#it so supremely bothers me the rest of their family on that side drops them as well | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

matthewtkachuk · 4 years ago

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feel something pt 1 - jj

On the outside, you’re a kook princess with a seemingly perfect life and a perfect family. The expectations are suffocating you, to the point where the only thing you feel is numb. You’re chasing different coping mechanisms in order to feel something. Until a chance encounter with a certain blond pogue you know you’re supposed to hate gives rise to a different kind of feeling.

Warnings: angst, toxic behaviour, poor coping mechanisms, drug usage, mentions of sex, mentions of suicidal ideations (brief), Rafe being a grade a asshole, shitty parents

Pairings: JJ x reader (eventually), Rafe x reader (slight), Topper x reader (slight)

Words: 3.1k

A/N: I accidentally deleted this, ugh sorry if you see this again!! I started off wanting to write a supremely angsty one shot, turned into a supremely angsty multi-chapter fic. This is a slow burn, babyy. Here’s the set up, let me know what you think! :)

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You stand teetering on the edge of the balcony railing, barefoot and facing the waves as they crash onto the beach. You’re not thinking about jumping. At least you’re pretty sure you won’t actually jump. Really you’re just looking for even a flicker of an emotion to stir up in your chest. Lately you haven’t felt anything more than mild annoyance at your parent’s constant bickering and pestering. You know you’re too young, but all you feel anymore is numb. You lift your left leg, balancing precariously on the right for a minute before lowering it and returning to the balcony and slipping your heels back on.

You don’t want to die, you just don’t want to live like this. Kook princess, paraded and practically pimped around by your parents, looking for you to find an advantageous marriage, have 2.5 kids and further accumulate your hoarded wealth. “Why don’t you date the Cameron boy? He’s quite good looking and your father would love it if you married his business partner’s son” and “The Thornton boy would be a good match, the family mansion is the largest” and “Jacob Kane’s father is a name partner at a successful law firm on the mainland”. Your mother’s incessant nagging about finding the perfect husband only further cements your lack of value as a human being, your usefulness tapped out at your ability to be someone’s wife.

You don’t understand the wealth accumulation thing, your trust fund probably equals the national budget of a small country already, and there’s no way anyone could blow through the entire family fortune in a single generation. At this point, it just feels like generating wealth for the sake of generating it. What good is money if it just sits in a bank account or investment portfolio, earning passive income and not being used for anything.

You recognize you’re very privileged, you’ve never once had to worry about where your next meal would come from, you have a closet full of designer handbags and red bottom shoes the value of which could feed several families on the Cut. But what’s the cost? You feel suffocated by the pressure bestowed upon you by your parents. You’re the eldest sibling, primary heiress to the Y/L/N family fortune and expected future successor of the family business. Truthfully, you couldn’t give less of a fuck about retail development or whatever it is that keeps your father so busy that he missed every single one of your piano and ballet recitals growing up. You like the idea of studying Shakespeare’s sonnets and soliloquies over learning about mergers and acquisitions and tax avoidance laws at college, but you know your father would sooner cut you off than let you pursue your own passions.

Sometimes you let yourself fantasize about leaving it all behind, running off to some college like Columbia, moving to New York and living in the city that never sleeps. With your 4.0 GPA and stellar extracurricular activities, you could probably get a pretty good scholarship. Or maybe Paris, where you would sit in a cute little café flirting with French boys and writing poetry by the Seine River. But it would be hard, and you’re too much of a coward to see if you could make it on your own without daddy’s money. Not to mention the little voice in the back of your head that sounds suspiciously like your mothers telling you that you’ll never amount to anything without their help.

Later, you’re wandering the party, both hands curled tightly around the cup you hold to your lips, eyes staring out at the crowd over the rim. Unfortunately, you catch Rafe Cameron’s eye as he’s sat around the coffee table with a freshly cut white line ready on the surface. He’s surrounded by the idiots he calls friends and more than one pretty little rich girl making eyes at him. The left corner of his mouth turns up in a smirk as he realizes you’ve sized up the company around him.

