out every thought in your head.

He finally touches the deepest place inside you, his large cock still not completely inside, and you both go completely still. The only sounds that break the humid silence are your loud gasps and his feeble ones, mixing together in a cacophony of absolute amazement as you two take in the surreal feeling of finally being connected.

Mira is inside you. You completely forget that this is a dream, that sentence repeating inside your head over and over again.

"...Small." He mutters. You look at him and your heart almost collapses at the tender expression on his face. You think his pupils might have turned into little hearts, rouge dusting his pale cheeks as sweat drips off his hair and chin.

"So small." He makes a show of hovering over you completely and suddenly the sky disappears. There's only him. Above you and around you and inside you. You're face to face with his chest, and as you lean your head back, trying to catch his eyes, you see that he has to tuck his chin against his neck to look back at you.

…

...

Fuck. Your heart lodges in your throat and your hole clenches around him, coaxing a surprised moan from both your lips.

"(y/n)..." your name sounds heavenly when he says it like that. On a quiet, vulnerable gasp.

"I… I'm going to start moving now, okay?"

You can't speak, so you give him another frantic nod, squeezing your eyes shut. You're not prepared for how good it feels when he pulls back. His veins scrape against you, the stretching becomes almost unbearable and you're left moaning long and loud in a way that makes Malleus sweat. If you could see him now, you'd notice he looks almost shy, like the first time you kissed his cheek.

He's almost out of you when he decides to thrust back in, scattering stars across your stomach with a single, gentle motion. Every nerve ending tingles with pleasure. Sweet nonsense falls from your lips and Malleus has to grit his teeth and dig his clawed fingers into the ground in order to cling to the last remains of his thinning patience. His fangs hurt with the primal urge to mark you.

"My (y/n)—" He eases into a steady rhythm, pushing what he can of his shaft inside you. Sweat pours down his face, his hair sticks to his chin and his tongue swipes the salt off his lips, "My sweet girl—my cute little Deerlet—" His hips snap back against your smaller ones in short strokes, his movements growing more and more frenzied as tight, magma hot pleasure builds inside him. The obscene sounds that fill the air turn him on so much he's now full-blown moaning. His beautiful voice calls your name shamelessly, desperately, like you could disappear from under him at any given moment.

"I love you—you're mine—" He growls placing a large hand under your ass as he pounds into you, keeping your hips locked to his, “Say that you’re mine."

The order resonates inside your head. You're not even offended that he's using his magic to intimidate you. You can barely cling to your consciousness at this point.

"I am—I'm—yours, Mira!" You don't even know which way is up anymore, but you know that what you're saying is true. You belong to him. Your best friend. The love of your life.

"Malleus." He corrects you through gritted teeth, then he stops moving entirely, ignoring your disappointed cries as he desperately tries to resist the pull your body has on him, "Say I'm yours, Malleus."

"I'm yours, Malleus." His real name becomes a moan in your mouth and Malleus finally snaps. There's no more gentle, just a carnal urgency and a need that has waited centuries to be satisfied. He pulls his hips back and then slams into you and fuck, you should be screaming by now but you can't, there's not enough air as you bounce over the flowers and sob, clinging to him like he's your lifeline.

The loud "Fuck!" that leaves his mouth pushes you over the edge, the word so unexpected but so fucking sexy coming from his graceful mouth. You clench down around him, delirious as stars explode behind your vision, and drag him right over the edge with you.

Malleus holds you so close to him you feel like you might melt into each other as he releases pulse after shuddering pulse of his essence into you.

He cums so much. You can feel his hot semen fill you up and then spill out like it's a waterfall. He's not letting go of you, his face hidden in your hair as he recovers from the star-shattering pleasure of finally, finally being one with you.

"I love you." He mutters, voice breaking.

...

He's crying. That lone thought destroys something inside you and you start feverishly kissing his jaw, his cheek, his neck, anything you can reach as you try to soothe him.

Don't cry don't cry don't cry—

You feel him starting to fade in your arms. You can feel yourself starting to fade.

Nonononono— Maker, please—

He pulls away from you and you finally see his face.

He looks lost. His dark lashes are wet with tears, his mouth is curved in a confused frown and that's when you realize that he loves you so much, but he doesn't know how to process the feeling. He's like a panicked child and you are fading. And he’s always going to remember this moment, but you won’t.

You scream out his name, his real name.

…

And then you wake up, sobbing all over yourself, unable to remember.

Epel tries his best to comfort you, but you don't stop crying for a long time.

___

Life goes on.

You have a part-time job at a beach bar, on the coastline that extends about 60 miles away from the village.

Epel hates that you have to travel so far when you could just help him out at the farm like you usually do, but you’ll be attending NRC coming September, and you want to save some pocket money for you and Epel to spend on all the cool city stuff you can’t find in your hole of a town.

Beau likes to walk you to the bus stop. Epel would too, but you won’t let him waste his time on you when he has his own work to take care of. Your lamb companion stops following you when the dirt road opens to the fields, getting distracted by the dandelions sprinkled at the edges of the village.

"See you later, Beau." You chuckle, knowing he will go back to the farm as soon as he gets bored. Beau ignores you and munches away.

The bus stop isn't far, a lone plastic port on a background of sunflowers. As per usual you're the only one here, but the occasional horse and buggy passes by, and the farmers who live in the nearby granges all greet you with cheerful smiles on their faces. They all know where you're headed and wish you a good day at work. You really can't keep anything to yourself in such a small community.

The commute to the beach takes almost an hour. The road zig-zags and then straightens towards the coastline. You're almost tempted to doze off, but finding your way to the beach if you miss your stop is going to be a pain in the ass, so you force yourself to stay awake, keeping your eyes on the picturesque horizon and daydreaming about your mysterious man with the emerald eyes.

You always think about him when you’re riding this bus.

…

You should probably stop being so obsessed with him.

___

The sun is almost in the middle of the sky when you get to the beach bar, and as per usual, it's a crowded mess. This is the infernal hour, and not only because it's hot as sin.

There's people everywhere, craving drinks and food before they go lay down on their beach towels for the rest of the day, their flip-flops leaving sand in every corner of the bar that you'll be sweeping for an eternity. Screaming children run this and that way like they're high on vitamin gummies. Their melting popsicles leave a sticky trail on the ground. They step on it and spread liquid sugar everywhere.

…

Why do you work here again?

…

Because the pay is good, and your coworker is cute.

Said coworker perks up when he sees you. His ears give an excited wiggle (Maker, he's adorable) and he shoots you a smirk that shows his little fangs, "Ah, kitten! Always a sight for sore eyes." He hisses a 'kishishishi' that you've learned to recognize as his laughter, his closed eyes looking like little half-moons.

"Now move your bum and go change. I need my sla—coworker to serve some tables outside.”

Figures. His lazy ass hates leaving the coolness of the bar to handle the customers sitting outside.

“Is that how you ask for favors, Ruggie?~" You tease him as you step behind the counter and head for the changing rooms in the back.

"I'd smooch ya as a treat but snoggin's not allowed in front of the children." He gives you a cheeky smile. One of the moms around the bar throws him a glare, but he shamelessly ignores it.

You shake your head and grin to yourself. At least you have him around to make this job a little more bearable.

___

“I am dying.” You groan and rest your head on the counter, the coolness of the wood soothing your flushed face, “Why did I take this job anyway? I don't need the money! I can just live off the land with my lamb companion and eat apple jam for the rest of my days."

Ruggie snorts next to you. He finishes cleaning a beer glass and places it back on the decorative shelf behind you, “Says the one who only works half a shift.”

You turn your head to look at him, cheek smushed against the counter. Rush hour is finally over, but god, you're in pieces. Waiting tables is not as easy as it sounds, and dealing with entitled moms on vacation is a torture worse than stepping on two Legos at the same time.

The sun is starting to set. The blue sky fades into a gentle orange above the deep indigo of the calm sea. Your shift is almost over, but Ruggie will have to stay here for a while longer.

"I'm not a masochist like you." Your eyes follow him as he wipes, cleans, moves, washes and dries plates and glasses at half the speed it takes you to do it. He's like a super cleaning pro.

"Ye gotta work if you want ta eat." He pops open a can of peach tea, then pours it in a glass filled with ice.

"It's not masochism, it's the law of the Savannah." He places the glass right in front of your face. You lift your head off the counter and wrap your hands around the cold beverage as he shoots you a mischievous look. He waits for you to take a sip before adding: "But it's nice ta know you're so interested in my sexual preferences."

You choke.

He laughs that kishishishi sound.

As you wipe your mouth with your wrist and send him a half-assed glare, a familiar sparkle sizzles the air between you.

You bask in the sudden heat for a second, watching as Ruggie's blue-gray eyes trace a slow path down your body.

This kind of flirting is… not uncommon between the two of you, but it never really leads to anything, if only because you're both stuck manning the bar and you can't really leave the place unattended.

But something you can't help but wonder… would he act on it if you two were alone and away from trying eyes? Would you act on it? Ruggie is very cute… and witty and funny and reliable...

Regardless of your feelings on the matter, his casual teasing makes you feel like the hottest person on this beach, so you don't discourage it. You take another sip of tea, sighing through your nose at how pleasant the cold beverage feels when it runs down your throat.

...

"Uh…" Ruggie suddenly looks away, his cheek tinged the lightest shade of pink, "You may uh… want to take that shirt off, kitten."

...

What?

You look at him like he's grown another head.

"Excuse me?" You must have sounded more outraged than you feel, because your voice sends Ruggie into an embarrassed panic.

"N-not like that! It's just…! You've been sweating a lot and your shirt's gone transparent! I can see everythin' from here— I mean, what if a perverted old man walks in and sees you like that?"

You look down at your white shirt. It wasn't visible while you were wearing your green apron, but you can indeed see the outline of your swimsuit peek out from under the wet fabric, and you figure your wet back looks the same. Oops.

"Ah shit, sorry I didn't notice." You stand up and Ruggie turns his head away at the speed of light.

"No no… s'fine I have— a jacket you can wear while you walk home if ya need it."

Your lips quirk in a grateful smile as you head for the changing room, "Thank you! You're the best, Ruggie!"

"Yeah, yeah…" he breathes, quietly rubbing his temples as soon as you're out of the room.

___

Left alone in an empty beach bar, Ruggie barely resists the urge to slam his head against the counter. His shoulders are burning like he's been marked like cattle, and all he wants to do is to walk into the ocean until the waves swallow him completely. Maybe the abhorrent heat that singes his skin would fucking disappear then. And if not, at least the cold water would kill his boner.

This happens every fucking time. Every fucking time. He should be smarter than this, and yet he always falls for the same tricks, and the worst part is that he's tricking himself. Ruggie knows that flirting with you is akin to showing burning coals in his abdomen. He gets so fucking excited his entire body starts tingling with electricity, which is not the ideal state to be when you're at work.

And yet he still does it anyway.

Maybe he really is a masochist.

And maybe he should actually bend you over this counter and finally get rid of the frustration that's been building up inside him for the past two months.

And oh God, you're going to the same school as him in September. You're going to be prancing around in your little uniform, calling him 'senpai' and shit and he's going to have to go through his heat while being tortured like that.

Ruggie pours himself a glass of ice-cold water and downs it in one gulp.

Yeah, he's fucked.

___

"Epel! Carry me!~" You cling to your friend, Grandma and Grandpa chuckling at your antics from the sofa and the armchair respectively.

Having finished washing the dishes, Epel wipes his hands on a dishcloth and pushes you away with his elbow, "No thanks. I'm tired too ya know."

This is not the first time you've done this song and dance. With how little you've been sleeping lately, you're always looking for excuses to be carried around by Epel. Your legs feel like jello, you are not walking all the way to the barn tonight. Just changing into your pajamas has been hard enough.

"Yeah, but you slept like a rock all night!" You hug him from behind and rest your lips against his shoulder, giving him an unimpressed look from over his shoulder, "I woke up to you drooling all over my shirt multiple times."

Epel flushes the color of the fruit he's named after and mumbles something unintelligible. He waves goodnight to his grandparents and so do you, then he struggles towards the front door, pretty much having to drag you across the hallway.

"If you're this tired then why don't ya just quit the beach job already?"

The two of you step outside, greeted by the loud crying of the cicadas. There's not a cloud above you, the stars clearly visible in the inky blue of the night.

"I can't do that. Ruggie needs me."

Epel scoffs. It's the exact same sound he made when he saw you come home wearing your coworker's jacket.

"Why don't ya go ask yer darlin' Ruggie to carry ya then?" His accent gets more jumbled as his irritation grows. Still, for all his fussing, Epel bends down and waits for you to climb on his shoulders.

You do so happily, nuzzling into him like a spoiled cat.

A pair of emerald eyes flashes behind your eyelids, but you shrug it off.

"Sorry but I'm too drunk to go back to the beach to ask him."

"Only you can get drunk after two glasses of apple cider." Epel smirks, ignoring you when you hit his arm and start whining again.

You lay down onto Epel's checkered blanket like a starfish.

"Where am I supposed ta sleep? On the ground?" Epel turns the lantern off, then lights the incense to keep away mosquitoes and other bugs and places it on the windowsill.

He turns towards you with his hands on his hips, watching as you lay in your shared nest without a care in the world, and sighs. So spoiled.

"You can sleep on top of me, I don't care."

Epel almost chokes on his saliva.

You laugh at his flustered face. It almost looks like he's angry, eyes wide and an outraged blush on his cheeks.

You open your arms for him, "Come on! It's not like we won't end up in this position in the morning anyway."

It’s true. Epel often rolls on top of you in his sleep, and nothing you do ever seems to shake him off or wake him up. You figure you can just get right to it, since he apparently loves resting his head on your chest while he snores.

Your friend closes the distance between you with three hesitant steps. "... You're such a moron, seriously." He mumbles, kneeling between your legs and then draping himself over you, careful not to crush you with his weight. He smells like apples, as always. His cotton pajamas and his fluffy hair make him the perfect cuddle buddy. You sigh contently into his hair and wrap your arms tighter around his back.

It’s quiet for a bit. Epel’s weight is strangely comforting over you. The sound of his steady breaths is a familiar lullaby, and you quickly find yourself floating in that comfy, tingly space between sleep and wake.

…

“Do you do this with Ruggie too?”

Epel mutters so quietly you almost don’t hear him. He doesn’t say it accusingly just… like he’s sulking.

“... What?” Any semblance of sleep disappears from your mind as you catch his dejected tone of voice, “You mean like hugging?— Of course not.” You bring a hand to his hair and start scratching his skull like you know he likes it, and you feel him relax in your arms.

…

“Have you ever kissed him?”

Okay, now you’re definitely wide awake.

You look down at him, trying to catch his expression, “Epel, what are you talking about?”

He raises his head and pins you down with a demanding, silvery gaze. You sigh and lay your head back down, closing your eyes as you think of the best way to answer him.

“I haven’t kissed him.” You open your eyes and catch Epel’s expression shift just a little. He tries to keep an impassive front, but you can tell he’s relieved, “But I haven’t kissed you either.” You could maybe understand the cuddle comparison, since Epel is your designated snuggle friend, but who you kiss or don’t kiss shouldn’t matter to him.

Right?

“... Do you want to?”

Your breath catches in your throat. Everything seems to still around you. Your heartbeat speeds up as you look into Epel's eyes. You know he's pretty manly despite his soft features, but he's never been so… forward before. You two have always been like siblings, so you really didn't think Epel felt that way about you. Maybe he's just joking?

… He's not. His eyes dart to your lips and darken, like there's a thunderstorm inside his gaze. Soft blue turns to rainy gray.

Do you want to?

…

"Yes." You think Epel stops breathing, but you don't have time to think about it because he's suddenly leaning towards you, stopping only when his lips are a few centimetres away from yours.

His labored breaths fan your lips and send a flurry of tingles down your abdomen…

___

❥ How do you handle this situation with Epel?

⟶ Lay back and let Epel take the lead. You deserve this after being teased in your dreams by your mystery man and teased in real life by your hyena coworker. Besides, you kind of want to see what your stubborn Epel is capable of in bed... (sub!deerlet content)

⟶ Touch him, claim him, make him beg for the next kiss. With the way he’s always clinging to you, you suspect this is what Epel has always wanted anyway. (dom!deerlet content)

vote here | what is this?

❥ taglist: @mirrorsandpacts @stormweaver13 @bobaryn @justsomepersons @mokkeguts @maiieus @trashmomarcya @dat-bi-bitch @lem-thebeast @mythrule @hfhgjgji @zzz-sleeplessy-soft-xxx @anicious @kae-draws-sometimes @cogitover @sammy6667 @shrimp-heads @twistedmintcandy @gyghii @akelois @maknae-lenna @chiefcashgianthero @carasketch @mayorkoopbob @linseyz @gardenondreams @andromeda-gay @equus-meretrix @the-king-of-blue @spacebabesupernova @kagicannotsee @doraconia @hello-starlight @yandere-romanticaa @skyboo @uwu-dreams @kay8675 @meltyans @drawbud @msyaoigodkanna @roseinbloom02 @hoodiedevil @ikemenisruiningme @miiluka @hello-selene94 @moondustinhislungs @nosochek-3o @epher-posts @monoshii-wasu @rosavine @bitch-let-me-die @raychel @pumpkiethepie @hypmicluvbot @theallpowerfulrosami @mmquinno @mayunnaise21 @ruvelise

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland headcanons #twisted wonderland scenarios #twst #nessun dorma

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ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years ago

Text

Whumptober Day 27: Extreme Weather

CW: Environmental whump, references to drug and alcohol use, references to Derrick (see: The Break-Up for his last appearance), Kauri’s Bad Life Choices, slut-shaming, trauma response, untreated abuse survivor with fucky headspace, referenced abuse

When Krista opens the door, Kauri stands on the doorstep to her apartment soaked to the bone, water dripping off the flattened curls of his hair, stuck to his forehead. Water runs in rivulets down his cheeks like tears, drips from the sleeves of his sweater onto her doormat.

She’s proud of that doormat. She picked it out at Target and it says Shoes Off, Witches.

Krista decorates for every holiday, because she can, because the holidays belong to her. There are tiny pumpkins, alternately white and orange and painted with little patterns, lined up along the little railing on their concrete patio. She has little witch figurines in the centerpiece of the circular dining table she and Sonya found at a garage sale, and a Halloween wreath made of black and orange leaves hangs on the door.

Mrs. Richardson didn’t celebrate Halloween, because of something to do with celebrating our sinful natures and something something demonic influences hidden in seeming fun and the devil something harry potter witchcraft something, but Krista celebrates every holiday, just because she can.

Sometimes she thinks of Miss Alyssa and wonders if she celebrates Halloween, now, too.

“What are you doing here, Kauri?” Krista squints past him, shivering against the chill air even in her big soft purple sweatshirt. It had cost her six hours of work to pay for it, it was so expensive, but it’s the softest thing she’s ever felt in her life, like wearing a cloud with a hood on it everywhere she goes.

“Can I crash here?” Kauri blinks rainwater out of his eyes.

Behind him, the rainstorm that’s been going for nearly three days continues, pouring water like it’s falling from overturned buckets from the dark gray skies. “Sorry, they shut the buses down, it’d take me like five hours to walk to the shelter from here, and…” He rocks up and down on the balls of his feet, and Krista winces at the squelch from his thin black-and-white checked shoes.

Krista takes a deep breath, looking over her shoulder. Sonya is still in the bedroom, finishing up a call for work, speaking in her Phone Voice, softer and pleasant, with all the edges sanded off. When Krista was a pet, she spoke in a voice like that. Sonya speaks for her job to men who constantly interrupt her, but somehow when she does it, the voice is gentle but commanding, where Krista always felt her voice just sounded… weak. “I don’t know, Kauri, I’m not… I’m not sure.”

“Please?” Kauri’s eyes are huge and blue, and water frames them as it runs from his hair. He shudders, as a winter breeze blows at his back. A spatter of the tiniest water droplets is blown with it, and Krista blinks rapidly against the feeling. “Please? It’s just for tonight, they said the buses should be running tomorrow morning if it doesn’t get worse… please?”

“If it doesn’t get worse,” Krista repeats, her eyes scanning back into the parking lot. Someone drives past, their headlights on, and the rain falls in such thick sheets that Krista can only see their headlights, not even the car.

Who would drive, in something like this?

She looks back at Kauri, and figures maybe someone who would walk in rain like this, someone who doesn’t have a choice. Not every business is closed, after all, and not everyone can work from their laptop like Sonya. Not everyone can afford the days off if they call in. There are people who don’t have the option to stay safe from the floods. There are people who are told to risk their lives or they will not eat.

There are times Krista wonders how anyone doesn’t become a pet. At least she never had to watch a paycheck disappear from a bank account nearly as soon as it was deposited before.

Not that she knows of, anyway.

“It’s just overnight,” Kauri says, softly. “I know she doesn’t like me, but… but it’s just one night.”

She looks at him, in his soaked-up shoes, shivering in the rain and with his backpack dripping as hard as everything else, and then she sighs. The felt leaves on the Halloween wreath rustle against the door as she steps back and to the side. “Take your shoes off and stay on the mat, I’ll get you a towel to get you to the shower. I think you can probably wear some of my sleeping clothes.”

Kauri’s eyes brighten, and he kicks off his sopping shoes and peels off soaked-through white cotton socks. His toes are wrinkled from being wet for so long, and he spreads them with a sigh of relief against the rough doormat.

“Thank you, Krista, thank you so much-”

“Get inside,” She says, but her voice is gentle, and he steps in to stand on the inside doormat (this one just says I hope you brought tacos) while Krista walks away, across the soft beige-gray-nothing-color carpet in the apartment, swinging around the low-slung coffee table by the couch. She ducks into the small bathroom and grabs the towels off the towel rack.

Sonya calls out, “Baby, do I hear someone at the door?”

Krista hesitates, towels in hand - she bought them at Target, too, the bathroom is fall-themed and the towels are a deep saturated pumpkin orange and a hunter green and they have cream-colored stitching that reads thankful and choose joy - and looks towards the closed bedroom door. “Um, yes. You remember Kauri Grant?”

There’s a pause, and then the bedroom door cracks open, and Sonya peeks through. Her short, straight brown hair is pulled back with clips to keep it out of her eyes, and she’s still in her pajama pants and t-shirt from last night. “That druggie friend of yours? The homeless guy?”

Krista shakes her head, nervously twisting the bunched-up towels in her hands. “He’s, he’s not-... he’s not on drugs, Sonya, I told you he’s not on drugs.”