“Hey Y/L/N, want a line? First one’s on me, babe.” He calls out at you, but you just roll your eyes and keep moving forward. As desperate as you are to feel something, you’re not sure you can cross that line just yet. Partaking in the occasional joint or bong rip is one thing, but hard drugs is another. You don’t think trading in the empty feeling in your chest for an addiction is worth it. Seeing the blown out pupils of some of your peers, and the way they not-so-discreetly sniff and wipe at their noses you realize you’re likely alone in that assessment. “Your loss!” he calls out at your retreating form, and you don’t even bother to look over your shoulder. You know he’s not really interested in you beyond making you a customer and maybe a quick fuck.

You snort to yourself, wondering what your mother would think about the boy she wanted you to pursue offering you a line of coke at a party. Knowing her, she would focus on the fact that you had gained his attention and ignore the illicit substance.

Making your way through the cluster of bodies is harder than you had initially thought, everyone was on everyone. Every kook party ends up this way, a certain subset of the group coked out and the rest so drunk they can’t function, and you begin to wonder why you even bothered coming.

You’re not totally sure what you’re looking for, your best friend and Rafe’s younger sister Sarah doesn’t really associate with this crowd anymore ever since she started spending all her time with the less fortunate side of the island. Rafe had called it ‘slumming with those dirty fucking pogues’ the last time Sarah had partied with you. Maybe it isn’t right to call her your best friend anymore because not only does she not associate with this crowd, she doesn’t really associate with you either.

You know she’s hanging with Kie again, there are a lot of watchful eyes on the island and even more flapping lips. It’s kind of ironic, Sarah was the one who convinced you to drop Kie, and you had let her. Now the two of them were spending all their time together on some dilapidated boat named after the inhabitants of the Cut and you were alone at some lame party with a heavy weight on your chest and under your eyes.

Sighing deeply, you down the rest of the contents of your cup and grab a refill before turning your attention back to the crowd of people in the middle of the living room. As your brain starts to fog further with the familiar feeling four vodka crans give you, you let Topper put his hands on your hips and pull your bodies close together, your back to his front. A voice in the back of your mind wonders if you’re supposed to feel guilt over Sarah’s ex’s hands all over your body, but you don’t feel anything and Sarah clearly doesn’t give a fuck about you either.

The next morning you wake up with Topper’s hands around your bare waist. There’s a pain radiating against your skull and you have cotton mouth, but you quietly gather your clothes and sneak out of the room before the sleeping blonde can wake up and give you that regretful look he gets in his eyes every time you hook up. You know he still loves Sarah, in his own fucked up way and though you don’t regret where you woke up, you know you’ll just be annoyed if you have to deal with his issues this early in the morning with this bad of a hangover.

You’ve almost successfully left the large mansion, quietly walking through the living room to the front door when a voice remarks dryly, “Really, y/n? I thought you were better than my sister’s leftovers.”

Inhaling through your nose and out your mouth sharply, you spin on your heel to face Rafe with a blank expression on your face. He sits at the kitchen island, bare-chested with his hat on backwards, casually eating a bowl of cereal. The thought of why exactly Rafe is sitting half naked in Topper’s kitchen, eating Topper’s cereal briefly flashes through your mind but you decide you don’t care. “What do you care Rafe?” you ask, only half interested in his response. There’s a moment of silence, and you pick at your fingernails rather than meet his gaze.

“I’m just saying, I thought you were better than that,” he shrugs, bringing another spoonful to his mouth.

You roll your eyes, already tired of the conversation, “And who, pray tell, is better for me?”

“Me of course,” he smirks at you, and you huff out an annoyed laugh and raise an eyebrow silently asking him to explain. “Come on princess, I know your parents want you to marry up. ‘m your best option on this island”.

Mildly annoyed, you roll your eyes and turn back towards the front door, eager to leave this conversation behind. “C’mon baby, we both know how this thing ends, with you on my arm as the perfect trophy wife.”

There was a time those words might have brought butterflies in your stomach. Growing up best friends with Sarah meant you also grew up with Rafe, and you used to have the biggest crush on him. Forbidden by Sarah after a late night game of truth or dare, you didn’t use to mind when your mother would spout off about Rafe being the perfect boy for you. He used to look out for you like he did for Sarah. But that was a long time ago, and he no longer cared about either of you anymore and you had to admit you couldn’t remember why you had ever thought him anything but repulsive. That was before the drugs and the untethered rage that always rests just under the surface of his skin, ready to be unleashed at the smallest slight. You might have married the little boy with the gap toothed smile who once punched Jacob Kane when you were in the second grade and he wouldn’t stop bothering you, but this Rafe wasn’t good for anything beyond a quick meeting in the dark.

If you had been able to feel anything, you might have snapped back at him, but you had no energy and honestly all you wanted was to shower in your own shower and collapse in your own bed, so you ignored his comment and slipped out the door.

It was a quick walk back to your house, and you snuck in quietly through the front door hoping no one was home and your dreams of slumbering until the early afternoon could be realized. Unfortunately, your mother sat on the cream colored chaise in the sitting room, clearly anticipating your arrival. Her eyes quickly scanned your appearance, your manolos held by the straps in your right hand, your sex hair and décolletage you were sure was covered in bites and bruises caused by overeager lips, before sighing.

“Y/n, darling, you have to stop this silly behaviour and settle down. Boys aren’t going to want to lock you down if they’ve already had you.” She criticizes, effectively slut-shaming you. You roll your eyes at that, briefly wondering if the old wives tale was true and you’d end up with your eyes stuck like that. You decide you don’t mind, it would save you some time as your base reaction to most interactions is to roll them.

“I had a rough night mom, I’d like to go back to bed,” you tell her as you try to slip past her. A cold hand circles your wrist, stiletto tipped manicure digging slightly into the skin stopping you from moving any further.

“I’m serious, y/n, you’re better than this.” She throws the same words Rafe had at you. Exasperated and exhausted you rip your wrist from her grasp and head to the stairs. “We’re not done talking about this!” she shouts but you ignore her and continue towards your nice shower and bed.

Rolling over to an empty bed several hours later, you grumble as you try to identify the source of your wakeup call. Cursing as you smack your arm against your side table, you finally manage to grab your ringing cell phone. Seeing RC flash as the contact calling, you groan loudly, before hitting the decline button and rolling back over. A minute later your phone chimes again, indicating a voice mail.

You figure there’s no point in drawing out the inevitable, so you unlock the phone and listen the voicemail Rafe left. He’s invited you to hang out with him and his friends on his dad’s yacht. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you’ve sent him a text to say you’d be there in an hour. Despite there being no love lost between you and Rafe, you really don’t have any better options and maybe if you tell your mom who you’re hanging out with she’ll get off your back and not subject you to The Lecture. You and Sarah used to laugh and joke about The Lecture, about how being a Y/L/N means being perfect and obtaining a perfect husband. The two of you would mock your mother, exaggerating her southern drawl that slipped out as she lectured you on the importance of propriety and ‘leaving something to the imagination’.

As you slip on a navy sundress with a deep neckline, you laugh, thinking to yourself that there’s not much left to leave to the imagination. You take the time to curl the ends of your hair to create a bouncy wave and apply a few coats of waterproof mascara and lip gloss. The humid heat of the OBX keeps your makeup routine light in the summer.

“And just where do you think you’re going?” Shit. Your dad’s home, he knows you stayed out all night, and he’s pissed. You don’t think your mom told him the full story, because he’s not frothing at the mouth mad, just his typical disappointed mad.

“Rafe invited a couple of friends to hang out on his dad’s yacht, daddy,” you reply back, not meeting his eyes.

You can tell your dad disapproves, because the lines between his eyebrows are more pronounced with his narrowed eyes. As he starts to give you what you’re sure is an impassioned lecture, your mother pops up out of nowhere, gushing, “Rafe? Well of course you can go sweetie, isn’t that right hon?” she turns to your dad, a single eyebrow raised daring him to defy her. Your parents are the ultimate power couple, wielding power and guilt over each other almost as easily as they try to do to you.

He sighs, realizing the fight with his vengeful wife isn’t worth the lesson you’re not going to learn anyway and nods, “Alright, just be back for supper, we’re going to sit down as a family tonight. And tell Sarah we said hi.”

If either parent noticed your stiffened back, they don’t comment on it. You hadn’t told them that Sarah dumped you like yesterday’s news just yet. Why blow a perfect cover story? Again, the lack of guilt should probably concern you, but you’re more focused on the very expensive, very good quality wine that you know is waiting for you on the Cameron’s yacht.

An hour later, you’re sitting between a very uncomfortable Topper and a disinterested Kelce with a full wineglass in your left hand. Your right hand slides your sunglasses back onto your eyes to shield them from the harsh sunlight that beats down directly on your face.