“But he is homeless.”

“... yes.”

Sonya’s lips are a straight line, and the look she gives Krista makes her heart flip unhappily. Kauri always makes Sonya look like this. She doesn’t trust him, thinks he’s going to get Krista arrested, thinks he deals or buys or something, but Krista knows the truth and it’s a truth she can’t tell.

If she told Sonya what Kauri is, there would be questions, and then Krista would have to explain what she is, and she… she can’t.

What if Sonya reported him? Krista would shatter if she were the reason someone had to go back. So… she keeps his secret for him, and it’s just one lie, but it means Sonya only ever believes the worst.

“Well.” Sonya takes a deep breath. “What does he want?”

“They stopped running the buses,” Krista says, keeping her voice low. “Because the roads are so flooded.” The TV is still going, running a show Krista doesn’t even remember turning on, and Kauri is still on the inside doormat, dripping and cold and wet and in need of somewhere to stay. “He just wants to crash overnight, Sonya. Please.”

“I’m tired of you letting this guy take advantage of you, Kris,” Sonya says, and then just sighs, raking a hand through her hair and getting it caught on the clips, frowning and jerking her fingers back out, leaving her hair all mussed and beautiful. Krista wants to kiss her, but this isn’t the time.

“It’s just one night-”

“It’s never just anything with Kauri Grant, Kris, and you know it. Just one night with Kauri Grant means he’ll eat half the food in our kitchen and you’ll end up washing his clothes for him-”

“He shouldn’t have to pay for laundry!”

“How come he can’t stay at a motel or something?”

“I don’t know, probably he hasn’t been making much money, if it’s raining people don’t go walking around to give-”

“Oh but somehow he always has money for drinks when he calls to see if you want to go out, though? You think I haven’t noticed that?”

Krista sets her jaw, at that. “Sonya. Please don’t do this. You know he almost never has to pay for drinks-”

“Because he’s fucking all the bartenders, Kris!”

“He just needs somewhere to crash for a single fucking night. Come on, Sonya, don’t be-... don’t be like this. He’s my fucking friend. It’s not like I have a lot of those.”

She never curses, and the unusual word coming from her lips pulls Sonya up short from whatever she intended to say next. There’s a silence, and then her girlfriend sighs and pushes the door open a little more. She holds out her arms and Krista steps into them, taking the tight embrace and soaking it up.

On the bed, their black cat Pepperjack looks up, gives a soft chirping meow, and lays his head back down again.

“I’m sorry,” Sonya says, softly. “I know you care about him. I just wish I understood why.”

Because we’re the same, in all the ways that made us. Because he needs to know there are places where he is allowed to stay. Because of a million reasons I can’t tell, secrets I have to keep.

Because he’s a ghost, and he wears the face of someone who died for him to be born.

Just like I wear a dead girl’s face, just like Leila does, like Chris and Antoni and all of us, we’re all walking around in someone else’s discarded body.

And I can’t tell you.

“He’s my friend,” Krista says again, more softly, and kisses Sonya’s cheek. Her girlfriend turns her head to turn it to a kiss on the lips, and Krista relaxes into the soft reassurance that comes with the love in that kiss. “One of my first friends, really. He’s just going through some stuff right now-”

“Baby, you always say he’s going through some stuff. When does he finish going through it and get out on the other side of all that stuff?”

Krista sighs, and nuzzles her way back into another kiss. “I don’t know. But he’ll leave as soon as the buses are running again, I promise, okay?”

Sonya nods, and they rest their foreheads together for a moment, let the softer silence stand. Then Sonya says, quietly, “Okay, baby. Just. I feel like Pepper over there is all the strays we need in our life, you know?”

“I know,” Krista murmurs. “But he’ll have somewhere to go once it stops raining, I promise.”

“Yeah. Well, I’ll start making a list for replacing all the goddamn groceries he’s gonna eat.”

“He doesn’t get much good food out there-”

“Kris. He’s a taker. He uses you. And when he’s here, he uses us. I don’t see why you don’t get that.”

“He’s not-”

“Kris, listen to me. Stop trusting some pretty dude who is just going to get you hurt when he pisses the wrong person off. I know you guys met at the same homeless house or whatever, but he’s going nowhere fast and you can’t let him take you with him.”

“Sonya, stop.”

“Kris-”

“I said stop it.” She pulls back and away, grabbing some of her baggy sweatpants and a t-shirt from the pile of ‘clean’ clothes folded on top of the dresser until she has the energy to put them in the dresser - which is never, Krista delights in being able to be messy in her own home - and carries them out. Sonya stands in the doorway watching her go, and then sighs and goes back to her headset, back to work.

Kauri, still just inside the doorway, is lowering his phone from his ear as Krista comes into view. Nat bought him that phone, so she’d know Kauri was alive the weeks he was gone. Nat bought him the phone, he bought his clothes with panhandling money, his sweatshirt is Dustin’s. The backpack he found abandoned at a bus stop.

Nothing Kauri is wearing, or holding, is really his own.

A little plastic ziplock-style sandwich bag sticks out of his pocket. He had his phone in it to keep it dry, Krista thinks, and wonders how long he’s been wandering around out there in the rain. She hesitantly speaks up. “Here, Kauri, I’ve got towels and some clothes to change into-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Kauri says, softly, and glances up at her before he looks down again. Water drips from his hair onto the phone’s screen and he wipes at it with his finger, squinting. “I’ll be gone in a second.”

“What?” Krista goes still, and realizes that she and Sonya were not as quiet as they thought they were. “What do you mean? It's pouring-”

“I called someone,” Kauri says, flat and sharp, without looking at her. “Gonna walk to that bus stop with the little roof and he’ll come get me. Don’t worry about it.”

“Jake? It’s not- Kauri… it’s not safe for Jake to drive all that way across the city, half the roads are flooding-”

“Not Jake.” Kauri isn’t just not looking at her, he can’t. His face is a little red, splotches on his pale cheeks. Is some of the water on his face tears, now, and not from the rain? “I know someone else who lives near here. He’s coming to get me.”

“Kauri…” Krista closes her eyes, guilt twisting around inside of her that he’d heard. He knows Sonya doesn’t like him, but Kauri is so sensitive to being disliked. She should have pulled Sonya into the bedroom and closed the door. “Who is it?”

Kauri blows air through his nose. “It’s Derrick.”

Krista hitches in a breath in surprise. “Your ex? Kauri, didn’t-... didn’t he threaten you when you broke up?”

Kauri shakes his head, gives her a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “No. I misunderstood him, that’s all. I thought, um, I thought he was angry, but he was just… sad. The whole stupid fight was my fault anyway, and I’ve seen him since and he agreed to be friends. It’s fine. I asked, and he wants me there. I’ll sleep on his couch.”

No, you won’t. We both know you won’t.

“He wants you there,” Krista parrots, plaintively. “Kauri, you don’t have to leave, or anything, I swear. I’ll make you a bed up-”

“It’s fine,” Kauri repeats, and gives her another breezy, airy smile. He sticks his phone back into the little clear bag, closes it up, and shoves it back in his pocket. He slips his soaking-wet shoes back on and Krista winces as she hears the way his feet push water around inside them. “I’m fine, Krista, it’s really not a big deal. Derrick always says I can call him, when I run into him-”

“You’re still seeing him?” Krista licks at her lips. She holds the towels and clothes useless in her arms like a child hugging a teddy bear, feeling guilty and useless. Kauri came here for somewhere safe to stay, and felt unwanted, and now…

“No, but he… we show up at the same places sometimes.”

“... Kauri, is he following you?”

Kauri gives a brittle, bright laugh. “What? No! It’s fine.”

“It’s fine,” Krista repeats, and then says softly, “It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine. You… you always say it’s fine. How many times can you say it before you just… admit when it’s not, Kauri?”

Kauri’s smile drops, for a second. His blue eyes meet hers, haunted and sad, making the choice to hurt himself rather than be hurt by anyone else. Kauri Grant is a ghost, she thinks, and very nearly says out loud. You don’t have to haunt us, Kauri. You could have a home.

He takes a deep breath, pulls the hood of his zip-up sweatshirt over his head, where it flops, just as soaked-through as everything else, providing no safety from the rainfall at all. Water drips off of it onto his nose. “I’ll say it as many times as it takes to believe it,” He says, heavily.

“For who to believe it? Us, or you?”

“I’ll catch you later, Krista. No big deal. Thanks for letting me hang out for a minute.”

Krista watches, helpless, as Kauri turns and walks back out into the rain, shoulders hunched. The rain is so thick that he disappears from view before he’s even fully across the parking lot. From a man to a shade of the fog to nothing at all.

Sonya wanders out of the bedroom to find Krista still staring outside, through the open door. “Baby? Where’s your friend?”

“Where’s my friend? He heard us talking.” Krista’s voice is thready trembling. “He found someone else to stay with.”

The ex-boyfriend, who told Kauri he was a ditz and kind of dumb, who told him he was lucky someone put up with how difficult he is, who broke up with him while threatening and scaring him, who… who still let him leave, at least.

So it’s better than where he came from, maybe.

But not by much.

“Oh. So he did have somewhere else to go. Probably he just called his dealer, Krista. Nobody looks that strung out without being on something.”

Krista’s fingers tightened on the cloth she held in her hands until the tension hurt, ached up her arms and to her shoulders. “Sonya, he’s just-... he’s messed up, but he’s not-... he’s not on drugs. He’s just had a hard-... a hard life.”

“Yeah, I mean, a lot of us have. But you always let him take advantage of you, Kris. That’s all. That’s all I worry about. I mean, I’m sure he’s a fine guy, but I’m not on Team Kauri, you know? I’m Team Krista. I worry way more about how you get all weird for a couple days every time he’s here.”

“Sonya-”

“He’ll be fine.”

Krista shakes her head, but repeats, “He’ll be fine,” to settle her own nerves. She realizes belatedly that Kauri’s socks are still balled up on the concrete step outside her door, and she moves forward, closes the door, and does up the locks, leaving them there for now.

Maybe he’ll come back for them.

He probably won’t.

Pepperjack meows softly at her, and she turns to see the black cat winding his way around a leg of the coffee table. Something in his eyes looks… reproachful. Pepper likes curling up with Kauri when he stays over, warm against his back or on his chest, just under his chin.

Krista walks past Sonya to hang the towels back up, puts her clothes back in the clean clothes pile, and curls up on the couch with Pepperjack in her lap and Sonya at her side. Warm, dry, and guilty.

She sent the ghost away - or Sonya did - or she did, by not defending him enough… and still, Krista feels haunted. She pulls her own phone out from the pocket in her pants and texts Jake. He went back to Derrick.

She doesn’t have to say who he is. She sees when Jake reads the message, but he doesn’t send anything back right away. Maybe he’ll call Kauri. Maybe he’ll convince Kauri to go somewhere other than his shit ex-boyfriend’s place. Maybe maybe maybe, but it all relies on Kauri not running away.

It all relies on Kauri. Kauri’s a survivor, she tells herself. They all are. She texts Jake again. I’m sure it’s okay. I’m sure he’ll be fine. I’m sure.

Yeah, is all Jake sends back. She can feel the anger through the inconsequential bloodless single-word response. Anger, fear, and worry.

She closes her eyes.

He’ll be fine. He’s fine.

How many times do they tell each other Kauri is fine, when everyone knows it’s not true?

---

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real-fakedoors · 7 years ago

Text

under leaves so green - CHPT 12 - Miraculous Ladybug

After the Dupain-Cheng family purchases a flower shop around the block from the Agreste mansion, Chat Noir frequents the spot in search of company from the manager-but-not-really Marinette. Beneath the mask, Adrien starts to struggle with how cute she looks in that green apron. (AKA: the not-really flower shop AU where basically everything is the same, but Marinette is extra stressed by her job and Adrien tries to be supportive)

Cross-posted on AO3 and FF.net

Chapter 12: A Needlepoint Peony

In which, Adrien stresses out, Marinette makes a confession, everyone is embarrassed, Tikki disappears, and Plagg fixes his whiskers.

Adrien felt, admittedly, a little bit strange.

Standing in his room with each corner dusted, polished, and achingly quiet, the place begged for the stasis to be broken. Not a sound stirred - not even the guttural gnashing of a kwami inhaling camembert, yet beyond his door there was an unusual bustle of activity.

Generally speaking, Adrien preferred for his room to have a bit of a lived in look; everything felt a little less hollow and empty if he asked the attendants to keep his bed a little unmade, or if he didn’t hang up a towel after a shower just so. Right now, though, he was the one actively scanning every surface for signs of disorder, ready to right any wrong.

He couldn’t recall any girls ever being in his room before, save Ladybug once or twice, but that had been during akuma attacks so it’s not like she had been admiring his DVD collection or cuddling with him on the couch.

At the very least, Adrien could say with certainty he’d never had his girlfriend over to the house, ever. He was only coming up on 24-hours of having a girlfriend, period.

So waiting, knowing Marinette was coming... it felt strange, definitely.

But it wasn’t bad.

“Are you ready yet?” Plagg called eventually, hovering down from the bookshelves and sporting a predictable scowl.

Adrien watched as the little kwami combed through his whiskers, and one of his tiny ears kept twitching. The behavior seemed conspicuous, considering Adrien had just been doing very much the same sort of grooming before getting dressed in fresh clothes.

“Wait a minute…” The blond narrowed his eyes, and Plagg froze. “Are you... fancying up for Marinette?”

“Pff. No.” The kwami rolled his eyes and turned away, only making Adrien more suspicious. “That’s stupid, kid. It’s not like your girlfriend is coming to see me. Cat’s gotta look good for his own sake, thank you.”

Adrien hummed skeptically, but decided to return to the task at hand. The ebony nuisance in his life had been increasingly excited every time they went to see Marinette, and it was starting to seem rather conspicuous. Maybe it was just the tempting offers of cheese bread and croissants?.

Bouncing around his room, the tap of Adrien’s hard-bottomed shoes rang off each wall. He took time to inspect every surface, adjust and readjust the arrangement of things he had on his desk, and repositioned his desk chair to be perfectly squared up to the monitor.

Really, it was all perfect, so seeking mistakes was a wasted effort. It was just a deliberate use of time that distracted him while waiting for Marinette to arrive. Part of him wishes he thought to offer to pick her up, but the opportunity was gone.

So now… waiting.

Glancing at the wardrobe, Adrien pressed his lips together and approached the full-length mirror. In the Agreste home, formal was normal, and vice versa. He never really knew that wearing “day clothes” until the moment before he went to bed was unusual until he started visiting Nino’s, Alya’s and Marinette’s houses. There, he was free to walk around on plush carpets with or, when he felt especially daring, without socks; the concept seemed so foreign to him in the beginning.

That being said, his attire didn’t bother him - a soft, simple white shirt and a slate-colored overshirt, paired with a plain pair of navy slacks. He selected one of his pairs of well-worn dark shoes, deciding against any that seemed too dressy or that would need breaking in.

Comfort was a must.

He had plenty of support for their first date. Between the help of Alya, Nino and the others in pulling off the Attack of the Loam, his father’s surprising approval of Marinette, Chloe’s reluctant agreement to be nice, and knowing he was going to have several hours of resigned privacy with her had all worked wonders in boosting his confidence.

And, of course, there was the small encouragement he’d gotten from Marinette herself, considering she had confided in Chat Noir that she had some romantic interest in his civilian form. To use his superhero side to gain an advantage in pursuing her seemed a little unfair, like using a stimulant in a sporting event, but he couldn’t say he regretted it. One touch of their lips together had been enough to dash any harboring guilt.

And, all-in-all, the date had gone better than he could have hoped. Adrien couldn’t keep his enthusiasm contained, and when she agreed so promptly to go out with him again, he seriously considered cheering.

Yes, you absolute dork. We can go out again, anytime.

Her words undermined his typical faculties and reduced him to a twisted bunch of nerves. The mess that fell from his mouth came more in the way of reactionary instinct than rational thought, blurting his desire to have her as his girlfriend. Adrien hadn’t intended to ask her to be in a relationship so soon, but miraculously, she agreed.

Did she think he seemed adorably inexperienced, or like a anxious mess? Had he asked her too soon? It had only been one date, though they’d spent hours and hours together in the past week alone; that’s to say nothing of the past three years. How long do people in relationships usually ‘date’ before they were considered ‘dating?’ Why hadn’t he thought to ask Nino for tips on the quintessential final element to any date, the “walk her to the front door” moment? Why wasn’t there a manual for this? Had he seemed too eager? She didn’t feel pressured to agree, right?

Alas, there was no guidebook, no easy instruction kit. He couldn’t pick up “101 Ways to Ease Through Awkward Social Interactions” at the library, and there was no magical deity of romance or young love to pray to that might appear to him in a vision from the sky to answer his questions and grant him sage wisdom on new love or family dysfunction. The closest thing he had to that was a turephilic kwami, who was, at present, floating crossed-legged near his desk with an expression of irritation.

The jittery, fierce happiness that spurred Adrien on yesterday since been replaced by titular worries of the evening ahead.

First of all, they weren’t going to be alone, and he had only a few hours to prepare.

They were having dinner with his father.

He, his father, and his girlfriend, sitting around the dining table together.

The most uncomfortable iteration of the Last Supper came to mind, but he quickly shook away the inane thought.

Second was the prospect of dinner it self. Adrien hardly ever ate with company, let alone the aberrant match that was Marinette’s soft-spoken kindness and his Father’s critical, cutting commentary. What should they talk about? He could only hope the two would find enough common ground in fabrics and fashion to carry them through the evening.

Unwittingly, Adrien had begun to pace his room, the metronomic clap of shoes on tile providing a backbeat to his mounting anxiety. Plagg said something and the blond glanced up, but Adrien didn’t quite catch it.

When their gazes met, a random train of thought popped into his head. The kinds of question you never think of until you’re living through the moment. “Did you want to come in my pocket down to dinner?”

Raising a brow, Plagg tilted his head. “Why would I do that?”

“Er… you usually do? Most of the time it’s just you and me, though.”

“Oh.” Plagg tapped a black paw to his whiskers. “I guess I do, don’t I? Uhh…nah. You got this.”

“Something is up with you,” Adrien squinted his eyes at the black cat, who merely pointed his chin and looked away.

Adrien waged a finger at him. “Whatever you’re hiding, I’ll find out eventually!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” his kwami insisted, flying away.

“Adrien?” A voice beckoned not a moment later, in time with three rapt knocks.

He did a final check of himself in the mirror, took a deep breath, and walked towards the door.

“Yes, Nathalie?” He answered politely, already knowing what she was going to say. Marinette was here, probably looking so lovely he’d forget how to speak. She could show up in her dirty work jeans and he still would swallow his tongue.

Just gotta relax.

It’s only dinner.

When he opened the door, he was greeted by his father’s assistant’s typically perfected posture and a small smile, but bowed besider her was head of black hair, half-pinned back to keep the tresses from her face.

“Mme. Dupain-Cheng is here,” stated the lean woman, stepping aside to present his guest. Every ounce of confidence he had as Chat Noir evaporated into a dizzying headrush when she peeked up from beneath long lashes, looking as flushed and as he was nervous. How do people on television or in Disney movies sweep girls off their feet so easily? Adrien could barely manage not to stare.

“W-welcome,” he cleared his throat, trying to focus on the woman between them who was scrolling through her tablet absently. “Thank you, Nathalie.”

“Yes. The chefs are saying dinner will be ready in about fifteen minutes, so come down soon.”

At that, she promptly turned and left them alone, her heels receding in the otherwise clipped silence.

Marinette looked more beautiful than he could have imagined - she was more than that, her whole appearance was scenic. A mid-length skirt skimmed her calves, pleated and pastel pink, making her look more sophisticated than her usual capris or work jeans; her torso was wrapped in a seamless array of breathable cotton, accented at the seams with white lace that complemented her porcelain skin like a subtly harmony to his favorite song. The top floated over her skin and stopped just as the skirt reached her waist, extending up and hugging her collarbone snugly. The neckline kept close to her neck, exposing most of her shoulders, though his attention was drawn mostly towards the careful embroidery in the center of the bodice. A sprig of hand-woven flowers, dyed in tones of subdued greens and gradiants of pink, comprised in needlepoint, brought the ensemble together.

Where she looked hauntingly alluring yesterday night in cuts of crimson and black and white stripes, today she seemed dreamy and pastoral.

“Is it… too much?” Marinette glanced up, brushing her skirt and picking at invisible loose strings. Blue eyes dodged away from his when Adrien met her gaze.

A little more quietly, she added, “I didn’t know how… fancy to get. Sorry.”

“S-Sorry?” Adrien swallowed hard on his throat. He extended a hand, a careful and shaky invitation to step forward. She cracked a tiny smile and accepted.

The blond was already smiling, apparently, because his cheeks were starting to hurt. “How could you apologize? You look so… so pretty, Marinette. Did you embroider that yourself? It’s really amazing.”

Cheeks matching her skirt, she giggled and entered his room, eyes scanning the tall ceilings and giving him the chance to breathe. “T-Thank you! And, yes, I did. You look really nice, too.”

His heart swelled at the compliment, though he tried vehemently to seem casual.

“Thanks, just some of my Dad’s clothes. I mean - not my Dad’s clothes, but Gabriel brand.”

Marinette wandered over to the arcade machines, but paused to tilt her head in his direction. She wore a confused smirk.

“I… just tried to imagine you wearing your Dad’s… suit. The one he always wears.”

Adrien snorted, brightened by softness of her voice when she laughed. Somehow, it both filled him with happiness and anxiety, but it was enough to give him some foothold of confidence. “Ascots aren’t exactly my thing, I’m afraid.” He moved beside her and gestured to the classic systems. “I know you like Mecha Strike, but what’s your take on the current ‘retro craze’?”

“They’re great, of course. Though I’m not nearly as skilled as dodging barrels and saving princesses as I am at whooping giant robot butt.” Marinette said, poking one of her cheeks with a finger.

“I’d ask if you wanna play, but dinner’s soon and these are designed for one-player.” He rubbed his chin. “We could play some video games after dinner? I’ve got… uh, a lot.”

“Oh?” She seemed curious, so he gestured for her follow. They promptly ascended his twisted staircase and he brought her around to the bookshelf beside his rock-climbing wall. Divided by console and sorted alphabetically, he waved a hand at the hundreds of games he’d accumulated over the years.