You can’t find the energy to strike up a conversation with either of them, and they don’t seem very inclined to start one either, so you turn your head to the side and look out at the water until you see a familiar beat up boat approaching. You visibly tense as your eyes lock on your blonde former best friend laughing with her arm around John B as their stupid friends talk and laugh around them. “You okay, y/n?” Kelce finally speaks, noticing your change in posture.

“Never better,” you drily reply moving to turn your head back to the other side of the yacht, as if the other boat on the water didn’t exist at all. Your eyes briefly flicker to the other blond on the boat, taut muscles on display beyond the ratty cut-off tank top as the pogue known as JJ attempts to wrestle with his friend Pope. You feel a drop in your stomach that perplexes you as your eyes scan his sunkissed skin. Startled, you turn your head quickly and take a huge sip of your wine.

You anticipated some sort of confrontation, maybe a thrown insult, but their boat simply eclipsed the yacht and they continued on their way. You were annoyed by the concerned look that Kelce threw your way after they had left, so you downed your glass and grabbed Rafe’s hand and all but dragged him inside the cabin.

The second the door shuts behind you, you’re on him, mouths mashing in a hungry kiss. He smirks against your mouth and leads you into the bathroom and proceeds to rid you of your clothes.

As you’re letting Rafe Cameron fuck you in the bathroom of his yacht, your mind can’t help but think you’re fucking over Sarah, too.

“Fuck baby, you feel so good,” he praises in your ear as he thrusts into you from behind. You don’t even have the energy to fake a moan, you just lean your head back against his shoulder.

When he’s finished, you simply slip your dress back on, refill your glass and sit back between Topper and Kelce as if they didn’t just hear you hook up with their best friend.

You go to bed early that night after a “nice family dinner” that consists of back-handed compliments and your mother fishing for details about your time on the yacht. You don’t think she’d be too pleased about letting Rafe ‘have you’ before ‘locking you down’, so you keep it to a minimum. Both parents drill it into your head that as a Y/L/N, you’re held to a higher standard than your peers. Perfect grades, perfect life, perfect daughter. You don’t know how to tell them you don’t even feel human anymore, so you smile and nod as they pester and nag. Your little sister sits quietly the whole time, looking at you with an emotion you can’t quite decipher.

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yn-dere · 4 years ago

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La sorcière • Y!K.TH

Synopsis: The goddess Ashtoreth seemed to have found her worshipper.

Ship/s: Photographer!Taehyung x Antagonist/seductress!Reader

Warning/s: Angst, Yandere/Dark themes, Manipulation, Mentions of killing, Bored and mean reader.

(Note: this takes place in the late 19th century)

'It is not the quality of the desired object that gives us pleasure, but rather the energy of our appetites'

~ Charles Baudelaire, The end of Don Juan

A dejected summer, that's what it was. The suffocating air that leaves you sweltering in your corset but I am anything but, naked on my cold feet with a cigar between those gentil fingers, sluggishly looking out from my apartment window into the florid affluent streets which were once quite and reserved. The sounds of playful squabbling, the occasional delightful squeals of children, the ecstatic laughter of women did nothing to soothe that covetous feeling throbbing at the pit of my stomach. Nor did the family of stars splattered all across the dark night sky with the dazzling moon nowhere to be seen. They seemed to be mocking me with every sparkle, impersonating my woe by disappearing this second only to come back and laugh at my face. Oh well. It hurts my chest as I exhale out the smog; I forgot that I even took a drag. Not even smoke can replace that void in my lungs now.

This moment is slightly pleasant though, accompanied by the crisp breeze that blows in through the drapes, strong enough to make my locks flutter and trigger my cigar to litter on the window railing (that I'm not bothering to clean anytime soon) but not enough to take the glum away with it. The only thing that found me pleasant enough to return. And... the troubled men that found home in my cosy and welcoming bed. Neither of them were guaranteed.

Thinking about men, I glance back into the dark room to spot the man I chose for the night. Blissfully sound asleep between my covers, with a small but radiant smile adorning his regal face. He really emulated the beautiful night sky, the baby constellation spreading across his portrait in the form of les grains de beauté. The way the light reflected off of his unblemished face puts la lune to shame, almost looking as if it is it's own light source. His beauty truly was bewitching and I would've felt envious of it if I didn't know any better.

If I didn't own an enormous dressing mirror in the corner which kept reflecting the street lights back onto my eyes; it was adorned with pink crystals, fresh roses and myrtles, white feathers and burnt out incense that left behind a soft but strong scent. It truly looked like an altar for venus herself, towering over me to have me take a look at the highly sexual, supremely confident, alluring female that offers endless pleasure and a bit of... danger. At least, that's what people men see. And I agree with it. I know the expression does sound like something that would come out of Narcissus' mouth as he stares into his reflection but can you really blame me?

It's the huge impact left on me by years and years of society misjudging me as just another pretty face in the crowd. No matter how hard I worked on something, it would always be de-emphasized. All the blood, sweat and tears only to be wasted because individuals couldn't see the nimble brain past the pleasant portrait. I wanted to stand out, and I did at times but.. not in the way I wanted to. But soon enough, I began to convince myself that maybe this isn't so bad at all, and wearily...

... I accepted it.

I accepted my place in the stupid community as one of those women, a blood sucking succubus is just how they saw me to be exact. Mind you, I've never stood sturdy in any of my subjects until I slowly started to abuse my power and it made me feel competent and sure enough I felt powerful enough to destroy families, to get someone to chase me so feverishly that they lose control but I guess I was never that valuable to keep nor was I important enough for someone to actually care about me. The only difference between your pompous narrator here and a poor mistress is that I don't have a fickle of hope nor do I really care enough about a particular visitor to be left heartbroken.

It still kills me to feel impotent at the end of the day (or the start of the day, when they leave me with nothing). I feel like THE FOOL, a frail dog chasing a car....

....But as the lonely sun finally decides to set to rest and the family of stars gets more discernable with every shimmer against the dark and misty horizon; I, once again find myself repeating history as if my life's a record on the phonograph. But as one get sick of listening to the same song over and over again, there's a momentary pause... and then an appalling revelation; it's seems as though you've been singing the most important part of the song, the chorus, wrong.

And suddenly I can grasp it all..

You see, lust is what makes one take a glance at you. Temptation is what makes them throw caution in the air, when they know they shouldn't. But is it really enough to keep the attention on you? Is the beauty really enough for the sirens who beckon sailors to their destruction? If that was the case, wouldn't mermaids be able to do the same? Love is-

"...h-hey?"

That deep voice...

Then suddenly, lean icy fingers grabbed my arm and pulled me back into reality just when I started inching through the darkness in my mind.

Oh God. How did I not see him wake up? Especially with the mess he made in an effort to get up from the bed? One of the pillows accompanied with the sheets are on the floor... those velvet covers are really hard to wash. I will never forgive him for that.

But my irritation soon turned into embarrassment when I pondered over how crazy I must have looked, naked while just staring into my mirror with a cigar in hand. Or what was left of it, the soft ash on my fingers, my bare breasts and one of my thighs.

"Is everything a-alright?" He questioned. I looked down to his palm which was still holding my arm with a firm grip. He followed my gaze, his eyes widening slighting as he quickly let it go. "I m-mean, you were kind of dazed off or something. I thought..." he muttered after clearing his throat in a futile attempt at ceasing the stuttering. "Yeah.. I was just thinking about something" I replied as I looked up at his eyes and his orbs that were just suffering with nervousness and uncertainty were now swimming in curiosity. I couldn't help but let a giggle get past my lips. He hummed in response as his brows furrowed. "about.. this." I uttered, feigning a bashful look. His brows furrowed even further, creating small lines on his otherwise smooth forehead. "What do you mean by "this" ?" He seems to have forgotten his tense stance and the risqué side of me wanted to bring it back so I tried. "Our liaison, everything we did and...." if it weren't for the pin drop silence in the room, I would've never heard his breath hitching as he waited for me to continue. "Us." I finished with a whisper...