“Holy brioche…” Marinette muttered, craning her neck to take it all in. Beside her, Adrien permitted himself to feel just a tiny bit proud of his collection, glancing at her wide-eyed wonder.

“The systems are downstairs in one of my closets, so, you know, we can pick out a few and play them after dinner. Whatever sounds good.”

Mutely, she nodded her head and moved to the ladder and squinted up at a certain section. Adrien followed her gaze.

“Nintendo 64? I don’t know why, but I took you for a Playstation girl.”

Already a few steps up, she murmured. “Actually, I mostly played computer games. I didn’t get to play Nintendo much growing up, I’ve tried a bunch of emulators, but they’re always a little sketchy… It would be so cool to play some of the originals. Like… Mario Party! Yes. You have it!”

“Pff, of course,” he said, amused by her enthusiasm. “I have them all, sort of out of habit really. I almost never played those.” Marinette snatched the cartridge from the shelf, handing it down to him. Adrien started a pile on the corner of an eye-level shelf for games to bring down later.

Humming as she selected a few more games, he mused to himself. “You know, growing up with just Chloe to play with, we didn’t spend a lot of time on video games.” He paused when Marinette laughed.

“Yeah, I know - you must be very surprised to learn that Chloe wasn’t a gamer.”

“I can hardly contain my shock.” She chirped back sarcastically, scanning the shelves. Adrien was about level with her calves, and tried not to focus on the bit of skin her skirt left exposed down to her honey-colored ballet flats.

He said the first thing he could think of to distract himself. “But - y-yeah. I mostly played single-player games, campaigns or adventure mode or whatever. Sometimes I would play games with my Mom. She liked them, or at least, pretended to since I did. She could even get Father to play them with us occasionally - but a lot of Nintendo’s stuff is designed with groups in mind.”

Marinette responded thoughtfully. “Hmm… I suppose it’s not much of a Mario party if it’s just… Mario.”

Biting his lip, Adrien knew this was uncharted conversational territory. Without compass or guide, he didn’t really know where to go when it came to talking about his parents.

Marinette, thankfully, took the task of navigation upon herself. “What character did you like to play as? In Mario Party, I mean.”

His brow arched, her hands still fluttering over the cartridges at her level.

“Hmm… that’s a good question. I always liked green, so mostly Yoshi, or sometimes Luigi.”

“Good,” she responded, and he could hear the smile in her voice. “I wanted to be Princess Peach, and I was prepared to fight you if I had to.”

Wearing a grin, he raised his hands in defense. “She’s all yours, Princess!”

Marinette stopped her searching, and Adrien’s eyes went wide.

Ooh. No, no, no.

His Chat side peeked out by accident, and Adrien blushed and stuttered to make up his mistake. “P-P-Princess… Peach! Yes. She, Princess Peach, is all yours. She was my Mom’s favorite too.”

Marinette’s brow had furrowed momentarily, but she seemed convinced by his explanation, and Adrien exhaled a small amount of panic.

“Okay, I think I’ve looked enough,” she said, starting back down the ladder. A shoe clattered to the ground in her descent, followed by a shrill squeak and a much louder clatter of skin and arms smacking into each other.

Marinette missed a step when her shoe came off, slipping back and crashing right into Adrien; cat-like reflexes can only get one so far with a girl as clumsy as Marinette.

By some small miracle, he didn’t get thrown over the railing, though his current posture was plenty uncomfortable. Leaning back over the glass ledge, the edge of the bannister pressed painfully up against his spine, Marinette’s body weight was basically crushing him further into it. The best he could do in the way of catching her was keep her head from smacking back into the railing or collapsing straight onto the floor. Her now slightly-tousled hair and exposed upper-back from the cut of her bodice were pressed up against him and she had half-bent and gripped her hands on his thighs in support to keep from hitting the floor.

Her perfume greeted him, rising from her silky smooth hair and bare shoulders. From this angle, he could basically feel every inch of her body pressed up against him, and he was aware of it in - ahem - more ways than one.

Chuckling weakly, Adrien forced himself to put a safe, chaste distance between them. It was more difficult than it should have been, rather enjoying the way her hair tickled his chin as she scrambled to standing. It was easy to admire the smooth skin of her collarbone, or to appreciate the warmth that radiated from her body. It was like the world’s best, most beautiful blanket.

“Ooookay, up you go,” he said, supporting her from beneath her elbows and resting a delicate hand on her back. Her skin turned prickly under his touch, and it was stupidly thrilling.

You haven’t even made it to dinner yet and you can’t keep it together.

Exhaling slowly, Adrien affixed his face into a mask of sympathy and concern. “Mari? Are you okay? Are you hurt at all?”

She blinked several times, looking at her own hands numbly, and he started to fear maybe she had hit her head when she broke out into a smile. Wide, glittering, and plenty embarrassed.

“No - no I’m fine. Thank you, Adrien. I’m sorry I fell on you.”

“Better me than the floor,” he said, chuckling and sighing in relief. She joined him for a spirited giggle, both laughing until they were breathless and dizzy. Maybe that was just the intoxicating effect of being with her, though - Adrien almost always felt light-of-head around her anymore.

By the time they were both properly righted - skin tinted pink from the euphoric giggles that swept up both of them - and standing on their own, Adrien retrieved the stack of games Marinette had selected and led the way back to his ground floor.

“Okay, just the Nintendo 64 for tonight?” He noted the very distinct shape of all of the games, and she nodded.

“If… if that’s okay. I, um,” she fumbled with her thumbs, and Adrien thought it was adorable. “I figured we could… play different systems another time. You know, since we’re, um, together now…?”

She peeked at him, and Adrien positively beamed, walking across the coffee table and wrapping his fingers in her own.

“I’d love that. We’ll play our way through all of them.”

Eyes sparkling, a blue more vivid than any sea, she looked like the human iteration of the most tranquil night across France. Soft skin, a gentle smile, an exuberant mood, and dark, rich hair like a painted, starless sky.

Slowly, Adrien focused on his composure, inhaling through his mouth and letting out the air through his nostrils. “Ahh… right, so just to warn you - my Dad can sometimes be… um, abrasive. He’s sort of polite to the extreme, but if he says anything that hurts or offends you, don’t be afraid to say something - even if it’s just a signal to me or something. The last thing I want is for you to be uncomfortable.”

Marinette nodded a few times and scurried behind him out of his room, Adrien catching the eye of a jerkish kwami across the room as he closed the door. Plagg was sticking his face out of the camembert cabinet, puckering his lips and making his whiskers dance in the mocking display.

When he turned back to his - his girlfriend (it was still impossible to believe) - she was wearing a cute smirk and had a hand at her hip.

Marinette’s voice was low. “I did survive over an hour on Sunday with just me and him, or did you forget?”

“I didn’t, not exactly,” he grinned and led them down the stairs. “I’m just still not convinced it happened. A very thorough prank, perhaps.”

She snickered and rolled her eyes, the way she always does, and he loved it.

“I can barely walk in a straight line - you seriously think I could cook something like that up?”

“I don’t know,” he murmured as they approached the dining room, peeking his head in. His father was sitting at the head of the table, speaking quietly with the chef. The food in the room smelled heavenly, and oddly out of place. “You continue to surprise me, Mari.”

She pinked slightly, and Adrien pulled her into the room with a smile on his face. His Father stood up when he noticed them, and the chef gave a hasty farewell.

“Father,” Adrien said, palm feeling a little sweaty against Marinette’s. She untangled their fingers to take a bold step forward, positively radiant while she did so.

“Bonsoir, Monsieur Agreste,” Marinette greeted brightly, bowing her head politely. Adrien studied his father’s expression, hardly believing the small smile he saw there. “Thank you so much for allowing me over for dinner tonight. It’s an honor, sir.”

Posture rigid and hands folded behind his back, his father stepped away from the table slightly to greet them. “That is a kind of you to say, Mme. Dupain-Cheng. Or, would you prefer just Marinette?”

Adrien respected how composed she managed to be before Father, especially when his attention flickered down; her hands were shaking.

“Marinette is perfect, sir. Thank you.”

Feeling his heart squeeze slightly, Adrien couldn’t pass the chance to half-tease, half-compliment her. He sidled up beside her again, wrapping a careful arm around her waist and met her startled stare with a cheeky smirk.

“Marinette is perfect. You’re definitely onto something there.”

She turned the color of her Banks’ roses and ducked her head, and Adrien’s attention returned to his father. Aside from a raised brow, his expression appeared only amused.

This is so weird. Adrien thought, wrinkling his nose. But good.

“Well, if you are ready to eat…” His father gestured for them to sit, and Adrien almost turned back to the other end of the table for his usual spot. Marinette was too quick, though, and she started to sit down two seats from his father. The middle spot was clearly intended for him.

Settling into the chair, Adrien pursed his lips and looked down at their plates. Everything was, of course, perfect. The table had been perfectly prepared for a classic four-course meal, and it almost made him want to roll his eyes - he’d have to remember to mention to Marinette this was not a typical dining experience at the Agreste house.

It was sort of sweet, though, as he examined the varieties laid out for the first course. Each serving was small, from the Tapenade Noir a la Figue and Pissaladiers to the Brandade de Morue au Gratin. The fact that his father had gone through the trouble to entertain Marinette - to make such a gesture of meeting his girlfriend, formally? It brought an appreciative smile to his lips.

Scratching his cheek, Adrien popped a tart in his mouth and thought about something to talk about.

“So… did Marinette mention to you that she makes clothes?” He asked his father, and he could see Marinette fidget in his periphery. She hastily shoved some of the potatoes in her mouth.

Raising both brows, his father looked at Marinette and then back to Adrien. “Well, no, not exactly. Though I figured as much - she was most helpful the other day with a design of mine.”

“Oh yeah?” Adrien turned to Marinette, whose gaze flickered up to him helplessly. She looked so cute when she was embarrassed, he found her hand under the table and squeezed it in reassurance.

“She made the outfit she’s wearing right now. Isn’t is incredible?” He grinned at her, at least having enough mercy to blush.

“Adrien!” She hissed, turning even redder. “It’s - it’s not much, really. Just something I threw together, heh, since I work with flowers all day. Not really original. Nope. I’m sure you get inspiration from much more interesting things.”

His father smirked and ate quietly, watching them carry on like he wasn’t even there.

“Don’t be modest, Mari. You’re really talented.”

“I… I just dabble! That’s all. R-really.”

“Let’s be honest,” Adrien said, turning slightly to better face her. She was pouting, cheeks stuffed with figs and bread. “Do you just dabble in anything? You’re basically an expert in flowers, baking, and fashion, and you could ruin just about anyone’s self-confidence playing Mecha Strike.”

“Adriennn...” She covered her face with her hands, voice squeaky. All he could do was laugh, feeling a little guilty for flustering her, but he couldn’t help gushing about her.

“How did you get interested in fashion, Marinette?” His father cut in, and Adrien practically flew back in his chair. He had almost forgotten his Dad was beside him.

She lowered her hands, still red as a tomato, and reached for her cup of water.

“I… um… I’m not sure, actually. I’ve always liked drawing and designing,” she began slowly, and Adrien used the chance to catch up on his appetizers.

“When I started to pay more attention to how other people dressed, I sort of just… decided to teach myself to sew. I didn’t like the way other clothes fit me. I’m sort of on the short side, like my mother, so anything that fit me looked too childish while everyone else started to grow, I guess, and anything I liked was too big.” She hummed momentarily, chewing a tart. “So I decided to make things I knew I would be comfortable in, and reflected me best.”

“That’s very utilitarian of you,” his father commented. Marinette blinked, apparently unsure if that was a compliment or not.

Adrien decided then to jump in. “What’s your favorite thing to design?”

They both answered, which surprised him.

“Dresses.”

A pause, and the chef came out to switch their course for the main course. Adrien hardly paid attention while the plates changed, too interesting in the curious turn in conversation.

“And why is that, Marinette?”

“Uhh…” she cleared her throat. “Well… I’m not sure, actually. Probably because they’re the hardest to design; it’s extra rewarding when you get it right.”

“Hmm. I find menswear more challenging, personally,” his father mused, rubbing his chin. “But I do see your point. To me, a gown is a perfect canvas - the rules are only that it must be a single item to be worn, but otherwise, there are no limitations.”

“It’s the definitely the thing I have to try the hardest to be creative with,” Marinette replied with a furrowed brow, nodding. “The fact that it’s so flexible is what I find challenging about it.”

They both ruminated on that while stopping to eat some of their meal, and Adrien felt much more relaxed for how easily the conversation was flowing. Of course, Marinette was so sweet - it was hard to resist a charming, intellectual conversation with her, but it was still bizarre to see it have an effect on his characteristically stoic father.

Adrien caught her eye as she dabbed her lips with a napkin, so he decided to shoot her a wink. Marinette scrunched her nose up in response, her wordless disapproval downright adorable.

“So, if I am remembering correctly,” his father said after a pause. “You both met in Mme. Bustier’s class, at Francios Du-Pont Academy?”

“Yes,” Adrien said, tilting his head. “Although we sort of got off on the wrong foot.”

His father seemed surprised. “Oh, and how’s that?”

Adrien deferred to Marinette to answer. “Well…”

She got his meaning, chewing her food and swallowing. “Yeah, it was kind of my fault. I thought, because he was friends with Chloe, he was trying to pull a prank on me. So I sort of gave him the cold shoulder, but I realized I was being unfair to him.” Scowling, she glanced over to the blond. “I still am sorry about that, by the way.”

“Don’t be,” Adrien shook his head. “I could see why Chloe’s association might have not painted me in the best of light.”

Marinette smiled kindly, the gesture reaching her eyes.

“Well, I am glad to hear you reconsidered your assessment of my son. He was very nervous when he expressed interest in taking you out for a date.”

Almost kicking the table, Adrien turned an impressive shade of scarlet. “F-Father! Please.”

Marinette giggled at his distress, hiding a wide smile behind her fingers.

Despite his plea, his father didn’t hold back. Instead, he tucked both hands under his chin and leaned back slightly in his chair.

“Now son,” his father said, chuckling. “There are a few crucial things I am responsible for as a father. Embarrassing you in front of your girlfriend is one of them. I’ve had stories saved in my back-pocket for years.”

Practically bouncing in her seat, Marinette’s hair danced around her shoulders. “Oh, I’d love to hear a story!”

“Noooooo…” Adrien groaned, and now he was the one to cover his face with his hands. “Why did I agree to this?”

Slyly, Marinette took one of his hands and patted it gently. “There, there. It’s only fair after all of the puns I’ve suffered because of you.”

The remainder of the meal passed with more cheer than Adrien could have imagined, Marinette being positively tickled by his chagrin. Several of the stories recounted his mother, a few of which Adrien had forgotten himself. A small part of him was feeling grumpy for being the butt of the joke, but the overall mood was too infectious, and to see his father smirk and laugh occasionally was a refreshing change. Adrien, resigned to his fate, let himself enjoy the food and tease along until dessert was served.

Marinette sighed after a particularly airy wave of laughter. “Aww, so you and Chloe would play dress up?”

She put her hand on his shoulder and rested her chin there, pseudo-pitying him.

Adrien pointed his own chin forward while their plates were taken away so dessert could be brought out, fighting to hide a smile. She looked so pretty, perched on his arm like that.

“Yes, as a matter-of-fact. I mentioned Chloe didn’t like video games, and growing up in a literal fashion house granted a great opportunity for fun when it comes to clothes. Mother would encourage it, if I recall?” He partially asked the question to his father, who sighed and nodded, looking absently at the chandelier.

“Oh yes. If your mother wasn’t modeling the clothes, she was putting them on you. Large boas, daring furs, expensive heels - anything and everything you wanted to put on, she would let you pick it out and model it on the runway in my office.”

Marinette bit her tongue and tried not to laugh, though it was in vain, and he felt himself redden slightly. Trying to brush off the embarrassment, Adrien remarked, “Well, I suppose I can make anything look good.”

“Definitely,” she replied with a dreamy smile, leaning probably a little closer than was appropriate with his father present, and they broke apart when the chef re-emerged from the kitchen.

“Well,” he announced, clapping his hands. “We had only planned for the Crème brûlée, but since Mme. Dupain-Cheng was so kind to bring Pain au chocolat, the kitchen is pleased to serve both this evening.”

“Thank you, that will be all,” his father replied briskly, and the man bowed and brought out the two choices. Each looked picturesque, like the sort of desserts one might see on a classic French cookbook, and Adrien was glad to have eaten light on the earlier courses.

“I didn’t know you brought anything,” Adrien directed the comment to Marinette as he snatched up the Pain au chocolat almost the moment it was presented on a humble gray platter. It seemed out of place from the rest of the meal’s china, so he assumed it belonged to the bakery.

“Maman and Papa insisted,” she replied shyly, tapping the top of her Crème brûlée with a spoon. It granted her a very hard, satisfying knock in return before cracking. “And really, it’s the least I could do. I didn’t expect such a meal. Thank you, Monsieur Agreste, Adrien.”

Trembling fingers patted around the edge of his chair, clamping down when they found his hand. Adrien rubbed the back of her knuckles with his thumb.

“It’s a pleasure having you, Marinette.” His father answered.

“Oh, this is so good,” Adrien spoke with his mouth halfway full, and two sets of eyes rolled at him.

“Manners, son.”

Hastily chewing, he managed a sheepish grin towards his father. “If you try the Pain au chocolat, you’d know it defies etiquette.” He cleared his throat. “But Father is right - I’m glad you agreed to come over, Mari. This has been so nice.”

Even though she ducked her head, hair partially obscuring the soft features of her face, he could still see the rosy hue that colored her cheeks. She was too beautiful to bare, and his grip on her hand tightened only slightly - a protective, loving sort of grasp.

You’re mine.

All mine.

She squeezed back.

His father had selected one of the Dupain-Cheng treats, and Adrien pursed his lips suspiciously. He had half a mind to point his finger and ask what this man had done with his real father.

After a slow, thoughtful bite, the man impersonating his father offered his compliments. “Your parents make an excellence Pain au chocolat, Marinette. Please give them our thanks.”

“I’ll be sure to pass it along the kind words,” Marinette offered warmly, practically buzzing in her seat as she savored the carefully prepared burnt cream. “They are always so touched to hear things like that.”

“Of course.”

Adrien ate another of the Dupain-Cheng desserts, preferring the light fluffy dough to a rich cream, and Marinette sighed happily when she sat back in her chair.

Releasing a low exhale of his own, Adrien’s father stood, indicating dinner officially over. “So, are you doing anything else this evening, or should we have a car come around to take you home?”

“We were going to play some video games,” Adrien offered, and Marinette nodded. “If… if that’s alright.”

“I don’t see why not,” he commented, leading them into the foyer. Marinette politely excused herself, seeking the bathroom, so he was left alone with his father in the hallway.

“Just be sure to have her returned home in time for her curfew.”

“That’s 10:30.” The blond glanced at his watch out of habit. It was just passed eight in the evening.

“I can let Nathalie know that you’ll need the car by 10:15.”

Before Adrien could thank his father, the man grimaced.

“Adrien?” His voice was off, and he studied the stairs like they insulted his designs. “She is a… very sweet girl. I’m, er, happy for you.”

Suddenly, Adrien found his thumbs very interesting, but managed a respectful response. “... I’m glad you think so. She’s really special to me, so… thanks for taking the time to meet her.”

“Your mother would have really liked her, I think.” The man added wistfully, and Adrien’s thought he sounded strained. He wasn’t exactly surprised; they had talked about her a lot tonight, probably more than they had since she disappeared.

Adrien bit his lip, hiding a grin. “You think so?”

His father’s response was decisive. “I know so.”

For what felt like the first time, the two men met eyes and shared a real, knowing smile. It was heavy, and appreciative, and tired. It was filled by absence and regret, unasked questions with untenable answers. Tonight, though, the tension felt a little less like shackles and a little more like hope. Like forgiveness, and apologies, and a handshake or a hug. It was just a look, but it felt like more than that.

A beat later, a lively pair of blue eyes re-emerged from a hallway, carried by the sound of her soft-bottomed shoes tapping against stone marble. Adrien’s father turned promptly towards her as she peered around the doorway, and his voice returned to its usual even tone.

“I have some work to return to, so I’m afraid I won’t see you out this evening. Nathalie and Adrien will see that you get home safely. Do take care, my dear.”

Stuttering, she bowed. “Y-yes, of course. Thank you! It was a pleasure. An honor, really, sir.”

Adrien wore a bemused smile as the two interacted, thinking he could get used to this side of his father, and certain he would never tire of Marinette’s blush when she flustered.

Again, his father glanced in his direction, holding his gaze for only a moment. He nodded towards his son and receded quickly into his office.

“Phew,” Adrien exhaled, not realizing he had been holding his breath until Marinette was in front of him. He should have taken a larger inhale, because the way she peered up at him took the air right back out of him.

“Ready to lose?” She smirked, and Adrien raised a brow.

“It seems it’s time to get the Party started?”

She deflated. “Take me home.”

“Mari!” He laughed, but she maintained a straight face, marching up the stairs towards his room. Adrien felt his stomach flutter as she walked away, the back of her blouse cut to expose a large part of her back. Gulping, he trailed after her, feeling a thrilling sense of nerves when she smiled smartly down at him.

“Agh,” Marinette muttered, her tongue sticking out in frustration as the results rolled in.

She hates losing. She really, really hates losing.

Especially to someone like Adrien, or Chat Noir, or Nino -- those that she could think of offhandedly. The kind of people who rubbed it in her face that she lost. The kind of people who got freakin’ smug when she lost. Oh, boy, did she hate that.

So during the closing ceremony, it was that much more thrilling when Toad announced that she, in fact, had won. Princess Peach managed to win by a slim margin of exactly three more coins than Yoshi. There was no way of keeping score of the bonus Stars until the end, and they had tied in everything else that was measurable. It was sort of incredible how evenly matched they were, flat out bulldozing the computer players in the process (to be fair, they left their difficulty on easy since she had never played and it had been so long since Adrien had either).

“Oh. Oh!” She had already put down her controller in defeat, which was probably for the best, because she leapt up from the couch with such force she probably would have ripped the Nintendo from the T.V.

Adrien groaned and leaned into the arm-rest of the couch. “Damn you. Hooooowwwwwwww?”

Marinette couldn’t help her excitement, always relishing victory (it was a quality you almost had to have being a superhero), but she at least kept the gloating to a minimum.

She sat back down and took one of his hands in her own, pressing her lips to it softly. “I’m sorry, Adrien. If it’s any consolation, I really thought you won.”

Peeking at her, though his face was still mostly in the sympathetic comfort of the couch cushion, he responded, “I’m not consoled.”

“What can I do?” She teased, still holding his hand; normally she’d be way too bashful to dare something so bold, but she was too overcome with the waves of triumph to bother.

“I feel like I need a win, or I’ll never get out of my mood.”

Pursing her lips, she smiled devilishly and turned his hand over, closing his fingers into a fist.

“Thumb war?” She challenged.

Smiling, Adrien chuckled and sat up, locking their hands together. “Thumb war.”

They both adjusted slightly on the couch, Marinette having kicked off her shoes over an hour ago. Adrien had joined her, wiggling his toes through dark socks, looking adorably foolish.

Positioning her skirt in front of her knees and crossing her legs carefully, Marinette watched as Adrien crossed his left leg over his right to better face her. They sat so close their knees touched, but Marinette refused to let herself be distracted.

“Ready?” He smirked.

“Ready. But I’m not just going to let you win. You have to earn it.”

In unison, while trying not to laugh, they started their tiny wrestling match.

“One, two, three, four…”

“I declare a thumb war!”

Adrien had a clear advantage, she soon learned, and began to regret her suggestion. While her thumb was thinner, it was also shorter, so it was harder to gain leverage against the back of his thumb. She almost had him at one point, but he faked her out and quickly captured her beneath him.

Marinette knew she wouldn’t be able to win, and in fairness, she should have been okay with that. Adrien said he wanted to beat her, but that’s simply not how she operates. After all, she’s Ladybug - it’s not like she could just… give up! Surely Paris would forgive her if she cheated just a little to win, right?

She shot out her other hand and brought it to the side of his abdomen, scratching and tickling him with her nails. Adrien began to laugh immediately, and tried to swat her hand away, but she used his distraction to her advantage and quickly claimed her victory.

“Hah!” She leaned back, laughing as the confusion and subsequent realization washed over him. Adrien scowled, one hand still touched his ribs where she tickled him.

“Oh, Mari, I wish you hadn’t done that.” His voice was deadly serious, and Marinette raised both brows.

Playing innocent, she cupped her hands together and pressed them to her cheek. “Oh, and why’s that?”

“Because it is now my right to tickle you.”

Before she could so much as breathe a word of protest, Adrien launched himself at her and his hands tasered her rib cage, though the startling sensation of his touch did even worse damage to her heart. Marinette was pretty sure she’d need to invest in a pacemaker to fix the steady arrhythmia that had her blood working overtime, pumping erratically, nonstop, since Sunday.

She tried to kick and squirm and tickle him back, but the effort was futile. The thumb war should have told her this was going to be a bad idea, because much like their hands, he was simply bigger than she was - maybe not stronger, (although, her hyperventilating lungs argued, he does have some pretty amazing muscles) but size definitely mattered in a tickle fight.

“S-Stop!” She said through a flurry of laughter, her face twisted up to a smile with cheeks so red she probably could have passed for Ladybug if she had worn something more form fitting.

“I’m afraid you lost the right when you cheated, Mari,” he said through his own laughter, unable to keep the giddy grin off his own face.

“Nooooo!” She squealed, hands frantically batting his away. “I’mSorryI’mSorryI’mSorry!”

Adrien sighed contently, wearing a smile that radiated with victory. “That’s better.”

Her lungs ached from the waves of giggles, and he was in much the same state, but instead of catching her breath she felt the last of her spirit leave her body.

Adrien was on top of her.

On his couch.

In his room.

She flustered to get up, and Adrien apparently caught on to their compromising position and almost fell back off the couch in his attempt to release her.

“Sorry,” he said, scratching his neck nervously. “I got a little carried away.”

She sighed and closed her eyes, covering her heart with a hand in a conscious effort to slow the frantic beating.

“Don’t be…” she mumbled, taking in another deep breath. “I probably deserved that.”

Her eyes fluttered open when she heard Adrien shift slightly on the couch, and he turned to look at her with sincere, sparkling eyes.

“Did I tell you that you looked really beautiful in that outfit? I probably did, but it’s worth saying again.”

Marinette covered a cheek with a hand, suddenly timid. With Adrien, it was like a pendulum between her shyness and her self-confidence; she wasn’t insecure because she thought poorly of herself, but rather, she felt humbled by the attention he gave her.

“Thanks. That… means a lot. It’s supposed to be a peony, but it ended up looking more like a rose.” She glanced down, tracing a line down the needlework she had worked a long time on, sort of frustrated with the end result. It had been a project she created during the winter months, a daydream of what Summer could bring. Marinette had never imagined it could be this good.

When she managed a glance up at him, he was impossibly close. Their noses almost touched, but he kept his eyes on hers.

A whisper. “It’s lovely, Mari. Really suits you.”

Marinette felt a timorous smile spread on her face, and she nodded, not sure what else to say.

She turned her face to his, this time letting their noses touch. His warmth was practically spreading through to her, his cheeks ablaze with a lustful color. In truth, Marinette had to imagine her’s looked much the same, and her flush only deepened when she tasted a tiny inhale of his cologne.

Hesitant, Marinette fluttered her eyes closed and leaned forward, seeking the soft reprieve of a kiss. She wanted to be the one to initiate it this time, wishing she had the sort of brash confidence he had the times before, but to her it still felt so new that there was still need of an invitation. A silent request, a nervous but passionate interest, to be reciprocated by him.

Adrien released a tiny sigh, a sound of pure happiness, and it spurred her to erase the distance and seek his lips with a confused mix of delicacy and urgency. When she found them, they were forgiving and the sensation of honey running over her mouth clouded her mind. She tried to keep a focus, count off the ingredients to her favorite cookie recipe, picture her disheveled clipboard at the shop, remind herself of the thrill of capturing an akuma, but the pressure of him so close zapped it all from her memory. It was just him, and his taste, and the wonderful smell of him flooding her senses.

A small part of Marinette’s mind wanted to deepen the kiss - okay, maybe more than a small part. A very loud, very clear part of her brain was demanding to understand his tongue by way of interrogation, to push herself against his impossibly toned torso, to indulge in every fantasy she’d dreamed up over the past three years. Pining was hard, and now that she’d taken the first step into the swirling emerald pool, it was like trying to force the rain to stop during a thunderstorm, or to resist the sunrise at dawn.

She deserved this, right?

She waited long enough, and some forces of nature simply cannot be stopped.

A languid, almost inaudible gasp fell from him when Marinette swiped her tongue against his lower lip, and the sensation of their breathing mingling together made her hairs stand on end.

Who needed food? Marinette would gladly sustain herself on nothing but his lips for the rest of her life if given the choice.

Adrien brushed some of the hair from her shoulder, moving his hand to her jawline, holding her carefully while she explored his neck with her fingers, crawling her hands up to his hair and digging into the soft blond waves. While the wanton sensation was intense, Marinette lavished every moment, even the most subtle ones. A tiny dance of his lashes across her cheek, the clumsy, inexperienced knocking of their teeth, the soft brush of fabric each time they moved on the couch. She would never forget the quiet hilarity of the Mario Party victory music playing in the background as Princess Peach was showered with confetti.

After perhaps a full minute, Adrien finally pulled away, and Marinette nearly groaned in protest but managed to punch down the urge. This was only their second date and she was hardly able to control herself, so with a quick internal beratement, the girl found her forgotten strength of will tossed aside with her shoes.

“Um,” she said after they stared at each other for several seconds, quietly gasping for breath as her heart thumped madly against his ribcage. Her skin felt hot and sensitive from the suddenly intimate moment. “I… er, you want to keep playing?”

“Hmm?” Adrien replied, blinking a few times and following her gaze to the television. “Oh. Right. Uh… let’s see what time it is…”

The blond reached for his cell phone and laughed abruptly, so Marinette leaned over curiously. She could see Alya’s name on the screen, and it was about to turn 10.

“It’s later than I thought,” he said, clearing his throat.

“Oh, my phone has been in my bag all night…” She murmured as he flicked through the messages, adjusting the screen so Marinette could read along with him in the group chat.

Nino (7:31 PM):

Now remember kids, your mother and I are trusting you to spend the evening responsibly. Don’t do anything Father Nino wouldn’t do!

Alya (7:33 PM):

That’s not really setting a great precedent, considering…. You know what? Nvm.

Laughing, Marinette covered her face with a hand. “Oh my god, they’re the worst.”

“They really are,” Adrien agreed, continuing to scroll.

Nino (7:40 PM):

Okay but really now I’m having second thoughts. Double-dates would be nice and all, but what about bro time? Who is going to keep me company while I play pokemon go???

Alya (7:42 PM):

because people actually still play that. Keep up with the times why don’t cha.

Nino (7:43 PM):

For your information, Adrien does - tell her, dude!

“It’s true,” he nodded gravely. “Although not as much compared to when it first came out. Nino keeps me going when he finds a good catch somewhere in town.”

“God, you’re lame,” Marinette commented. He laughed and continued to read.

Alya (7:56 PM):

Looks like your “bro” has vanished into the arms of a sexy young female. Sorry babe.

Flushing, Marinette shielded her eyes. “Oh my god, I can’t stand her sometimes!”

Adrien nudged her with his hip on the couch. “I can’t say she’s wrong…”

“Adrien!” She squeaked, blushing even harder.

Nino (8:01 PM):

Why must I suffer for you to be happy?

Alya (8:02 PM):

Are you talking to me or Adrien?

Nino (8:02 PM):

I’m actually talking to Nette, TYVM. gosh not everything is about you

Alya (8:04 PM):

Nino (8:06 PM):

I’VE MADE A TERRIBLE MISTAKE

Absently, Marinette’s hand went to her throat while they continued to read through Nino’s angst, tracing the places he had touched her like they had been licked by flames. Much the same, the tips of her fingers burned, thinking of how warm and soft he felt in her grasp had been. She risked a glance at him while he penned a response, wondering what he would do if she repeated the action, or if he felt the same tingle beneath his skin when she touched him.

“Poor Nino,” he frowned. “You might want to back me up on this to appease the both of them.”

Brows raised, that dark-hair girl stood and sought her phone in her purse, set down on Adrien’s desk, but froze.

Tikki was gone.

“Mmp!” Marinette squeaked, digging around frantically. “Oh no, oh no, oh no,” she pulled out everything, horrified at the thought of her kwami disappearing. What if something terrible happened? This wasn’t like the shop or her room, where her red companion could hide but reappear easily. This was Adrien’s house, and who knows where she could be.

“Marinette? What’s going on?” A blond head of hair stood, looking concerned. “Did you lose your phone?”

“What?” She shook her head, forgetting herself. “Oh - oh! N-no… hah. No no… Just… thought I did. It’s here. I’m sure glad I didn’t lose it though!” Marinette was almost shouting, and she cringed.

Adrien moved closer, looking at her carefully. “Are you sure you’re okay? The car isn’t going to be ready until 10:15, but if you’d like to go home early...”

“No! I- I mean, n-no. I think, um, the food isn’t settling in my stomach well. Excuse me…” She averted his eyes, scurrying off to the bathroom with a very real pit in her stomach. If her kwami had been near enough, she only prayed that she’d be followed into the bathroom by a flash of red.

Inadvertently, she stepped through the door and caught sight of her appearance, and she was a little surprised. Her skirt and blouse had remained neat and pressed, but the half-pinned back locks that framed her face were a lost cause. The tickle war had done her in, and she quickly began to unpin her hair, trying to keep herself from shouting for Tikki at the top of her lungs.

By the time she completed taking her hair down and brushing it out with her fingers, Marinette nearly shrieked when her kwami appeared through the ceiling.

“G-g-ah…” Again, the girl clutched her heart, too overcome with relief to bother with much else than a swift hug of her kwami against her cheek.

Quietly, Marinette whispered, “Oh my god, Tikki. Don’t scare me like that! Where were you?!”

“Oh, you know… around?” A red face scrunched up at her, and Marinette felt her lips grow thinner.

“Around? Just around in Adrien’s house? What if someone saw you!? What if I left and you weren’t back!”

“Shh, Marinette, it’s okay.” Tikki looked apologetic, and touched a paw to her lips as her voice began to grow in volume. “Take a deep breath, and I promise, you don’t need to worry. I… thought I saw a little pest, but it turned out to be nothing. I was only gone a moment, and an inopportune one at that. I’m very sorry.”

Unprecedented tears started to well in her eyes, but she gave Tikki another loving squeeze against her cheek. “I’m… I’m just glad you’re okay. I got really freaked out!”

“Don’t worry! It’s all fine now. Just go ahead and finish your date. If you can distract Adrien, I’ll fly back to your purse immediately. Okay?”

Gulping down courage she didn’t have, Marinette nodded once. “Okay.”

With a quick light tap-tap against both of her cheeks, shaking the nerves from her bones, Marinette grasped the handle and re-entered Adrien’s room.

It took her a moment to spot him, a ninety-degree angle from the bathroom, standing in the corner at the windowsill, and he turned at the sound of the door opening.

“Hey, are you feeling better?” Adrien said with a small, concerned smile. Marinette nodded shyly and approached when he gestured for her to come nearer.

“Oh!” She breathed when he stepped aside slightly. “The hydrangeas. They look beautiful.”

And so they did. Smoky darkness framed them from the evening beyond, the moon providing a perfect soft source of illumination to their amaranthine petals. This pair in particular had been some of her favorites of all the ones she grew, loving how full and round the bulbs had come with the spring yield. In full bloom, she couldn’t have imagined a better choice to represent her feelings for him.

“Yes. Beautiful.”

The tone he used struck her as odd, and when Marinette looked over at him, her knees nearly gave way. Intense and curious, Adrien’s gaze studied her with an admiring sort of security.

The pop of green seemed deeply happy, while stirring with the mystery and mischief of his goofy and kind-hearted side, and it filled her with an ache of love so intense she felt the words of sweet confession start to form on her tongue. Thankfully, there was no air in her lungs to support to syllables, so they died as they inched up her vocal chords.

Three years of unrequited, or, at least, misunderstood feelings, clamped down hard on her heart bitterly, and yet, Marinette knew she would do it again. Every lifetime, if she had to. Again and again. She would have waited forever for him to look at her like that, and three years had been long, and slow, but in the gentle curve that tempered his eyes when he smiled at her, because of her, she knew it had made each second worth it.

He broke her stupor, gesturing below her chin. “Why did you choose the peony?”

“The… peony…? Oh. Right.” She traced the outline of the flower, feeling a tint of pink stain her cheeks. “I actually picked it… well because of you. I made it in the winter, but I-I’ve… I really liked you, Adrien. For a long time. Years. Since the day you gave me that umbrella, actually.” Marinette squeezed an arm across her chest, unable to stop the sudden avowal from spilling off her tongue. “Peonies are supposed to be a mark of good luck, and when I made this, I hoped one day… well, maybe we’d be here. Together? I guess it worked?” She chuckled from embarrassment, averting her eyes.

Adrien didn’t say anything, and she grew increasingly nervous. “T-there’s legends and stuff! Some people say it’s from a Greek legend about medicine, and another about a nymph… both end with someone getting turned into a peony though, to protect them and to embody their spirits. And, nowadays, you know, a bush of peonies that thrives is supposed to be a sign of good fortune! And - and, um, i-if your peonies wither and don’t survive through summer, it’s a sign of bad tidings. Unlucky. Unlucky.”

Too bad it’s impossible to throttle yourself, Marinette thought as her brain continued to fill an anxious silence with even more anxious words. She shouldn’t have admitted how long she wanted this - it made her seem desperate, didn’t it? A clingy, useless thing, like ivy, latching to life and refusing to let go.

“Annnnnd, you know, I figured since I sew, I could make my own peony. Avoid the risk of growing them. One that would never wither. A chance for luck. ‘A Needlepoint Peony’, get it? If it’s big and bold, and never fades, it could let me be happy, right? Even though I’m not superstitious - how stupid! What am I saying? What was the question?”

Marinette forcibly covered her mouth with a hand, trying to stop the verbal flood.

Brow furrowed, the blond simply stared at her in mute silence. What was he thinking? That was too much. This was all too much, wasn’t it?

Marinette shivered when he touched her cheek.

“Marinette... ” He started to speak, but she thought a flicker of frustration colored his tone. Instead, Adrien pulled her closer and ghosted his lips over hers - the gesture was much more delicate this time. A bee buzzing over a flower, the rush of feeling was almost enough to make her cry at how long she’d wanted this, how happy she was to be here, to show him and shower him in the love she had to give. Instead, their lips pulled apart, and sweet emotion tickled her throat with the taste of sunshine and spearmint.

“I’m sorry you waited so long. I’m - I’m so glad you did. But I don’t think it’s the peony; it’s just you.” He laughed a bit at her dazed expression, squishing their foreheads together. “It’s you. Lucky. Pretty. Smart. I’m just stupid for not noticing sooner.”

Leaning away, Adrien stood up slightly and pressed a gentle kiss into her forehead.

“Thank you for giving me a chance.”

A rapt knocking broke them out of the moment, and Nathalie spoke through the door. “Adrien. The car is prepared for Marinette.”

The pair blinked a few times, words processing a little slower as reality returned from their private moment. After a slow breath, Adrien smiled.

“Let’s get you home.”

Marinette could only nod and let herself be led from his house, grabbing her purse and floating down the stairs. She was unable to do more than share a few warm glances with him when they sat down in the car.

Marinette felt so happy that it actually hurt when the door shut, like finishing the chapter of a great story; why did it have to end? Anything she could do to savor the last moments before they said good night were worth it, and when they settled in the backseat, she eagerly took his hand.

“We should do something this weekend.” She stated, failing to sound casual with the pitchy tone of her voice. Adrien didn’t seem to mind.

“I’d love that - oh! That reminds me!” He blinked a few times, little green twinkles in the dark interior as they rolled past darkened Parisian streets. “I actually - well, it’s a long story. Basically, I got my schedule messed up, and I realized I can go the reception on Saturday. The one for the museums, for Le Nuit. Go with me, please?”

Marinette balked, staring at him. Was he serious?

“...What? But, we’d… well, you know,” she cleared her throat, aware of the two adults occupying the front seat. “People would see us together. Are you sure? Maybe you should talk to your Dad… And isn’t at Le Grande Paris? Chloe’s not exactly my ‘BFF,’ you know.”

The blond leaned over the center console, voice low. The whisper in her ear sent a current of electricity down her spine. “I’ll talk to my Dad if it’ll make you feel better, but I want to go out with you. I want people to know. I want everyone to know.” Drawing back, Marinette released a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

He repeated his earlier invitation. “Please, go with me?”

“I- O-of course. Of course I’ll go.” She beamed, wondering when her alarm for school was going to wake her from this amazing dream; there’s no way it was real. Any minute now, she guessed.

The minutes passed, and no alarm interrupted them. They pulled up to the bakery, and Marinette scoffed irritably. Her parents were framed in the doorway, waving at them in the car.

“The welcoming committee is here this time,” she pointed out, and Adrien laughed as he sprang from the car, racing to get her door.

As she rolled her eyes, he quipped, “Rye is that a problem?

Marinette decided to ignore that. “Thank you, Madam Sancoeur. And, um, Monsieur... Driver.”

“Bonsoir, Marinette,” Nathalie answered as Adrien shut the door.

Marinette tried to seem perfectly grumpy as they approached, which wasn’t entirely difficult when Adrien made another joke, urging her to “crumb on.”

“Hi, Maman, Papa,” Marinette said as she pushed open the door to the bakery, and the Dupain-Cheng’s stood with bouncing heels and excited smiles, spotting Adrien’s hand on her lower back.

“Good evening, Madam Cheng, Monsieur Dupain,” Adrien greeted formally, bowing slightly. The movement was interrupted when her father captured them both in a hug, strong enough to lift them both from the ground. Maman barely managed to not get caught in the flurry.

“There’s my girl! And so happy to see you, son,” her father beamed at Adrien when they both were returned to solid ground.

Her mother grasped her husband’s arm, leaning into him dreamily. “Look at the happy couple! You both look so cute together. And about time, too!”

Red crept Marinette’s neck, burying her freckles in a fury of distress. “Maman! Stop it!”

Adrien chuckled and smirked and her chagrin, and she thought about forcing him out the door.

“I can’t stand you - all of you!” Marinette groaned, putting her face in her hands.

“Now now, sweetie,” her father consoled her with a less crushing embrace. “Your mother and I are just excited for you and Adrien. All we wanted for you is a sweet, nice gentleman, and you found him. Can you blame us?”

Clearing his throat, Adrien sounded a little off. “W-well, thank you, Monsieur Dupain. That’s such a nice thing to say. I’m really happy you’re so accepting of me.”

Marinette peeked at the boy from comforting spot against her Papa’s chest, eyeing her mother suspiciously as the woman took his hand and patted it with her other. “You’re a sweet boy, and we trust you. Please, come over anytime for dinner or to a… what do the kids say, ‘Netflix binge?’ That.”

Marinette considered drowning herself with the gardening hose tomorrow when she got to work.

“Maman, you can’t say things like that! There’s a-a-a connotation to that, and it’s inappropriate! Adrien, I’m so sorry!”

The woman was unphased, merely shrugging. “Adrien, thank you for making sure Marinette got home safely. You take care, and if you ever want to stop in, we’re always happy to have you.”

“Our little girl’s first boyfriend!” Her father sighed, squeezing a struggling Marinette into him. His large stomach was making it impossible to breathe, and when she finally resurfaced, some of her hair got squashed into her mouth.

“Pff -” she said, spitting it out and untangling herself from her parents, pushing them towards the back of the store.

“Okay, thanks, bye!”

Marinette could barely look him in the eye. “I am so sorry about that. Please ignore them.”

“It’s okay,” Adrien reassured her, walking across the store to meet her. She peeked up at him and he was smiling, his halo of blonde hair almost making him look angelic. “I thought it was sweet. Your parents are always so nice.”

“Nice is one word for it…” she grumbled, crossing her arms.

Adrien laughed and shook his head, wrapping the petulant girl in his arms. “I had a great time tonight,” he whispered.

Marinette gulped, and dropped her arms from their childish pouting position. She wrapped them around his middle, nuzzling softly into his shoulder.

“I did, too…” biting her lip, she confessed a burning question. “We’ll see each other Saturday, but… maybe we could try sooner? I-I really like spending time with you.”