... After what seemed like an eternity of waiting for him to answer, my patience wore thin so I couldn't help but gently poke his chest. It surely did broke the trance he was in and the cute timid man was back. "Uh- I- uhm" he stuttered, looking at everything but my presence. I slowly started to feel the disappointment building up in the bottom of my stomach. Why do I when I didn't even expected anything else? If this is the only way it can go for me, why not have a little fun? I couldn't help but let out a smirk which I covered in a second, hoping he didn't see it. "I might be quite racy at times but I don't just do this with anyone. I thought I told you in the tavern that if you are to leave, leave already..." as soon as I finished bluffing the sadness in my voice, I casted my eyes downwards at his feet as I anticipated the same white lies but they never came. I awaited the "I will never leave you", "you're the best thing that ever happened" or my personal favorite one " I have a wife and kids that I love very dearly" but he didn't say anything. And just as I was about to look up, the smooth dark honey voice cut me off.

"And I thought I told you that I didn't want to follow you back home for whatever fleshly pleasures you had to offer.." the hint of disappointment was evident. This was a new one to add in the book, eh? "But because my precious cameras are all in vain without your figure and your lively soul.. like an empty canvas to an artist with no references or muse." My ears couldn't help but perk up as he continued, " Sure, they might not be too good at capturing the enigma that is you as the films only render in shades of grey which evidently fails to recognize the different shades of your blush and the undertones, but this is all that I have..."

It's his time to wait as I, for the first time, didn't know what to say. He opened his lips once again "I would be lying if I said I didn't gravely fell in love the second I took my first glance at you months ago. Love at first sight was never my thing but you cleared all my doubts about the idea". I wanted to mock him and tell him about how lust in first sight is a thing, not love but I rather chose to humor him. "That's what they all said..." I slowly look up at his face, looking at each and every feature carefully leaving out his mors than intense eyes. "Who are "they"?" He asked with a slight fury in his voice and the sharp edge of the words spoken almost gashed my already tainted soul. I wish I didn't faked the courage and take a glance into his orbs since I saw the immense anger and hatred through his narrowed eyes as he scrutinized my very existence. I withered uncomfortably under his glare, already regretting opening my mouth without thinking.

"You seriously didn't just compare me to those men, did you? After everything I've done? After I got rid of those hideous women that had nothing else to do but spread nasty rumours about you because the same husbands that couldn't get it up for them were lusting after you? Because they couldn't hold their husbands accountable so they were threatened by you?" He took a sharp but shaky breath before continuing, "Or after I got rid of those men who bonded over their heinous fantasies about violating you?..." I cover my mouth, I feel like throwing up. Not because I don't want to/can't believe it but because this is alot of information to take in in a few minutes. I heard him sigh and his voice suddenly changed from being gruff to soft in a second as he saw my terrified look, "you see these hands, sweetheart?" He said in a slightly coaxing voice as he laid his large hand on top of mine, "They were only used to clicking pictures of everything beautiful and developing them but now, they're stained with shed blood of anyone who dared to lay a finger on you.... You made me this way. You made me so empathetically challenged. You did this."

Me? Me...

I did this. I made him this way.

"How could you have been so blind?"

How could I have been so blind?

Maybe I didn't give myself enough credit.

And as he continued to stare into my frame with such adoration that it reminded me of what I was thinking about before he startled me by waking up...

As I was saying previously, lust is what makes one take a glance at you. Temptation is what makes them throw caution in the air, when they know they shouldn't but it's still not enough to keep the attention on you. Love is. It is the greatest weapon of all. It's the most exceptional power that you can have over someone. Making them do what they never thought they ever would do, act in ways they might've mocked previous to meeting you, taking up any space in their mind that was left for rationality and instead plaguing it with sweet obsession. Not even fear dares to compete with love when it comes to power. If anything, they go hand in hand. It truly turns a mermaid to a siren.

Wow. It's not the family of stars that I envied, who would want to look like some aliens just jizzed all over the sky? I was made to be la lune, who with all her blemishes littering her skin still stood unfazed as her admirers wrote poems about her beauty. It's not the homely women that I envied, I have always been quite sophisticated but I just wanted to belong somewhere.

I wanted power over someone or something.

And the thought of me making this man do the most vile acts of crime that humanity cannot even begin to visualize in their brains flared up the familiar feeling of ascendency and competency but this time? It was about to stay. Why? Because he is to stay.

I softly smiled at that thought and slowly held my small hands up to his face to caress his cheeks. The shyness got to him as he squeezed his eyes shut to relish in the contact without having to look at my amused face. I could feel him slowly shaking under finger tips, his face was warm unlike the rest of his body. The effect that my small gesture had on him is unlike anything I've ever seen or experienced. This isn't vulgar, this is sensual. And sure, what I feel might not be love but it has one thing in common with it. It's a drug. A high we're both on, and not even my cigar, my only companion for so long can compete with it.