Pulling apart, his features lit up, brilliant and pure. “Absolutely. I’ll figure out my schedule and we can do something. Even if it’s just spending time at the flower shop - I guess I’m not such a bad employee after all!”

“Don’t get too big for your loafers, Buster Brown,” Marinette warned, putting a hand at her hip. Instead of a silly response, Adrien peeled with sudden laughter.

“That was a fantastic pun, Mari. Well done.”

Squinting, she had to process his meaning.

Don’t get too big for your loaf-ers, Buster Brown.

Rubbing her temples, Marinette’s voice was sour. “This is how I die. A slow, subtle descent to madness.”

Adrien kissed her forehead once again and the bitterness fell right off of her.

Quick and sweet, his presence was so close, everywhere in her senses, and he murmured to her softly. “Good night, Mari. I’ll see you soon.”

“I- o-okay. T-thanks again for... tonight. For everything.” She stuttered through a response, feeling like the wind had just been knocked out of her. Adrien swiftly disappeared into the night, and Marinette, thoroughly dazed, listened to the bell at the door, his dismissal, fade away into a quiet peace.

Bonus Scene:

“This way, come on,” Plagg phased through the ceiling wall, and Tikki was about ready to throttle him.

She shot a quick whisper at him when she caught up, breathing in the scent of fresh air.

“Where are we going, Plagg?”

They had been floating around all evening, mostly in the upper corners of Adrien’s room, and Plagg seemed not at all himself. The kwami’s tail twitched occasionally, he smiled too frequently, and Tikki suspected he was up to something.

“Almost there. Just be patient – geez. Drama queen.”

Inhaling sharply, Tikki’s antenna twitched. “What did you just say to me?”

“N-Nothing! Nothing at all!” Plagg’s eyes went wide and he phased through yet another wall, much to her dismay. They had only gone up a floor and through one room, but she hadn’t been able to warn Marinette of her departure, and that made her nervous.

“We had all night – why would you wait until the last fifteen minutes before Marinette has to go home to… Plagg, are you even listening to me?”

The kwami’s ear’s twitched a few feet in front of her, and he turned midair. Tikki quietly noted their surroundings; it seemed like an old music room, and the air was musty with dust. Dark particles flew around them, oddly pretty under the streaming light of the lunar light from the tall windows. It was like floating in an ocean of dark stars, and the look of apology Plagg gave her made her blush.

“I-I’m sorry, Tikki. I had a surprise for you, but I kept getting nervous and backing out of it! But, ugh, I hate this stupid emotional crap. We’ll make it quick, just, cm’here…” He grumbled the last part over his shoulder. Taken aback, Tikki blinked and sneezed at some dust, but sped across the room to catch up with him.

Plagg sat on a rather modest-looking box in the corner of the room, set squarely in the center of an extravagant dresser. The dark wood reflected some white-blue illumination from the windows, and it cast the black cat in an oddly somber light.

Gentler than before, Tikki lowered herself next to him. “What is this place?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” he answered slowly, rubbing a paw along the box. “I think it was important to Adrien’s mom, cause her name is written all over this stuff. Pianos and violins and junk, though it’s all terribly out of tune.”

“Like you’d know how to carry a tune,” she nudged him. “I’ve heard your singing.”

“I happen to be a fantastic singer, thank you,” he grinned. “Ask Adrien. I sang him a ballad about camembert once, and even he said it was fantastic.”

The red kwami giggled, “Suuuuure.”

They sat for a moment in silence, and Tikki admired the room. It was probably the size of Adrien’s ground-floor, wide with tall ceilings. Most of the services were covered in sheets, probably to keep the dust off, and it made her a little sad to think about.

Abruptly, she sneezed with the swishing of Plagg’s tail kicking up some of the dust.

“It’s pretty in here,” she remarked as she shook the dust from her head. “But it’s sort of making me feel sick. Should we go back?”

A tiny tint of green peeked up through his whiskers, and Tikki blinked. “What?”

“There’s one more thing – okay? Don’t laugh.”

“I won’t,” she answered honestly, a little amused by his behavior.

He took a deep breath and floated up, gesturing for her to follow. Plagg then carefully creaked open the lid of the box, and a gentle little music began to play. Perhaps a piano, crisp little notes of a sweet melody rang out in the silent room, and a ballerina danced inside the box.

“A music box?” Tikki questioned, scowling down at the display in confusion. When she looked up, Plagg was smoothing out his whiskers, and he cleared his throat.

“Sure, whatever. It plays, and I can’t figure out anything else in this room. So are you going to dance with me, or not?”

Scarlet rushed to her already crimson cheeks, and Tikki’s blue eyes grew even wider. “Dance?”

“Dance.” He repeated, floating up to her and taking her paws in his. His over-confident voice deceived his drawn brow, the frown of his lips.

The best she could do was smile warmly and resist the urge to sneeze, floating a bit closer.

It wasn’t like the sort of tangos or slow dances humans entertained, complicated by steps and disproportionate bodies. They just held hands, paw to paw, and twirled in the dusty sea, dark twinkles sparkling around them in a soft light of night.

The balance had never been so secure.

#miraculous ladybug #miraculers #miraculous #miraculous fanfic #adrinette #adrien x marinette #adrien agreste #adrienette #adrienette kiss #ml fanfic #mlb fanfiction #marinette dupen-chang #marinette dupain-cheng #gabriel agreste #tikki and plagg #its just fluff and humor #flowershop au

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notdeadjack · 7 years ago

Note

How do i take care od my shoes so they last?

CARING FOR YOUR SHOES 101

source: me. i'm a reparative cobbler. i literally do this for a living.ok so you have a pair of shoes of decent quality that fits (or crappy quality shoes that you wanna eek out every last bit of mileage out of in pure spite) and now you have to care for them like a doting parent, but how the fuck are you supposed to do that?? it's not as much of a production as most online how-to's makes it seem:

regular leather: if you're a dirty bitch or one of them people who likes running around in mud for no real reason, remove the excess dirt with a cloth or a soft brush. only use a little water as a last resort. if there's only regular dust and wear, just give them a quick wipe down with a cloth or something idk.apply a thin layer of cream shoe polish (Saphir creme surfine/deluxe is an excellent shoe polish and i highly recommend it. use incolore which has no colour pigments if you can't find the right shade, the shoes have multiple colours or a patina that you wanna keep or if they're brand spanking new and haven't lost any colour). allow it to dry in for like ten minutes before you polish with a cotton cloth (or an old t-shirt or a sock. it's not that important really).

suede/nubuck: remove dust and dirt gently with a suede brush (or one of them nail brushes), spray with waterproofing spray. done. use spray with colour pigments if they look sad and faded.

do these simple steps as often as you can stand, but try to do it at the very least once a month, preferably every other week. you can never do it too often tbh.

more shoe care tips, materials and products underneath the cut!

other materials:

spray textile with waterproofing spray. won't actually proof anything but will makes them easier to keep clean.

syntethic materials won’t accept any help from no shoe care products and will crack or break whenever it damn well feel like it. you can put shoe polish on the fake leather tho, just to make them look nice.

patent leather and such won't absorb any products cause the leather is covered with a thin layer of plastic, but there's special products for keeping them clean and shiny. a moist cloth tends to leave spots bc mineral residues and stuff in the water. do NOT use sour milk or other dairy products on your patent leather

white rubber soles can be maintained by simply wiping them off with a moist cloth when you get home. if really dirty, wash or take to a cobbler to wash.

rubber boots can do with some grease or oil tbh. will help prevent them from drying out.

oiled leather/nubuck tho. there's special products for these. check the labels but grease or oil spray usually does the trick.

but what about all the other stuff? like, the grease/fat/oil, the waterproofing, the washing and The Removal of The Laces™ that all the how-to's talk about?honestly, those things are often excessive and here's why:

washing: unless your shoes are actually dirty (partied too hard and spilled a drink or olive oil on them, large amounts of mud that can't be wiped off, water or salt stains etc), you don't have to wash them. water isn't good for the leather, dries it out so... only do it if you absolutely have to? preferably, take them to a professional and have them do it.

leather grease/fat/oil: honestly, this stuff IS good for the leather and you should use it. but there is such a thing as too much and y'all have no idea how many times i've had to wash a pair of shoes because the owner used too much too often and now there's clogging and fat and dust piled up at the seams like an abandoned butter factory and the shoes just look miserable. apply a thin layer and allow to dry before you apply shoe polish a few times a year. before and after putting your shoes into storage for the season, if they look and feel dry or if you wear them year round, put some on every other or third month. always BEFORE the polish.

waterproofing aka the thing every single shoe store employee tells you to do and it makes me wanna scream every time i hear it: only necessary for suede and nubuck shoes (and usable on textile, as mentioned above). seriously.

a)waterproofing your shoes won't actually make them waterproof, will only help suede to repel the stray water droplet so that it doesn't soak in. won’t help when it’s pouring down.b) proper shoe polish contains wax (is what makes shine when polished) that will protect the leather from water in the same way. adding the spray on top of that is pointless.c) can actually ruin your polish work, make it all matte and occasionally even leave stains, discolour or trap dust.d) is sold as a “fix all” for lazy people to use on all of their shoes regardless of material. fixes nothing. don’t bother unless suede.

removing the laces before polishing: ??? you don't have to? you can work around them. i mean, if you're doing a full care with grease and stuff, it might be easier to remove them but that's up to you. you might get some polish on them but unless you have light or brightly coloured laces it doesn’t hurt them. do exchange them if they break tho. (if they break easily, there might be a sharp edge that rubs at them or, and this is the most likely, you don't unlace properly before forcing your feet into your shoes. the laces take a lot of stress, be nice to them!)

other shoe care products:

wax: such as Kiwi Parade Gloss, Saphir Mirror Gloss etc. a hard-ish bit of wax product that comes in a flat tin. is used to acquire high shine on leather shoes (think spit shine). doesn't actually do that much for the shoe except shine and repel some water. a must for dress shoes but should preferably only be used on the toe cap since it can build up in seams and, if applied the bits that moves a lot, can "crack". it's not damaging to the leather but looks scruffy af. apply with one of them tiny brushes you see in shoe care stores or with a sponge/cloth. polish with a cloth, lamb wool polish glove or a horse hair brush.

fisherman grease: are you a fisherman? no? then don't use it.

quick shine or self shine: do not. contains silicone and shit that won't be absorbed by the leather and won't dry. looks amazing when fresh but will attract dust and turn matte within minutes. shit product designed to appeal to your laziness and take your money while giving you a false sense of accomplishment. seriously, if you're good with the shoe polish, all you need is a a quick rub with a cloth (or the sleeve of your shirt, back of your pant leg) to revive the shine. yes i am a little bitter about the existence of quick shine products,

mink oil: mostly used by old people and hipsters who buy into the whole "the old way is the best way". i highly advice you not to. mink oil is too good at keeping the leather soft. can easily make your shoe leather yucky soft and floppy, the shoe loses shape and turn into a sad, sagging lump. can also discolour the leather (usually into an unsightly green). only use a little if the shoe is drier than the sahara desert.

leather balm/renovateur: technically not the same but has the same usage area. generally too light for shoes but is excellent for other leather goods like jackets, bags and gloves. used the same as shoe polish: apply thin layer, let dry, polish with cloth. redo as often as you can be arsed but at least once or twice a year i mean come on, give your favourite leather bag or jacket some love!

shoe trees: please? do use. preferably made out of cedar. can be expensive but will last you a life time. they will absorb the moisture from your shoes after wear and help them retain their shape (see those creases right at the bend behind your toes? yeah, those will always show up but shoe trees will help minimize them). you can get buy with just one pair, just stick them into which ever pair you wore last. it's highly recommended that you let your shoes dry completely and rest between each use. having two pairs of shoes that you alternate between is good enough.

if you're gonna store your shoes and can't afford buying shoe trees to all your pairs, you can just stuff them with paper or bits of a foam mattress or something, just to help them keep their shape. the ones that has a metal spring in the middle and a ball at the end should be used with caution and only for a day or so at the time, since the spring loaded ball (heh) puts constant pressure on the back piece of the shoe and can actually push it out which is bad and also ugly.oh! and if your knee high boots have zippers, do make sure that zipper is straight when not worn. use a boot tree, a rolled up news paper or a stick a plastic bottle in them. just so that they don’t fold over and put stress on the zipper.

shoe deodorizer: if your shoes are leather with a leather lining and leather inner sole (AND YOU WEAR SOCKS! seriously, please always wear socks or hose or something inside your shoes at all times. or your foot sweat, dead skin and dirt will build up inside your shoes and it is Gross™), they honestly won't smell much at all. deo is unnecessary (unless you have some kind of affliction which makes your foot sweat super powered, which some people actually have and i feel for them). synthetic and fabric shoes are satan when it comes to foot odour and all you can do really is make sure to wear clean socks and change the inner sole as often as possible.

the washing machine: PLEASE. DO NOT PUT YOUR SHOES IN THE WASHING MACHINE! no, not even your converse hi-tops. seriously. all shoes are glued more or less excessively, and the heat and water will make the glue unstick and your shoes will fall apart quicker. take them to a cobbler for a wash if they're really dirty.

and finally: inspect your shoes. if you spot a seam coming out, or the sole unsticking on the inner left or the heel piece is worn down: take them to a reparative cobbler asap. do NOT try to fix it yourself (you can actually make them ten times harder or even impossible to fix). most things that breaks on leather products can actually be fixed, but the longer you let it go without addressing the damage, the worse it will get and the more expensive it will be to fix. expect to spend about half the purchase price on maintaining your shoes at a cobbler. more if they're your favourites and fit like a dream.

do try to find a good cobbler, some are absolute hacks that can ruin your shoes. if you live in a big city, go to the finer parts of town and accost a rich person and ask what cobbler shop they go to. they usually have a favourite cobbler that they remain loyal to/cling to desperately. instagram and/or facebook can also be a good place to check.

craftsmen in europe has journeyman or master "letters" (basically diplomas) that they can only acquire after they've worked in the profession for a certain amount of time and can prove that they're skilled in various parts of the job. you can ask if they have one and if they do, they're probably not completely unskilled.

rule of thumb is if the cobbler also does dry cleaning, seamstress work, plumbing and a hundred other vaguely connected things, chance is high that they aren't as good. this is largely dependent on country tho so... use your common sense.

also, don't bother with chains (such as mr minit) and those that offer quick jobs. doing a job properly takes time and care. rushing generally leads to lower quality work, as with everything. it’s up to you tho.

aaand i think that's about it!

i'll post a guide on how to buy good quality shoes that fit later, but until then, if you have any further questions, or want specific shoe or leather care advice my ask is always open and i'm happy to help :D

#shoe care 101 #ask the cobbler #Anonymous

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captaincanarygotmelike · 7 years ago

Text

Fic: Snapshots

For those of you who haven't read my multi-chapter AU Voices Carry, you might want to go read that first. For those of you who have, you might know that I brought Felicity in at the end of the last chapter and mentioned that Sara and Felicity were really close. I wrote this fic to go a bit deeper into that relationship that I would have been able to in Voices Carry. Enjoy!

Read on AO3

Read on Fanfiction.net

“I’m pregnant.”

A beat of silence followed Sara’s words.

“What!” Felicity finally said, “You’re pregnant? Are you kidding me? How? Since when? Oh my God, I can’t believe this is actually happening!”

“I’m sorry,” Sara winced, “I know you’re mad. Just—”

Felicity froze.

“Sara,” she said, “Why would I be mad at you?”

“I don’t know, my dad and my sister didn’t take it very well, so I figured…” she trailed off.

“They didn’t?” Felicity asked. Sara shook her head, “Oh, Sara,” she said sympathetically, wrapping her arms around Sara’s shoulders and pulling her towards her, “I’m so sorry.”

Sara tipped her head down to rest her cheek on Felicity’s shoulder.

“They’re gonna come around,” Felicity reassured her, “And you know what? If they don’t, I’ll be here with you every step of the way. I promise.”

After a couple minutes, Felicity pulled away, her hands still gripping Sara’s shoulders.

Wait,” Felicity said, “Who’s the dad? Is it…” she trailed off. Sara nodded guiltily, “And he…”

“He broke up with me before I could even fully tell him.”

“Aw, honey, that sucks,” Felicity pulled her back into a hug, “It’s all gonna be okay, trust me.”

…

“You’re sure you’re not upset?”

“Felicity, why would I be upset that you’re dating Oliver?” Sara said in exasperation as she adjusted the quilt on the side of the new crib in the corner of her room.

“I dunno, because you have all that history with him,” she shrugged guiltily.

“Yeah, like four years ago, and anyway, if you’re the one he cheated with, and when the one he cheated on was your own sister, I don’t think you’re allowed to get upset when he starts dating someone else, like, a bunch of years later. Besides, it’s not me you have to worry about. It’s Laurel.”

“Yeah, I know. I already told her and she says she doesn’t care. She doesn’t want anything to do with him.”

“Then I say full steam ahead. If Oliver makes you happy, then you should go for it. Even if I wasn’t okay with it, I’d still say that.”

“And nothing about how he cheated once, he’ll cheat again?”

“Look, you’re the smartest person I’ve ever met — literally. If you think you can trust him, you can. And you know what? If he still screws you over — not that I’m saying he will — then fuck him.”

Felicity giggled.

“What?” Sara asked.

“Oh nothing. Pregnancy hormones are making you all swear-y and I love it.”

…

“Ma’am, you can come in now.”

Felicity looked up from her magazine to see a doctor in green scrubs standing in front of a set of swinging wooden doors.

“Finally,” she huffed, putting her magazine down on a table and rolling her eyes as she followed the doctor through the doors.

He led her down a linoleum tiled hallway until they reached a door near the windowed end.

“Here she is,” the doctor said, pulling open the door and gesturing for Felicity to enter the room.

“Thanks,” Felicity nodded and quietly crossed the threshold.

On the hospital bed sat Sara, in a pale pink hospital gown with her blonde hair pulled into a low ponytail. In her arms, wrapped in a white blanket, was her new daughter.

Sara looked up from her baby to meet Felicity’s eyes. Her mouth spread into a wide smile.

“Felicity,” she said, “Hi.”

“Sara,” Felicity said breathlessly, “You’re so beautiful — she’s so beautiful! I’m so proud of you.”

“Thanks,” Sara replied softly.

Felicity walked across the hospital room, the loud clicking of her heels against the tile floor reverberating across the room.

“Do you want to hold her?” Sara asked.

Felicity nodded and gingerly took the baby from Sara, carefully cradling her in her arms.

She looked at the baby, wrapped tightly in the cotton blanket.

She was so tiny, the smallest she’d ever seen — not that she had any other babies to compare her to — with her little fingers poking out from under the blanket and little ears and nose. Her skin was pink and new and her eyes were squeezed shut.

“I heard you yelled at the nurses when they wouldn’t let you into the delivery room,” Sara said, smiling fondly at her friend.

“I wanted to be with you during all this,” Felicity looking back up at her, “But the nurses wouldn’t let me. They said only family was allowed in.”

“Family is more than blood.”

“Y’know, that argument doesn’t really hold with doctors for some reason.”

Sara laughed.

“Did you pick a name yet?” Felicity asked.

Sara nodded.

“Well?” Felicity prompted.

“Avery,” she finally said.

“Oh, that’s perfect,” Felicity said breathlessly. She felt her eyes filling with tears.

“Are you crying?”

“I’m emotional, okay!” she exclaimed.

…

“I wish you didn’t have to leave,” Felicity said from where she was sitting on Sara’s bed. Avery was lying on her back beside her, wearing a fresh diaper and a soft cotton onesie. Felicity was tickling her belly and Avery was making the little baby noises that made Sara think her first laugh was on its way.

“I know,” Sara replied. She turned away from the teeny socks she was rolling into pairs and tossing into a plastic storage bin to smile sadly at Felicity, “But it’s something I have to do, you know?”

“Listen, all I know is that you are leaving me with all these crazy people. You know my mom is waist deep in planning her wedding. If I have to sit through another two-hour discussion about colors schemes without you to stop me from flipping a table, I’m gonna - I’m gonna—”

“Flip a table?” Sara finished.

“Yes!” she exclaimed.

“I’m sorry, Lis, but I have to do this. I need a fresh start with Avery, and my mom has a couple spare rooms at her place in Central City, and she offered them, and saying yes felt right and it still does. I need to get away from Laurel and my dad. I feel like distance is what I need right now.”

“I really hope you aren’t gonna block them out of your life completely,” Felicity said tentatively.

“Not completely,” Sara shrugged, “But I haven’t forgotten how pissed Laurel was when I went into labor at her wedding reception.”

“I know,” she said sympathetically, “but you know how high strung she was about her wedding, and she said she was sorry.”

“I know,” Sara nodded, “I know. I’m not mad at her anymore — at least not really. I just feel like that same frustration is still there for her.”

“I guess I get it,” Felicity nodded, “I’m just gonna miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too, Lis,” Sara smiled.

“And I’ll miss this little munchkin,” Felicity cooed at Avery, “I’m gonna come visit you all the time so I can see you grow up into the beautiful little girl I know you’re gonna be. And you’re gonna be so smart, and funny, and kind. And you know why? Because my best friend is your mommy and she’s all those things too.”

“Felicity,” Sara groaned, “You’re gonna make me cry, and if I cry, you’re gonna cry, and I don’t have the energy to stop that.”

“Don’t worry,” she replied, her voice catching, “I’m already there.”

She got off the bed and hugged her friend.

“Aw, Lis,” Sara said into Felicity’s hair, “I’m only a train ride away.”

“I know,” Felicity replied, swiping underneath her glasses at the tears on her cheeks, “I’m still gonna miss you though.”

…

Sara jumped as her laptop started to ring.

Her phone buzzed and she looked down to see a text from Felicity.

“PICK UP,” she had sent.

Sara rolled her eyes and accepted the video chat request.

“Hey,” she said when a box displaying Felicity’s face appeared on the screen.

“Hi!” Felicity said excitedly, “Oh my God, I’ve missed talking to you so much. How’ve you been? How’re you settling in?”

“Pretty well,” Sara shrugged.

“Where’s your mom?”

“She’s at a meeting at the university. It’s just me and Avery tonight.”

She tipped the screen down to reveal Avery asleep on her legs.

“I miss her,” Felicity said sadly, then she added, “And you, of course.”

“I miss you too,” Sara replied.

“You’re happy there?” Felicity asked.

“Yeah, I am,” Sara nodded, “I already got a job as a homicide detective at the CCPD — I didn’t realize how rough working with my dad was. It’s so much better here. I work with this kid, Barry. He’s the forensic analysis and he’s, like, twenty and he’s adorable.”

“That’s awesome,” Felicity replied, “I’m really happy for you.”

“What’s going on in Star City? How’s your mom’s wedding planning going?”

“Well,” Felicity said matter-of-factly, “With seven months to the wedding, she has finally settled on a table setting.”

“Wow,” Sara said.

“Yes, it’s very exciting. Oh, by the way, I think she wants to commandeer Avery as flower girl, so be ready for that phone call.”

“Great.”

…

“Sara!”

Sara turned around to see Felicity approaching her as quickly as she could on her precariously high heels that matched her pale pink bridesmaid dress.

“Sara,” she repeated, stopping when she reached her to lean on a table of food as she caught her breath.

“Oh my God,” she finally got out, “You’re here! I didn’t see you in the ceremony.”

“I was there,” Sara nodded, “Near the back in case Avery got fussy.”

“Hi Avery!” Felicity cooed, taking the baby from Sara and bouncing her up and down in her arms, “Look how big you are! You’re one whole year old now! Can you believe it?”

Avery’s mouth spread into a smile that revealed her new bottom teeth as she reached to grab Felicity’s necklace.

“She’s getting so big,” Felicity told Sara wistfully.

“I know,” Sara nodded.

“Every time I see her, she’s different.”

“You should come visit more,” Sara told her, “I miss you. I hate not being able to see you every day.”

“Me too. You’re, like, my best friend and one of the most important people in my life. I don’t want it to stop being that way just because you’re living in a different city.”

“You know, if you ever need anything, no matter how small, I’ll always be there,” Sara told her.

Felicity hugged Sara, Avery sandwiched between them.

“I love you so much, Lis,” Sara said.

“I love you too, Sara,” she replied, pulling away. Felicity squeezed Avery a little tighter, swaying back and forth, “And I love this little cutie too, of course.”

#lot #captain canary #lot ff #cc ff #legends of tomorrow #voices carry #mine

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dachyun · 7 years ago

Note

“You can share my jacket with me, since you’re shivering.” dae and jae

( * friends or more meme . )

INCONVENIENTLY, the previously crystal clear sky has miraculously darkened within a few seconds & decided to unleash its wrath on three blissful, innocent companions, threatening to mercilessly drench them with a sudden downpour, the largest one of the entire season. the situation might’ve seemed helpless to jaesung at first, but this unfortunate victim of the fickle weather happened to be in the pleasant company of kyong daehyun, a paranoid person who’s always equipped & prepared for all occasions, no matter how irrational they may appear to someone else. the second they felt the first few raindrops viciously attack their fluffy blonde curls, they, panic-stricken, rushed their friend to go through their onyx backpack, one that was filled with the most diverse crap you could possibly imagine, only to dig out a peony pink mini umbrella that’d only shield a mere half of each of their bodies, leaving the other side exposed to the cold wetness. ever since, daehyun has almost been walking sideways & leaning into jaesung as much as humanly possible, all of this in order to protect a four-legged creature that’s lazily nestled in their arms. only a glossy black snout is curiously poking out & eagerly sniffing the fresh air while a month & a half old GREAT DANE is wrapped in not only a warm violet cotton blanket but an olive green bomber jacket as well, leaving one of his new owners to walk around solely in a thin, flimsy white t-shirt that might be a size too big for their body.

A VIOLENT SHIVER & frightened cries worry their ears & cause them to check on the puppy much like a caring parent would. they know they can’t do anything more than they already have to relieve the tiny animal of discomfort caused by the low temperature & aggressive thunder, which is why they impatiently await their arrival to jaesung’s car which currently feels as if it’s at a much greater distance than it really is. while they’re waiting for the green glow to replace the red one on the traffic light, so that they could cross the street, the older of the two silly humans picks up on the occasional TREMBLING, causing daehyun to gaze up at him with their perfectly-arched brows strongly drawn together. ❛ it’s not me, it’s the baby … he must be so scared. ❜ they sigh defeatedly, irked by the circumstances that they can’t manipulate in any way, shape or form while ignoring intense goosebumps that are decorating their own damp, freezing flesh. regardless, they wrap their protected, dry arm around their best friend, right underneath his thick jacket. they press their pet against jaesung’s stomach, hoping that the warmth his body is radiating will help the little one, while their own cold, rosy nose seeks shelter in the taller’s neck —— thankfully, they’re not wearing any makeup, so they won’t stain his skin or clothes in any way. relying on jaesung to guide them to the other side of the street, they stick by his side until they hear the relieving sound of the car doors being unlocked.

WHILE JAESUNG’S on his way to the other side of the vehicle, daehyun comfortably settles their new baby on their lap, checking whether there’s a single inch of him that’s soaked & making sure even his minuscule tail is covered with soft fabrics, even though the inside of the car is much warmer than the outside. they never openly sing in front of people, especially when the others are musically gifted, but daehyun makes an exception this time & hums to the puppy while rocking him atop their legs. once jaesung starts the engine & heads home, they begin whispering in the most gentle & soothing of voices. ❛ sleep, lil baby. you’re gonna need a lot of energy for when you meet your aunties & uncles. i can’t wait to play with you later & feed you … you’re gonna grow so big & protect me from jeremy & jaewon whenever they call me short & tiny. you’re gonna make taetae & kerry melt & smile so much & you’re gonna ruin daddy jaesung’s silk dress shirts … ❜ they get surprised by their own delicate giggle that echoes within the car & immediately glance at their best friend, making their fond brown orbs unexpectedly meet. it’s difficult to tell whether the slight raspberry shade on daehyun’s cheeks is the result of timidity or being exposed to the cold. ❛ i … shouldn’t be calling you daddy, right ? considering … our ………….. uh ………….. past an’ all. yeah. D E F I N I T E L Y. —— anyway, eyes on the road, jj. ❜ daehyun’s thick bottom lip gets shyly captured by their front pearly whites as they fix their eyes on the passing cars & people on the outside, where they mostly stay for the rest of the ride.

DAEHYUN ALMOST doesn’t wait for the vehicle to be parked before pushing the door open & exiting, too eager to introduce the newest ( & most adorable ) addition to the family to the rest of their housemates. hiding the puppy from the rain, they run into the house where they kick their shoes off & expose a pair of odd-looking, turtle-covered fuchsia socks before exploring the living room where they, unfortunately, don’t find a single living soul. not easily disheartened & since they’re I T C H I N G to release an overwhelming avalanche of extremely positive & ( for some ) suffocating feelings, they head to kerry’s room first because they figure that she’s the person who’d accept & reciprocate their emotions the best. without bothering to knock for the first time in their life, daehyun walks in on jeremy & kerry innocently watching something on his laptop & the blond doesn’t make an effort to apologise. ❛ hey guys … i want you to meet someone. ❜ they announce, overjoyed & buzzing as they close the door behind themself & sit on the very edge of the bed. they lower what they’ve been previously holding in their arms & pull the fabric off, revealing a tiny, black puppy to the other two & dying to see their reactions. at first, the great dane is hesitant to move, but once the happy owner shows everyone to be quiet, he exposes his true nature & begins exploring the mattress, sniffing all three of them while dae is making sure he won’t fall off the surface of the bed while he’s still so young & fragile. they only get distracted when they hear jaesung walk inside, which elicits a high-pitched BARK from the dog. covering their mouth as they squeak excitedly, daehyun jumps up & threatens to squish their ex-lover with a grizzly bear hug, E X H I L A R A T E D that he was around when their pet spoke for the very first time.

EVEN THOUGH daehyun might not currently think anything of the situation kerry & jeremy were in when they walked into the room because they’re too busy being ecstatic over their puppy, the oldest person in the room isn’t the most satisfied with the turn of events. he had his arm thrown around kerry’s back while they were resting against the pillow-covered headboard of the bed —— the girl’s eyes were focused on the screen, more specifically an ancient video of jeremy’s dog being the biggest meme in the world, while his own were hooded. massaging the inside of her palm with his thumb, he got bold enough & slowly left sweet, lingering kisses from her ear across her cheek, listening to the sound of his naturally pouty lips coming in contact with her smooth skin & perfectly blending with kerry’s occasional chuckles & giggles at the clips. he didn’t know whether he’d dare to go all the way & he’ll never get to find out. currently, he’s amusedly laughing at the palm-sized canine’s squeak ( he can’t call it a proper B A R K, just like the sounds his yappy dog tends to make ). watching daehyun smother jaesung with love for a few moments, jeremy decides to take the puppy in his hands. ❛ y o. if your lil eyes & nose weren’t so glowy, i wouldn’t be able to tell where they are. ❜ he beams cutely since it’s been a while since he last played with a dog this tiny, & scrunches up his nose with which he pokes the dog’s little one. he raises the small animal up to the side of his head. ❛ the lil dude’s here to save me & jaewon from drowning in the sea of blondes. he even has darker hair than me, he’s the new alpha male of the house ❜ jeremy jokes around & puts the puppy atop his head for a few seconds before daehyun almost faints & worriedly tells him to lower the baby back on the mattress.

#I COULDNT RESIST !!#( jaesung. )#( meme: done. )#riotvcn #answered

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onlymorelove · 7 years ago

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Fic: see how deep the bullet lies (1/1)

Title: see how deep the bullet lies (1/1) Fandom: Timeless Ships: Wyatt Logan/Garcia Flynn pre-slash, though I suppose you could choose to read it as Gen. Rating: PG-13 or T Notes: Written in response to the following prompt from @timeless-fanfic-prompts : “Am I dead?” “No, but you’re going to wish you were.” Summary: Wyatt Logan is a simple man from Texas who hates puzzles, absolutely detests them, and knows better than to ever ask dangerous questions like “Why?” (Set in Season 2.) Warnings: for mentions of past abuse.

If you read this, thanks. Feedback is treasured; constructive criticism is welcomed.

Read below the cut, @ FF.net, or on AO3. Rating: T Tagging @extasiswings.

It’s Friday evening and they don’t have a mission because for once, Rittenhouse isn’t trying to upend history as they know it. (Well, of course it is, but the alarms signaling that Emma’s taken the Mothership out again remain blissfully silent.) This means that Wyatt doesn’t need to be at Mason Industries. And yet, there he is at the office on his day off, minus Rufus’s constant flow of comforting chatter and Lucy’s soft eyes that see too much but still not enough.

Apart from the intense nausea that still claws itself up from his gut to his throat every damn time he rides the Lifeboat, one perk of his latest gig is the small on-site gym. That’s where Wyatt is now.

He rolls his shoulders back, scrubs his damp palms on his shorts, and thinks, One more set. He needs to know he’s hit the weights hard enough that he’ll sleep that night—instead of seeing Jessica’s blue eyes following him in the darkness as the red numbers on his bedside clock frogmarch on toward dawn.

Whenever he reaches out a hand to touch Jessica, she shakes her head and retreats.

(The sleeplessness messes with his head, and on some nights he talks to Jessica, carrying on full conversations with her. “Jess, am I dead?” he asks her on occasion, unsure what he wants her answer to be. That should probably scare him. It doesn’t.

She tilts her head, long sunshine hair unfurling like a flag down over her bare shoulder as she leans over his pillow and watches him, lips tipped in a smile that holds no threat, only sadness. “No, but you’re going to wish you were.”

Jessica’s right; sometimes he does.

She always knew him better than he knew himself.

He never tells anyone.

He doesn’t need a shrink and a psych eval to tell him what he already knows: He’s splintering from the inside out.)

One last set of stiff-legged deadlifts and he’ll be finished for the day. Lucky for him, the last set is the toughest.

Wyatt’s gaze definitely doesn’t drift across the length of the small gym to the only other person working out there: a tall, lean man running at a medium pace on a treadmill, his long legs taking him nowhere. Garcia Flynn. (Hint: his eyes absolutely do not linger on the blotches of sweat that have filtered from Flynn’s skin to the fabric of his shirt, turning parts of the gray tee nearly black. What? They don’t. Furthermore, Wyatt doesn’t wonder if his cotton-covered skin smells like salt or gun oil or—)

They work together now, on the same team. Wyatt doesn’t like it, but like doesn’t enter the delicate equation; he’s got his orders. While their numbers are symmetrical, the ease and understanding that he, Rufus, and Lucy had fumbled their way into is gone with Flynn’s addition.

Two plus two equals four, sure; in their case, though, it’s more like three plus one, and the plus one makes everything uncomfortable and just…difficult. Which makes sense because he and Flynn have tried to kill each other. Who can blame them for any lingering awkwardness? Either they’ll get over the hump or they won’t.

Is Wyatt sure which one he’s rooting for? Ha. No. But Flynn’s an itch he just can’t scratch.

So no, he does not study Flynn and ask himself what convoluted thoughts churn through his head and what, exactly, he’s running from or toward. Because Wyatt Logan is a simple man from Texas who hates puzzles, absolutely detests them, and knows better than to ever ask dangerous questions like “Why?”

Wyatt pinches the bridge of his nose and scuffs the sole of his shoe on the cushioned gym flooring. He shakes his head, a sigh leaking out. Focus, Logan, snaps the voice in his head. But the voice crackling like static in his ear isn’t his own. It cuts like a cat o'nine, gruff with exasperation and rich with an accent he can taste in the back of his mouth and—

Shut it down.

This time he does. He bends down and curls his hands around the barbell, feels the life-beaten skin of his palms absorb the crosshatch pattern etched into the metal, then stands. With his knees slightly bent, he pushes his hips back and lets his arms slide the bar closer to the floor, just until he feels a bittersweet burn and a pleasure-pain stretch in his hamstrings. Slowly he reverses, returning to a standing position. He deadlifts again and again, not bothering to count reps anymore, until his legs shake like leaves on a storm-blown tree rooted deep in a West Texas hill, and his breath stutters, and the man across the room, the one directly in his line of sight, fades into a meaningless blur.

(Or so Wyatt tells himself.)

Tonight he’ll sleep.

Wyatt showers after his workout, allowing the hot water to dominate his body until he’s not a person or even a soldier anymore, just a collection of wet skin and slowly tightening muscles.

He’s dry and dressed, seated on a bench in the locker room, about to shove his freshly-socked feet into his shoes, when his phone pings with a message.

He picks the phone up from the bench and peers at it. It’s a text from Rufus. Drinks at Jake’s at 7:30?

Without thinking too hard about it, he taps out a fast reply. Nah. Not tonight. Tired.

You sure? Lucy’ll be there.

Wyatt huffs a laugh and cracks his knuckles before responding. I’m sure. Brunch at Doc’s Diner tomorrow at 11:30?

Done. Good night, man.

See ya, Rufus.

The phone tips back on the bench, and Wyatt digs through his duffel bag for his car keys. He fumbles them; they slip from his fingers and hit the tile floor with a clink. After he snags them from the floor, he glances up and finds Flynn standing a few feet away in front of the wall of blue lockers across from him. A white towel curls around his waist, leaving his back bare. Wyatt sucks in a breath and returns his gaze to his bag, only to discover his brain has lost all control of his eyes, which keep wanting to flick back to Flynn. Shoulders hunched, he ducks his head and hazards a furtive look. Eyes wide, Wyatt looks and looks and can’t look away from the network of pale scars crisscrossing the width of the other man’s back. The scars, they’re old, judging by their color—white. Something painful and hot rises in Wyatt’s stomach. He swallows it back.

“See something you like, Logan?” Flynn asks, turning to face him, one eyebrow angled up in that way that Wyatt hates. A sarcastic smile lurks around the borders of Flynn’s mouth, and Wyatt hates it. He fucking loathes that smile that’s anything but a smile. He wants to wipe it off his face with his fist or with his—

Wyatt flinches like he’s been hit. The blood rises in his face, thick and hot, but somehow he summons a smirk. He has to play the game right. “You wish.” Clearing his throat, he zips his bag shut and swings himself up from the bench, intent on leaving as quickly as he can. But he has to pass right by Flynn to get to the door that leads out of the locker room. Keep walking. Keep walking.

His feet stop listening when he’s three feet away from Flynn. The question flies from his mouth before he can capture and cage it like he should: “What happened to you?”

Flynn has his pants on now. At Wyatt’s question, he takes the towel he’s slung over his shoulder and tosses it on the bench. His brow furrows and his green eyes narrow. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

Wyatt ignores Flynn’s naked chest and meets his gaze head-on. “Your back.” He taps his own back with his index finger. “The scars. What happened to you?”

They stare at each other, locked in silence for so long that Wyatt thinks for sure Flynn won’t answer. Water drips from one of the showers, the sound echoing lightly. Something flickers behind Flynn’s green eyes. Then he blinks twice, and it’s gone. “My father,” Flynn replies. He swipes a hand over his mouth and down the faint stubble stippling his chin. “My father happened.”

Remembering the weight of his own father's fists, that ugly sensation tightens Wyatt's stomach again. Sorry. There's a confusing maelstrom of feelings spinning inside him and he doesn't feel capable of separating it into its components right then. “Oh,” is all he says, pushing his hands into his front pockets. He coughs, just to give himself something to do. “So, uh, me, Rufus, and Lucy, we’re meeting for brunch tomorrow at 11:30.” He rocks back on his heels. His cheek itches, so he scratches it. “Do you want to join us?” It’s a terrible idea, of course it is, and he regrets the offer as soon as it’s out his mouth.

Flynn laughs, the sound echoing like gunshots off all the metal and tile in the empty locker room. “This doesn’t change anything. Don’t feel sorry for me. That would be a mistake.” He pulls a black shirt over his head, covering his chest and the marks on his back that Wyatt wishes he could un-see. “No, I don’t want join you for brunch.” The last word is emphasized by a nasty smile that raises the tiny hairs on the back of Wyatt’s neck.

Wyatt eyes the faint stripe of warm color running along Flynn’s cheekbones. He shrugs. “You’re an idiot,” he says, but the words lack any real heat.

Flynn mutters something Wyatt’s ears don’t quite catch.

His stomach rumbles and Wyatt starts walking again.

“Don’t tell them.”

The words are quiet, but Wyatt hears them anyway. The “please” goes unspoken, but Wyatt hears it anyway. He doesn’t need to ask who the “them” is. He pauses in the doorway but doesn’t glance back over his shoulder. “I won’t,” he says. I’m sorry, even if you won’t believe me, he thinks but doesn’t say.

Sleep finds him in his bed that night, but Jessica does not. In his dreams, Wyatt stumbles through a labyrinth of winding white paths that don’t lead anywhere. Green eyes watch him without blinking. A familiar voice carried on the wind whispers, “Focus, Logan.” When he wakes the next morning, his mouth tastes gritty with Afghan sand. His head echoes with these words: “Don’t tell them.”

#nbc timeless #Timeless fanfiction #timeless fanfic contest #wyatt logan x garcia flynn #flogan #wyatt logan #garcia flynn #onlymorelove writes fic

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toevenexist · 8 years ago

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The Darkening Pt. 7

Here is the second part for tonight!

If you are just seeing this part and haven’t read Part 6 (also published tonight) then click this link.

Here is Part 7 (originally the second half of my accidental 4,000+ word chapter 6)

Masterpost

I hope you enjoy xx

Amelia awoke at the sensation of a warm cloth against her face. She kept her eyes closed, treasuring the painlessness in her chest, the softness of the fabrics that covered her body, the gentleness of the movement of the cloth. Slowly, she opened her eyes.

She found Owen there, beside her on the bed. His face, illuminated by candle light, was a picture of sustained worry. She wanted to brush away the expression with the palm of her hand, but her limbs felt heavy, and she feared that pain that might follow.

A smile transformed him when he saw that she was awake. He continued to wipe the blood from her face. “Hi” she said, only managing a whisper, barely cutting through the patter of rain.

“Hey” he dipped the cloth in the bowl beside his thigh and squeezed it, releasing a pink cloud. He brought it back up to her face and cleaned away the last of the blood, dragging the cloth along her jaw. Her eyes fluttered closed. “How do you feel?”

“Need some water” she swallowed, cringing at the dryness of her throat.

He smiled, lifting the bowl onto the bedside table and picking up a bottle of water. She looked down at her hands, trying to discern which one was hurt and lifted the one without the splint on it and, slowly, took hold of the bottle. Owen kept his fingers on the bottom of the container, helping her guide it to her mouth.

“Better?” he asked, as he screwed the cap back on, not taking his eyes off of her. She groaned softly. “Numb” she said, looking up at the ceiling, then to the window. It was dark out.

“What time is it?”

Owen looked at his watch, “three thirty” he said, “I actually need to...” he picked up the portable ultrasound and placed it beside his knee. She nodded, moving her hand so he could pull down the blanket. “Have you slept?” she asked him, watching as he turned on the machine.

“I’ve been monitoring this” he said, now staring intensely between screen in his hand and the placement of the transducer on Amelia’s chest.

Amelia looked down at her ribs, taking in their weathered appearance. “Can I see?” she asked, his eyes flicked up briefly. “Yeah” he said, shifting closer to her head, being careful not to jog her. He showed her the screen, pressing the transducer down, quietly thankful she had the epidural.

“You pneumothorax has gotten smaller, I don’t think we’ll need to aspirate”

“Good” she spoke drowsily, moving her head slightly to rest it against his thigh. He put the machine aside.

“Amelia” he pulled up the blanket first, it stuck against the gel. “What happened? Who is the little girl?” he covered her with the duvet. Her eyes fluttered closed.

“I went into a house, looking for some car keys… I was going to… I was going to get the keys and listen for the car in the street” She spoke softly, eyes still closed, relishing in the feeling of Owens fingers tracing along her hairline. “I went in and two people were on the floor...Ray’s parents… I thought they had the disease but... they were just beaten up… only her mom was alive… she… she tried to warn me but… but… I turned...” she stopped, wincing as she fought tears. She opened her eyes, looking up at him. He arched down, and ghosted kisses against her forehead.

“I turned and he was there… I froze… I pulled out the gun and he hit it from my hand with a bat… he just kept hitting” she hiccuped, before pressing her hand softly against her sternum. She could barely feel her hand there.

“I fell down... he was about to swing at my head… n’ she shot him…Ray’s mom...she died” her breathing became laboured. He placed the oxygen mask on her face. Owen sat quietly, watching the even movement of her lungs. “I can’t tell you how relieved I am you’re okay Amelia. I was so worried” She gazed up at him with smiling eyes.

“This sucks” her voice echoed inside the mask. He chuckled.

“It does really suck” he smirked down at her. Her cheeks dimpled either side of her mask. She pulled the mask away to speak. “Lie down with me?”

“How could I ever refuse” he laughed, shuffling down to lay beside her.

“The cat is cute” Owen said, pressing a kiss to the flexure of her mouth. She smiled, “Ginny.”

“Like Harry potter.” Owen said. Amelia laughed, reaching blindly for his hand. She wanted, more than anything, to turn onto her side, curl up, and be held by him. “What do you know about Harry Potter?” she said, lightly chuckling.

He feigned an expression of shock before continuing, “You mean; what do I know about the franchise that made it cool to be a ginger!” he said, pointing at his hair. Amelia laughed, before flinching, she whimpered. “Hey, hey… you okay?” Owen looked up at her meds, checking they were running.

She smiled lazily, “my head hurts a bit. Everything here is numb” she hovered her hand over her chest.

“Sleep” he nestled carefully against her side, closing his eyes.

“You sleep too” she said, smiling as he hummed his reply.

Her eyes seemed to already be open when she gained full consciousness. The curtains were open, hanging asymmetrically with one side pulled back more than the other. She didn’t have the strength to care. It had been five days since the incident, the epidural was keeping her oblivious to most of her pain.

Every couple of seconds a drop of rain tapped against the glass. From her position, torso lifted by an organised heap of pillows, she could see charred forest in the horizon; A thick black line between near trees and the sky, like a line of graphite on white paper. She stared so long she thought she could smell it.

‘What an odd life’ she thought, looking from the window down at her feet. ‘Just existing’ she was shocked at how unfeeling she was about it. She thought it odd, part of her hoped it was the drugs. Put part of her simultaneously hoped it wasn’t, that the numbness would stay, numbness of thought.

“Amelia?” A small voice pulled her mind back into the room. A set of golden, green eyes peered around the door. Amelia smiled, bringing her hands into her lap, gripping her bad hand with the good.

Ray shuffled cautiously into the room, standing just beside the door. She looked down, “Hi” she said. She tugged on a shred of wool hanging from the sleeve of her emerald green knitted cardigan. She was short, tiny, but lanky, she looked as though she’d be tall when she was older. Her hair was still braided, free strands of her strawberry trusses stuck out in all directions.

“Hi... you want to keep me company?” Amelia asked her, she glanced up then and shrugged, before nodding. She tiptoed over and clamoured up onto Owen’s side.

“This is pretty” Amelia said, running her finger over the hem of the coral cotton dress Ray was wearing. Ray beamed and ran her hands over it, spreading out the skirt into part of a circle. “Alex got it for me” she said, eyes flicking up to meet Amelia’s. Amelia responded with a big smile.

“He did!? He has good taste”

“He got lots of other stuff too. He got me and Ellis some toys” she spoke, almost excitedly, her excitement faded though, as she observed the tube running into Amelia’s hand, and the one running to her back. She pouted, and looked down at her hands. “Sorry” she mumbled as she pulled at the tops of her socks, they were too big for her, coming up below her knee.

“Ray” Amelia said, reaching across the space between them and taking her hand. “You don’t need to be sorry… nothing that happened was your fault” she ran her thumb across the little girls knuckles. “Okay?” she asked, head lulling to the side as she tried to capture Ray’s gaze. Their eyes locked and she smiled, nodding. She kept a hold of Amelia’s hand, shuffling, she curled against Amelia’s side.

“How is Ginny?” Amelia asked, half smiling. Ray chuckled, “Ginny likes it here” she smiled, “There’s no earthquakes so she can go outside.”

“Earthquakes” Amelia mumbled, eyes diving off to the charcoal horizon. She tightened her arm around Ray. Ray drew a quarter sized circle against Amelia’s stomach with her little finger. She looked up suddenly, her eyes aflame, “She brought in a bird” she smiled, Amelia did too. “It was still alive, so we’ve been looking after it in a box.” She was talking quickly, as though she hadn’t been talking until then.

“Wow, I’ve got to see that” Amelia said, Ray’s energy was contagious. The little girl sprang up, beaming. “Now?” She asked, eyebrows raised.

Amelia paused, thinking it over. She hadn’t left the top floor since the incident, and had barely left the room.

She matched the girl’s smile and nodded. “You’ll have to help me though… and go slow” Amelia said as she pulled the duvet aside. Ray nodded, jumping off of the bed and running around to Amelia’s side. Amelia slowly moved her legs from the bed. Ray helped her carefully, before reaching out her hand for Amelia’s. Amelia smiled, brows furrowing, “have you done this before Ray” she said taking her hands.

Ray nodded, “My daddy had MS” she said, still smiling, taking the flask that held the local anesthetic from Amelia’s hand and holding it up like a lantern. “How old are you Ray?” Amelia asked, trying to fathom how many years it had taken for the girl to amass so much maturity. ‘Surely at least twelve… eleven’ she hoped, but she knew better.

“I’m seven” she shrugged. “And a half… nearly” she spoke as they ambled across the room, slow, careful steps. “Do you think I could be a doctor?” she asked, staring up at Amelia with vast eyes. Amelia grinned, “definitely” she said.

“How long will you be like this?” Ray asked, the most recent of her numerous questions. They had just reached the top of the stairs. Amelia held onto the handrail with a tight grip, her whole arm rigid as a log as she supported herself. Ray held onto her elbow, somewhat steadying her from the other side. “I’ll hopefully be able to move a bit better soon” Amelia said, distractedly. Her bruised leg throbbed with every step she took.

“Can I braid your hair? My mom just taught me?” Amelia, paused her movements, taking a break. She smiled across at Ray, who stared up with her bright questioning eyes. “If you are very very gentle” Amelia replied, taking the next step. Ray’s smile broke into a toothy grin.

“Amelia! What are you doing up?” Owen appeared at the bottom of the stairs. His open hands froze up in front of him.

“I’m coming down to see the bird” Amelia said, not even bothering to look up.

“Here let me help…” He began, starting up the stairs when Amelia stopped him.

“Wait… We’re good… Just…” she reached the bottom of the stairs and took his hand “Wait” she sighed, looking up and capturing his lips for a short, firm kiss. They led her to the sofa and she sat, leaning heavily on Owen so she could ease down slowly.

Ray hopped up onto the sofa beside her, still smiling. She still held the flask of anaesthetic in her hand. She started chattering happily about the bird and what it looked like, what it sounded like.

Owen was busying himself around the room. He pulled over a coat stand and grinned down at Ray, she passed him the flask and he hooked it onto the coat stand. He closed and opened hands at the contraption, mouthing “Magic” and she giggled. Amelia could only see Ray, laughing. She tried to turn but Owen stopped her with his hands on her shoulders. “Ray, how about you go and get the bird?”

“Yeah” she said, jumping up and running from the room.

“Bring the box Ray, be careful” Owen called after her. He walked around and slid onto the sofa.

Amelia smiled at him, question in her eyes. “What?” he laughed, enjoying seeing some energy coming back into her being. He slung an arm over her shoulders. “Nothing” she smirked, “Do me a favour and lift my feet up onto the coffee table” she said, leaning and kissing the angle of his jaw.

“Of course me lady” he said, moving to the edge of the sofa and lifting her feet onto the coffee table. She grinned, watching him caress each ankle as he moved them.

Ray walked in slowly, carrying a shoe box. She walked carefully, looking around the box at the floor as she walked. The cat sprinted in with her, dancing around her feet. She giggled, “Ginny was sitting by the box” she sat down next to Amelia and gently placed it on her lap.

She kept her hands on top of the box and leant forward. “You have to go real slow, and be really quiet and gentle” she whispered, still beaming. Amelia nodded, glancing at Owen, her smile letting on to how impressed she was with the little girl.

They lifted the lid up together. The bird was in the center of a man made nest, made of bits of cloth. The birds eyes were closed. It had a yellow beak, black and white stripes on its head. “What kind of bird did we say Ray?” Owen asked, whispering.

“It’s a white crowned sparrow” she uttered proudly.

“Its very beautiful” Amelia whispered softly, observing its brown streaked back, wings tucked against it. Its body puffed out as it breathed. Amelia watched it and found a sort of affinity with the creature. She and the bird had both been beaten down, were both recuperating.

She placed the lid back over the box and smiled serenely. “You’re doing a really good job Ray” she said, passing the box back to the girl. Ray hugged the box to her stomach as she stood. She smiled softly to herself, bashfully proud.

“She’s an incredible kid” Owen spoke softly as she left the room. Amelia, smiled, face still turned to the doorway in Ray’s wake. “She is…” she said wistfully.

“Amelia?” Owen, called after her, seeing distance in her eyes. She looked back to him and smiled, traces of melancholy hinting at a sadness. “She has an old soul… she’s only seven…” Owen nodded, taking hold of Amelia’s hand. “She’s a credit to her parents” she said, looking down, absentmindedly observing the textures of the skin on Owen’s hand.

Both of them dove into thoughtful silence, contemplating the parental roles that they were both falling into. It had happened amongst so much overwrought movement, that they’d barely noticed it happening, and suddenly... they were parents of sorts, in a world not safe or even deserving of children.

Owen turned to face Amelia the exact moment she turned to face him. They found each others eyes full of warmth and tenderness. They smiled, both suddenly, achingly, relieved… that they had each other by their side.

LINK TO PART 8

Reviews, reblogs, and likes are very much appreciated xxx

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bellarkefanfiction · 8 years ago

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And I Thought You Might Be Mine

*click through to read on ao3

Written by: Nai | @hiddenpolkadots Prompt: Tol: is that my shirt? Smol, wearing a shirt that goes down to their knees: ... no words: 2500

Bellamy is aware that living with Clarke was going to come with some challenges.

(Or, as Octavia put it, rather excitedly, “It’s going to be a total fucking shitshow, and Raven and I have a bet going on who would commit murder first.”)

But despite their friends utmost certainty that things were going to crash and burn within the first week, they’ve been happily living together for the past six months, so he made sure to tell them to suck it after they hit the two week mark, because he’s a responsible adult.

That isn’t to say that it’s a walk in the park either. He and Clarke still argue about every little thing, but that’s just how they communicate. Now they just add arguing about domestic things such as whose turn it is to do the dishes, or why hasn’t he taken out the trash yet into the mix as well. He maybe likes it a bit too much, but no one needs to know about that.

He’s also become privy to a lot more of her quirks which- he likes to think that being friends, or at least acquaintances, with Clarke for over four years meant that he knew her fairly well, but once they move in, it becomes a whole other story.

For example, he learns that despite being left handed, she brushes her hair and teeth with her right, she always has to keep a full cup of water on her bedside table at night, and she needs more pillows than necessary to sleep.

Perhaps the most interesting quirk of hers is that she’s always stealing his clothes, all the fucking time.

At first she starts off small; she moves in with him near the end of autumn, when the chill lurks heavily in the air, and Bellamy guesses that he’s partially to blame for starting the whole thing.

“Where’s your scarf?” he frowns when she meets him out by the car.

She shrugs, shoving her hands in her coat pockets. “No idea. I don’t think I unpacked it yet.”

She says it easily enough, as though it’s not some big deal that she’s walking around with her throat exposed, just begging to catch a cold, and his jaw drops.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he says, immediately unknotting his and looping it around her neck. He has on a turtleneck sweater under his coat, he’ll be fine. “It’s like you want to die.”

“I don’t need you to mother me,” she snaps, even as she fixes it properly, and Bellamy just grumbles under his breath about her irresponsibility while ushering her to the car.

He doesn’t get the scarf back after that. In fact, he loses a handful of other objects to her as well: his red knit beanie, a pair of gloves, he even spots her puttering around the apartment in one of his sweaters one time, a thick grey cableknit that hangs off her tiny frame and it had him almost walking into a wall.

“Don’t you have your own clothes?” he asks, watching as she climbs up on a chair to pack the dishes away on the top shelf.

She just throws a baleful glare at him. “I do, but someone refuses to turn the heat up and it was either this or my winter coat.”

He doesn’t know how to respond to that, so he just pulls a face and wanders out of the kitchen.

A couple hours later Clarke pads into his room, her sock clad feet sliding against the floor. “You know, you could have told me you turned the heat up like a normal person instead of hiding out and waiting for me to realise,” she says, leaning against the desk. She’s slipped out of the sweater to reveal the tighter fitting long sleeve she wore underneath, and holds the sweater in her hands.

Bellamy shrugs, tapping his pen against the outside of his thigh. “But where’s the fun in that?” he asks with a smarmy smile, and she throws the sweater at his face with a huff.

“You’re such a dick,” she tells him, struggling to keep her grin at bay, before she turns on her heel to leave.

“You knew that and still chose to move in with me!” he calls after her retreating figure, and then snorts when she flips him off behind her back.

It doesn’t do anything to dissuade her from taking his clothes; quite the contrary in fact. He gets used to seeing her in his oversized sweaters, stealing his hoodies at the movie theatre, shrugging his flannel shirts over her t-shirts and tank tops when the weather starts to warm up.

He doesn’t know how or when she gets her hands on them since she never comes into his room unless necessary, but each time she goes out wearing something of his, it sends a little thrill through his heart, and he thinks about what other people might see when they look at her dressed like that while out with him, yearning for the day that it might actually be true.

Bellamy isn’t completely inept at emotions, no matter what his sister might say. He’s aware of his feelings for Clarke, and has been for a while.

Aware in the sense that he knows that he likes working out their monthly budget together and bickering over groceries, and he’d like to continue doing all of this for the rest of his life, ideally while being able to hold her hand and kiss her whenever he wanted.

(And maybe eventually adopt a dog, get married, have a few kids… he has a long term plan here, one that sounds ridiculously sappy if spoken aloud.)

He’s more than content to keep his relationship with Clarke where it is though, nothing more than friendship and roommates, and he doesn’t plan on jeopardising that anytime soon.

Of course, that doesn’t stop him from coming startlingly close to doing just that one evening when he comes home early from work, and finds her in nothing but an oversized blue t shirt- his oversized blue t-shirt- as she enthusiastically lip syncs along to the boppy pop song blasting from the speakers as she cleans.

For a moment he can’t do anything but stare; at the miles of creamy smooth skin left uncovered, at her unruly curls fighting against the constraints of the hair tie keeping it bound on the top of her head, at the slight shimmy of her hips that leaves him ducking his head, a fond grin making itself known.

And then he ends up swearing out loud as he bangs his knee against the side of the entryway dresser, causing her to whip around with a shriek.

“Fucking Christ,” he wheezes, leaning against the wall as he clutches his kneecap.

“Are you alright?” she asks, immediately dropping the cloth she was using to wipe down the coffee table as she walks over, hands fluttering about him.

He bats them away impatiently, straightening up. “I’m fine, I’m fine; I was just… distracted. Wasn’t watching where I was going,” he tells her, feeling a dull flush creep up the back of his neck.

She still watches him warily, even as he limps over to the couch to sit. “If you’re sure,” she says, before flashing him a smirk, “I know you’re an old man and all that. Wouldn’t want to have to take you in to get a knee replacement.”

“Shut up or I’ll cancel the Thai take out I ordered.”

“You are young and lean and sparkling from that youthful glow,” she corrects herself promptly, and he can’t help but bark out a laugh. Clarke grins down at him and says, “I’m still going to get you an ice pack for that knee though. Just in case,” before squeezing his shoulder and walking away.

He watches her leave- or, more accurately, he watches how the hem of the shirt trails high on her thigh, barely covering anything and causing his mouth to go dry- before he tips his head back and groans, eyes screwed shut.

It’s not like it’s a secret that she steals his clothes to wear from time to time, but she’s usually wearing them with other things, not alone where he can catch a glimpse of the lime green cotton of her underwear if she so much as stretches her arms up. He vaguely wonders if her bra is the same colour before realising that her shoulder was bare the entire time, without a strap to be found, and he groans again.

That thought alone is enough to drive him mad, and he finally ends up blurting out, “Is that my shirt?” when she returns.

Really, it’s a miracle that he managed to last as long as he did without asking.

Clarke freezes like a deer in headlights, knuckles turning bone white as she grasps the ice pack tightly.

“Um… no?” she says hesitantly, cheeks aflame.

It’s a weak lie, and they both know it; in addition to it obviously being several sizes too big, it’s cut in a men’s style, and he’s had it for so long, that he would recognise it anywhere, from the rip in the left sleeve to the small holes that dot the collar. He lifts a single, incredulous eyebrow, and her blush darkens.

“Well, you weren’t supposed to find out,” she says defensively, crossing her arms. “I forgot to do laundry and this was right there so I-”

“It wasn’t ‘right there’,” he interrupts with a shake of his head, “I haven’t worn that shirt in forever; it’s been relegated to the back of my closet.”

“Can’t you at least let me save face with one lie?” she huffs, and he cracks a grin.

“Nope,” he says, popping the p, and she kicks him lightly in the shins. “Careful, I’m already injured.”

“You’ll live,” she says dryly, and hands over the ice pack.

He mutters his thanks as he takes it, fixing it atop his throbbing knee, before looking back up at her. Clarke is still standing in front of him in just the stupid shirt, bottom lip caught between her teeth, and he should probably leave before he does something very stupid, very impulsive, or both.

Still, that doesn’t stop him from asking, curious, “Why this one though? Why not something else?”

She shrugs, dropping her gaze, and her flush- which had only just started to fade- returns with a vengeance.

“No comment,” she says stiffly, picking at a loose thread.

“Aw, come on princess-”

“I really rather not-”

“How embarrassing can it be?”

“Surprisingly, very,” she says self deprecatingly.

He continues to nudge her repeatedly with his foot, until she kicks him again, this time harder and he grins. “You’re so fucking annoying,” she tells him.

“I spend my days around teenagers; it was bound to diffuse over eventually.”

“No, you were still annoying before you started teaching,” she says. “Perhaps moreso.”

He nudges her again, “Stop trying to change the subject.”

“Because I like this one,” she snaps, rolling her eyes. “Are you happy now? I like this one and it looks good on you and I was sad you stopped wearing it.”

It’s a lot to take in, Clarke standing there, chest heaving and cheeks painted red as she looks anywhere but at him.

Bellamy swallows thickly, and then, ever so slowly, he lets his fingers slip into hers.

“If it helps, you look good in it,” he says, trying to keep his voice light despite the fact that it feels like his heart has migrated up to his throat, thudding loudly. “Probably even better than me.”

“It’s not that hard to look better than you,” she teases, but she also squeezes his fingers back in return.

“I’m trying to have a moment here, goddammit,” he huffs, even as a truly stupid smile tugs at the corners of his lips. “You’ve ruined the moment, Clarke, I hope you’re happy.”

She ducks her head, and a soft chuckle slips out. “Sorry for ruining your moment,” she says, “Carry on now. I’ll behave.”

“I don’t think I want to,” he replies, just to be difficult.

“Such a baby,” she grins widely, and twists their hands so that their fingers are linked. “I don’t even know why I like you.”

“Well, I don’t even know why I like you,” he counters, even as he tugs her closer.

As far as romantic declarations go, it’s not his finest moment, nor is it how he ever pictured letting her in on his little secret, but then Clarke is still grinning as she slides onto his lap, and his hands automatically go to her hips, holding her steady.

When he leans in to kiss her, it’s like a bowstring being released, and a flood of relief rushes out of him when her hand twines into his hair, pressing her lips firmly against his. They trade languid kisses back and forth, so slow and soft and sweet that Bellamy is certain that he would melt right at that moment. There’s nothing else left in this world, nothing but Clarke, Clarke, Clarke, all smooth skin, and breathy sighs, and a curtain of gold hair that falls around them when he manages to get the elastic out.

Neither of them go far when they part; she rests her head on his shoulder for a moment, breathing him in, and he shift his arm to loop around her waist, pulling her closer.

“Hi,” she says, bumping her nose against his jaw. There’s a gigantic grin splitting her face, and Bellamy is certain that it’s mirrored on his own.

“Hi,” he replies, kissing her forehead.

“As much as I’m sure I look good in your shirt, I’m also sure that I’ll look good out of it too,” she breathes, pointedly rocking down on top of him as she presses their foreheads together. “Maybe even better.”

He just laughs, pulling her back down for a searing kiss, during which Clarke takes the chance to lick the mirth out of his mouth, and he lets his free hand rest against her neck, feeling her fluttering pulse.

“Well we’ll just have to find out, don’t we?” he says, after he pulls away, and then stands suddenly, making her shriek and wrap her limbs around him so that she doesn’t fall.

“You’re such a dick,” she laughs once she regains her footing, still leaning into him with her arms around his neck.

“But you like me,” he says cheekily, and her smile turns into something softer, more intimate.

“Yeah,” she murmurs, playing with the ends of his hair, “yeah, I like you.”

It feels like his heart has expanded several sizes in the past few minutes, and he’s about to float away with how happy he’s become. Instead, he just cups her jaw, thumb swiping over her cheekbone as he says, “I like you too,” and then kisses her once more, just because he can.

#bellarke fanfiction #bffwritingteam #a: hiddenpolkadots #title: and i thought you might be mine #OneShots #modern au #roommates

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fitplanetmag-blog · 8 years ago

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LET’S TALK ABOUT LYCRA

You know what we mean: how do you tell someone you love what their skin-tight sportswear really looks like from behind. Or in front. Our resident comedienne and sometime Lycra-fan gets it out in the open.

There's a dream I keep having that I like very much. I’m riding an upright turquoise bicycle with a basket on the front. There is wind in my hair (dreams are unregulated) and freedom in my soul. Clearly, after a childhood spent riding a Raleigh Twenty round the neighborhood and early-adulthood navigating a mountain-bike on lakeside tracks, some part of me has a hankering to get back on a bicycle.

Just not the part of me that would have to wear Lycra.

Lycra and I have a complicated relationship. Back in the 80s when leggings were one of that decade's fashion crimes (see also "bubble skirt") I had a purple pair with a glossy finish. Lycra and I met at Jazzercize but could soon be seen together dancing at parties. Lycra made me believe I was long and limber – to the touch, these were life-size doll's legs, smooth and faultless. I was Madonna in a music video. Or Cyndi, or Olivia.

I loved those leggings so much, I knitted them a pair of matching leg-warmers in purple and green. With the benefit of hindsight and rare surviving photographic evidence, I actually looked like a dancing grape.

So I loved Lycra once. And attempted a reunion recently for yoga. Pulled a striking pair off the rack, all black-and-white Chanel-inspired chic, and hauled them on. The old flame of affection was rekindled. There it was – that firm embrace, the soothing smoothness, gravity being defied. But in the mirror, the overall effect reminded me of something – not a bad thing, just something I didn't necessarily want to be. And then it hit me. An orca.

Because Lycra is not actually magic. It is science – chemistry, specifically – a fabric invented in 1958 by American chemist, Joseph Shivers. Six decades later, Joseph possibly would shiver at how far his polyester-polyurethane copolymer had travelled from his lab out into the world.

Like to the beach, and the (surely) unintended consequence of his invention, the Speedo. No-one could have meant to invent that. Largely replaced in my neck of the woods now by the board-short, I noticed while visiting Italy a few months ago that the Speedo is still very much a thing there. It even comes in white. Perhaps in a country where the sartorial baseline is Michelangelo's David, a tiny scrap of translucent Lycra is comparatively demure.

Don't get me wrong – bless Shivers and his cotton-elastane-mix socks for gifting us the flexible, seamless, stretchy, quick-dry, no-bite comfort of the bicycle pant. When I see a flying wedge of road cyclists heading up a highway, no bunching visible except in their collective formation, I think, "Cheers to you, Joe, for enabling these gentlemen to embrace fresh air and exercise without risking a rash".

But it's a slightly different thing ten minutes later when I'm halfway through my latte and those very same MAMILs (middle-aged-men-in-lycra) pour into the cafe and stand about sweatily and you realize that, while Lycra may hide a multitude of sins, it doesn't hide the mortal ones. And you're trying not to look but you're sitting and they're standing and you're trying to think what it all reminds you of and then one of them orders a meatball wrap and you think, "Ah, yes, that's it exactly."

"Context" is all I'm saying. And a touch of self-awareness. Bike shorts might make you feel like Bradley Wiggins but look decidedly Spongebob Squarepants. Or Foghorn Leghorn. No-one has ever mistaken some dude in trackpants stocking up on beer and nachos at the supermarket for Usain Bolt pre-race, right? Same rule applies here.

Which doesn't mean we shouldn't try. I'm not say "no Lycra", just suggesting "Lycra-plus" – a long t-shirt, strategic bum-bag, an over-short perhaps. And stay on the bike.*

Meanwhile, if you spot an orca on a turquoise bicycle – wind in her hair, freedom in her soul – it could be me. Lycra and I are giving it another shot.

* Alternatively, you can combine the liberating feel of lycra with the endorphin-inducing effects of cycling in a truly ‘safe’ setting – the cycle studio. Step into a cycle studio and not only will you be at home with a pack of lycra lovers, you’ll get a damn good workout too. RPM is a great place to start…

Written by Michele A’Court

Michele A’Court is an award-winning New Zealand-based comedian, columnist and author. http://micheleacourt.com

If you want more health and fitness inspiration simply sign up to Fit Planet and get the freshest insights and advice straight to your inbox.

#fit planet #funny #fitness #health #exercise #wellbeing #activewear #workout #workout gear #gear #fit #comedian #lycra #active #fitspo #fitblr #fitspiration

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lemontwst · 4 years ago

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Nessun Dorma | 01 - m!ver.

he says i am sorry i am not an easy person to want i look at him surprised who said i wanted easy i don’t crave easy i crave goddamn difficult

❥ 𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: harem x m!reader. | female version here.

❥ 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: cyoa + smut.

⟶ index | prologue.

You can’t say no to him.

"I love you, Mira."

Your heart flutters at your own words and for a second you don't even know if you mean that as a friend or as a lover. But, well, you're only sixteen years old. You have a lifetime to figure it out.

You think Mira stops breathing, but it's hard to tell because the rise and fall of his chest is usually pretty much imperceptible anyway.

“I… I love you too.”

You suddenly feel very tired.

His gentle voice is like a lullaby in this field of roses. His words leave you dazed, like he’s casting a spell on you.

“I love you, (y/n).”

The last thing you hear is Mira wishing you a happy birthday before you fall into a warm, comfortable sleep without dreams.

___

A sharp pain in your chest jerks you awake.

It fucking hurts, like your heart is being pierced by a shard of glass. Like the fissures of your very existence are being pulled apart at the seams.

You clutch the spot above your heart, almost elbowing Epel in the face with all your trashing, trying to catch your breath.

"Sorry! I… had a nightmare… I think.”

Your friend is used to it by now, “Do you remember what it was about?”

"No… not really."

"Nothing at all?

"No, just…"

"Green eyes." Epel finishes the sentence for you. You've been having the same nightmare for a while, and your friend knows all about it, considering he sleeps right next to you most of the time.

Green eyes. Burning emerald. It's all you remember, alongside a gut wrenching, heart shattering feeling of longing that stays with you long after you've woken up.

"... Hey, you okay?" You must have looked as miserable as you feel, because Epel leans closer to you, peering into your face with worry in his eyes.

"Yeah… it's just a stupid dream." You shrug, leaning your head against his shoulder, "But you know what would make me feel better?"

Epel shrugs, but the way his brow crinkles tells you he's already prepared himself for whatever dumb thing you're about to say.

He knows you too well.

"I'd feel sooo much better if I had an additional piece of toast for breakfast today…" you sigh dreamily and Epel sighs.

"Fine." He shrugs you off and stands up. When he stretches, a peek of white skin flashes under his light blue shirt.

"What, really?" Your eyebrows shoot up. It's not usually this easy to get him to hand over his morning toast.

You're rushing after him immediately.

He can’t claim the bread if he’s dead.

___

You live a simple, happy life here in the Village of Harvest.

Sure, your days might not be terribly exciting. You don't have things like a mall, or a cinema or… anything invented after the seventeenth century, really, but you have Epel and your grandparents and that's enough.

Oh, and you have Beau.

The little lamb trots towards you as soon as you're out of the house, your belly full with toast and Grandma's delicious apple jam, and starts nibbling at your socks immediately.

"Good morning, sweetie." You pick up Beau in a swift movement and hold him to your chest with one arm, carrying a wicker basket in the other, "Ready to pick some apples?"

Beau starts nibbling on your hair in response. This little guy… he's always munching.

"Just make sure he doesn't actually eat the apples." Epel starts walking in front of you, throwing Beau an unimpressed look.

You can't be sure but you feel like Beau is glaring back at him.

Sigh. Children.

___

…

“In any case, I won’t be able to celebrate with you tomorrow.”

You feel like you already know where this is going.

Not granting you the chance to run away, the man picks you up like you weigh nothing and gently lowers you over the roses.

"I don't… I don't even know you." You meekly push at his chest, turning your head away. It's like trying to move a mountain, and the hardness under your hands makes you blush something fierce.

His adoring voice, barely a whisper against your skin, leaves you dazed and gasping for air. Your legs open almost instinctively for him, your dick wet with excitement. A clawed hand makes his way from your shoulder to your side, slowing down when it passes over your chest breast as if he's indulging in the forbidden fruit. His fingers glide inside your shorts and he runs a slow circle against the humid head of your member, eager to soak in your juices.

"Mi… ra?"

His eyes dart to yours and you think they're actually burning. Emerald flickers to life. His snake pupils shrink. He makes a show of slowly running his thumb down his tongue, leaving a trail of precum behind. Your stomach clenches with need, your entire body lighting up like he just poured gasoline on you and burned it with a match.

"It's what you call me." It's a habit of his to sound both sad and adoring, you realize. You open your mouth to scold him for being so cryptic, but snap it shut when his hands rest on your chest. He palms the taut flesh gently, a small smirk on his arrogant face, "My precious Deerlet. Always so insatiably curious."

His thumbs slowly circle your hard nipples. Little jolts of electricity run down your spine, your chest growing sensitive under his ministrations. It's agonizingly slow. The sweet way he rubs you through the fabric of your shirt makes you quiver with need, your voice coming out in short little gasps that make his eyes darken to a dangerous jade.

You lay your hand on top of his. You can feel his hard veins move under your palm as he gropes you, and the sensation sends another wave of arousal down your crotch. Shaking like a frightened animal, you slowly move his hand to the side and slide it under your tank top. A gasp leaves you when his fingers touch your bare skin. Mira exhales a long, pained sigh through his nose, then allows his digits to explore the expanse of your flesh. His fingertips tingle and his muscles tighten almost violently as the impulse to fuck you threatens to overtake him.

"Patience, daelin." He teases you, his deep voice a heated, playful murmur. Your dick throbs in response. A small, frustrated whine leaves your lips.

"I'm going to savor every moment of this." He takes his hand away and your heart almost breaks, but the pain is soon replaced by scalding embarrassment when he rips the front of your shirt apart, easily, like it's tissue paper.

"Mira!" You're sobbing at this point. Your body is on fire and your dick hurts from the lack of attention, "Please—" He moves to your other nipple and you arch for him, making a pretty line with your back. Mira takes this chance to slip a hand under you, keeping your chest raised to his mouth so that your head falls back, away from the dangerous tips of his horns. But he still doesn't touch you where you want him.

Suddenly, another memory comes to mind, as if summoned by your sexual frustration. You remember something that makes him shiver without fail, and suddenly you feel like you've regained some sort of power over this arrogant man. You bring a hand to his horn and tug and the loud, startled moan that leaves him is enough to satisfy the hunger in your stomach, precum leaking in your shorts like dew against the fabric.

You try not to look too offended that he stopped touching you, giving him a defiant look that makes his smirk grow wider, "It is when the King is mean to his Queen."

You yelp when he grabs the back of your knees and pushes your legs against your body in a quick, rough movement, leaving you spread open and helpless under his watchful gaze.

It's like he's speaking the words directly into your ears. His voice bounces off the walls in your head, heated and demanding as a spark of his magic runs over your sensitive skin. It's a tingly feeling that makes your heart stutter, more intimate than anything you've ever felt. He shares just a fraction of his arousal with you through the link between your magic and his and suddenly you're crying and convulsing on top of the flowers, the heat between your legs akin to flowing magma.

No no no, he can't do that to you. Not now. Not during your first time. He wants to cherish and protect you. He won't let his feral instincts get in the way of this precious moment…

"...I know."

Malleus opens his eyes. A small, tired smile greets him. Your face is sweaty and flushed, like that one time he took you deep into the woods.

"I trust you, Mira."

Love washes over him like high tide across a deserted shore, filling every crack on his eroded heart, replacing the pitch-black ink that constantly threatens to swallow him.

You trust him. Of course you do. You love him. You are his and he is yours. Forever, like you promised him.

"You already did."

He snorts, "I'll make you feel better."

You let out a surprised gasp when he slips your shorts off of you and lowers his face right between your legs. You hear him take a deep breath and then he's exhaling right against your engorged dick. Your legs tremble in response and Mira chuckles. You don't need to look at him to know he's smiling that closed-eye smile you like so much.

Your excitement flares back to life as his tongue traces a slow line from the base to the head. The split in his tongue feels… weird, but it's also strangely erotic, and you can't help but moan shamelessly as he teases your urethra. Then he runs his tongue flat over your glans and suddenly you can't bear to look at him anymore. Your eyes squeeze shut as little earthquakes shake you from head to toe, your hips going numb as he draws slow circles around the sensitive head.

"Which one feels better?" He has the nerve to ask you even as you convulse under him.

"The tip…" he greedily sucks on your glans and your head falls back, precum dripping out of you like a fucking river and coating his face in a lucid sheen of arousal, "Or the base?" He drags his tongue down the shaft and gently sucks on your ballsack and you nearly lose your mind, your hands tangling in his raven hair and gripping his horns for comfort. Mira gasps loudly against you, claws digging into your legs from the shock of the sudden stimulation, but you don't even notice it, lost as you are on the edge of your release. He brings a hand to your shaft and starts pumping, coating his fingers in precum and saliva as he continues to suck on your glans hungrily.

Your dick throbs desperately with the need to shoot your semen all over Mira's face. Everything feels wet and hot and stars, his tongue is lapping up everything you have to give him. It's like he's desperate not to let even a single drop go to waste…

"Mira!" You cry out in a broken voice, trying to grind your dick up into his eager mouth, "Mira—I'm going to—"

He suddenly lets go of one of your legs. The boneless limb falls over his shoulder, your soft thigh caressing the side of his soaked face. He doesn't grace you with a warning before one of his wet fingers plunges into your asshole, the tight passage clenching in shock at the sudden intrusion.

Your moans increase in volume. You trash under him as if you want to get away. This is almost too much. It's scary. He pumps his index finger in and out of you, smearing saliva all over your walls, then he presses that sensitive button inside you and suddenly the bliss is debilitating. He carefully stretches your cute little hole until he can push another finger in. Your back arches as another orgasm crashes over you, scalding hot and earth-shattering and too fucking vivid for this to be just a dream.

You completely miss the dazed expression on Mira's face when your cum fills his mouth, the dark jade of his eyes fading into a glassy mint.

You're so out of it as you slump back against the roses that you almost don't hear him when he speaks again.

"This scent is—addicting—" his chest heaves and he looks almost intoxicated, "I feel like I'm getting drunk on you..." semen drips off his chin but he clearly doesn't mind. Not when he starts wiping the thick liquid off with a hand before bringing it to his mouth, swallowing as much of it as he can. It's strange how he looks like an animal and a prince at the same time. An otherworldly creature of indescribable beauty, even as he eagerly eats your essence off his face.

He lets his hot member fall against your stomach. He’s fucking huge, you stare with wide eyes at the point where his length ends across your abdomen.

"It… it won't fit…" You mumble, even as your inexperienced asshole clenches with traitorous want.

It's so big. Your vision goes out of focus as your hole clenches around him greedily despite the pain. Stars, it's stretching you so well. He tried to prepare you for this and yet he still has to push to enter you because you're so fucking tight. Your legs shake uncontrollably, the feeling of being so thoroughly filled wiping out every thought in your head.

Mira is inside you. You completely forget that this is a dream, that sentence repeating inside your head over and over again.

"...Small." He mutters. You look at him and your heart almost collapses at the tender expression on his face. You think his pupils might have turned into little hearts, a light blush dusting his pale cheeks as sweat drips off his hair and chin.

…

...

Fuck. Your heart lodges in your throat and your hole clenches around him, coaxing a surprised moan from both your lips.

"(y/n)..." your name sounds heavenly when he says it like that. On a quiet, vulnerable gasp.

"I… I'm going to start moving now, okay?"

"My (y/n)—" He eases into a steady rhythm, pushing what he can of his shaft inside you and rubbing your abused prostate with every thrust of his powerful hips. Sweat pours down his face, his hair sticks to his chin and his tongue swipes the salt off his lips, "My sweet boy—my cute little Deerlet—" His waist snaps back into your smaller one in short strokes, his movements growing more and more frenzied as tight, magma hot pleasure builds inside him. The obscene sounds that fill the air turn him on so much he's now full-blown moaning. His beautiful voice calls your name shamelessly, desperately, like you could disappear from under him at any given moment.

"I love you—you're mine—" He growls placing a large hand under your ass as he pounds into you, keeping your hips locked to his, loving the way your dick bounces against his stomach, “Say that you’re mine."

The order resonates inside your head. You're not even offended that he's using his magic to intimidate you. You can barely cling to your consciousness at this point.

"I am—I'm—yours, Mira!" You don't even know which way is up anymore, but you know that what you're saying is true. You belong to him. Your best friend. The love of your life.

The loud "Fuck!" that leaves his mouth pushes you over the edge, the word unexpected but so fucking sexy coming from his graceful mouth. You clench down around him, delirious as stars explode behind your vision, and drag him right over the edge with you.

Malleus holds you so close to him you feel like you might melt into each other as he releases pulse after shuddering pulse of his essence into you.

"I love you." He mutters, voice breaking.

...

He's crying. That lone thought destroys something inside you and you start feverishly kissing his jaw, his cheek, his neck, anything you can reach as you try to soothe him.

Don't cry don't cry don't cry—

You feel him starting to fade in your arms. You can feel yourself starting to fade.

Nonononono— Maker, please—

He pulls away from you and you finally see his face.

You scream out his name, his real name.

…

And then you wake up, sobbing all over yourself, unable to remember.

Epel tries his best to comfort you, but you don't stop crying for a long time.

___

Life goes on.

You have a part-time job at a beach bar, on the coastline that extends about 60 miles away from the village.

"See you later, Beau." You chuckle, knowing he will go back to the farm as soon as he gets bored. Beau ignores you and munches away.

You always think about him when you’re riding this bus.

…

You should probably stop being so obsessed with him.

___

The sun is almost in the middle of the sky when you get to the beach bar, and as per usual, it's a crowded mess. This is the infernal hour, and not only because it's hot as sin.

…

Why do you work here again?

…

Because the pay is good, and your coworker is cute.

"Now move your bum and go change. I need my sla—coworker to serve some tables outside.”

Figures. His lazy ass hates leaving the coolness of the bar to handle the customers sitting outside.

“Is that how you ask for favors, Ruggie?~" You tease him as you step behind the counter and head for the changing rooms in the back.

"I'd smooch ya as a treat but snoggin's not allowed in front of the children." He gives you a cheeky smile. One of the moms around the bar throws him a glare, but he shamelessly ignores it.

You shake your head and grin to yourself. At least you have him around to make this job a little more bearable.

___

Ruggie snorts next to you. He finishes cleaning a beer glass and places it back on the decorative shelf behind you, “Says the one who only works half a shift.”

The sun is starting to set. The blue sky fades into a gentle orange above the deep indigo of the calm sea. Your shift is almost over, but Ruggie will have to stay here for a while longer.

"I'm not a masochist like you." Your eyes follow him as he wipes, cleans, moves, washes and dries plates and glasses at half the speed it takes you to do it. He's like a super cleaning pro.

"Ye gotta work if you want ta eat." He pops open a can of peach tea, then pours it in a glass filled with ice.

You choke.

He laughs that kishishishi sound.

As you wipe your mouth with your wrist and send him a half-assed glare, a familiar sparkle sizzles the air between you.

You bask in the sudden heat for a second, watching as Ruggie's blue-gray eyes trace a slow path down your body.

But something you can't help but wonder… would he act on it if you two were alone and away from trying eyes? Would you act on it? Ruggie is very cute… and witty and funny and reliable...

...

"Uh…" Ruggie suddenly looks away, his cheek tinged the lightest shade of pink, "You may uh… want to take that shirt off, kitten."

...

What?

You look at him like he's grown another head.

"Excuse me?" You must have sounded more outraged than you feel, because your voice sends Ruggie into an embarrassed panic.

"N-not like that! It's just…! You've been sweating a lot and your shirt's gone transparent! I can see everythin' from here— I mean, what if a perverted old man walks in and sees you like that?"

You look down at your white shirt. It wasn't visible while you were wearing your green apron, but you can indeed see the outline of your nipples peek out from under the wet fabric, and you figure your wet back looks the same. Oops.

"Ah shit, sorry I didn't notice." You stand up and Ruggie turns his head away at the speed of light.

"No no… s'fine I have— a jacket you can wear while you walk home if ya need it."

Your lips quirk in a grateful smile as you head for the changing room, "Thank you! You're the best, Ruggie!"

"Yeah, yeah…" he breathes, quietly rubbing his temples as soon as you're out of the room.

___

And yet he still does it anyway.

Maybe he really is a masochist.

And maybe he should actually bend you over this counter and finally get rid of the frustration that's been building up inside him for the past two months.

Ruggie pours himself a glass of ice-cold water and downs it in one gulp.

Yeah, he's fucked.

___

"Epel! Carry me!~" You cling to your friend, Grandma and Grandpa chuckling at your antics from the sofa and the armchair respectively.

Having finished washing the dishes, Epel wipes his hands on a dishcloth and pushes you away with his elbow, "No thanks. I'm tired too ya know."

"If you're this tired then why don't ya just quit the beach job already?"

The two of you step outside, greeted by the loud crying of the cicadas. There's not a cloud above you, the stars clearly visible in the inky blue of the night.

"I can't do that. Ruggie needs me."

Epel scoffs. It's the exact same sound he made when he saw you come home wearing your coworker's jacket.

You do so happily, nuzzling into him like a spoiled cat.

A pair of emerald eyes flashes behind your eyelids, but you shrug it off.

"Sorry but I'm too drunk to go back to the beach to ask him."

"Only you can get drunk after two glasses of apple cider." Epel smirks, ignoring you when you hit his arm and start whining again.

You lay down onto Epel's checkered blanket like a starfish.

"Where am I supposed ta sleep? On the ground?" Epel turns the lantern off, then lights the incense to keep away mosquitoes and other bugs and places it on the windowsill.

He turns towards you with his hands on his hips, watching as you lay in your shared nest without a care in the world, and sighs. So spoiled.

"You can sleep on top of me, I don't care."

Epel almost chokes on his saliva.

You laugh at his flustered face. It almost looks like he's angry, eyes wide and an outraged blush on his cheeks.

You open your arms for him, "Come on! It's not like we won't end up in this position in the morning anyway."

…

“Do you do this with Ruggie too?”

Epel mutters so quietly you almost don’t hear him. He doesn’t say it accusingly just… like he’s sulking.

“... What?” Any semblance of sleep disappears from your mind as you catch his dejected tone of voice, “You mean like hugging?— Of course not.” You bring a hand to his hair and scratch his skull like you know he likes it, and you feel him relax in your arms.

…

“Have you ever kissed him?”

Okay, now you’re definitely wide awake.

You look down at him, trying to catch his expression, “Epel, what are you talking about?”

He raises his head and pins you down with a demanding, silvery gaze. You sigh and lay your head back down, closing your eyes as you think of the best way to answer him.

“I haven’t kissed him.” You open your eyes and catch Epel’s expression shift just a little. He tries to keep an impassive front, but you can tell he’s relieved, “But I’ve never kissed you either.” You could maybe understand the cuddle comparison, since Epel is your designated snuggle friend, but who you kiss or don’t kiss shouldn’t matter to him.

Right?

“... Do you want to?”

… He's not. His eyes dart to your lips and darken, like there's a thunderstorm inside his gaze. Soft blue turns to rainy gray.

Do you want to?

…

"Yes." You think Epel stops breathing, but you don't have time to think about it because he's suddenly leaning towards you, stopping only when his lips are a few centimetres away from yours.

His labored breaths fan your lips and send a flurry of tingles down your abdomen…

___

❥ How do you handle this situation with Epel?

⟶ Touch him, claim him, make him beg for the next kiss. With the way he’s always clinging to you, you suspect this is what Epel has always wanted anyway. (dom!deerlet content)

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