Let's see how long this lasts before I drain all life out of him... or maybe, this is forever but I doubt. Then again, he- wait a minute... what's his name, again? This is going to suck. As I was saying, he does like to surprise me so let's hope for the best.

"Okay, let's just forget we met like this... hello, my name's y/n", I reached out for his hand to shake with a small smile on my face. He erupted into giggles as he took my hand, "Nice to meet you y/n, this is taehyung." Taehyung. Oh taehyung. And suddenly the cheerful atmosphere turned into something sinister as I pulled him in.

"Taehyung, I am like a raging flame.. don't be a moth and get too close or I might destroy you" I whispered in my raspy voice, the smirk that played in my rouge lips being incredibly devilish along with that red unnatural glint in my eye.

"I want to be destroyed."

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matsuoclan · 4 years ago

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you and me and this temptation

Pairing: Morgan x Det. Lucy Liang (f/f) Rating: Explicit (MINORS DO NOT INTERACT) Content: explicit sexual content, kissing, fingerfucking, dirty talk with mentions of exhibitionism/voyeurism, d/s undertones

Summary: The detective attempts to lay down some ground rules. Morgan does her best to sidetrack her.

Notes: Takes place sometime shortly after book 2, before book 3. Also brownie points to whoever can tell me who the mentioned siren is and what series they’re from!

[ read on ao3 ] [ masterlist ]

–

She’s doing this on purpose.

Lucy shoots another look at Morgan from across the table. All Morgan does is grin shamelessly and lick her lips, not at all paying attention to Nat’s mini lecture on various supernatural species.

“Sirens are incredibly rare that we know of. Most of them keep to themselves and try to interact with humans as little as possible until they have full control of their powers. There used to be a great family of them in Greece, and they’re probably still there, but the only one I know of is in Houston, Texas…Lucy, you still with me?”

Lucy jumps in her seat and smiles sheepishly at the vampire next to her. Morgan snickers. “Sorry Nat. Continue, please.”

“Hmm.” Nat trains a suspicious eye on Morgan but then turns back to the massive tome open in front of her. “Anyway, when they’re exercising their powers, some sirens can manifest translucent wings. The color will vary depending on the siren, and some are even said to have…”

Morgan shifts in her seat and once again Lucy’s gaze is drawn helplessly in her direction.

Every. Fucking. Time.

It’s been like this for over an hour. She watches as Morgan runs a slow hand through her hair and it’s not hard to imagine those fingers in her hair instead, tugging to give her that slight flash of pain. Morgan leans in like she knows exactly what Lucy’s thinking, eyes falling to her mouth, and even though there’s an entire table width between them, the heat that spikes through Lucy is enough to make her breath catch.

“Morgan, I am right here,” Nat snaps.

Lucy stifles a groan. Caught. Again.

“Yes, but can you blame me when the detective’s sitting there looking good enough to eat?” Morgan’s eyes haven’t moved, still trained on Lucy’s mouth, and Lucy shivers.

Nat splutters. “That’s hardly appropriate. Stop distracting Lucy, this is important knowledge for her to have.”

“If the detective wants me to stop distracting her, she can tell me herself.” Morgan smiles lazily at her. “Right, sweetheart?”

Lucy opens her mouth to respond. Mortifyingly, nothing comes out. Nat takes pity on her and sighs.

“We can pick this up tomorrow, Lucy. I don’t think we’ll get much further today.” She stands and closes the tome, setting it off to the side. “And Morgan, I’m serious, I want you nowhere near the library tomorrow.”

“We’ll see.”

“Nowhere. Near. The. Library,” Nat growls.

Morgan leans back in her chair and winks at Lucy. “Like I said. We’ll see.”

Nat takes her leave with an exasperated shake of her head and a muttered good-bye. With Nat gone, there’s nothing stopping Lucy from feeling the full weight of Morgan’s attention, and she shoves back from the table to put more distance between them before she does something incredibly stupid, like jump her bones in the middle of the library.

“I think we need to establish some ground rules if we’re going to keep this up,” Lucy says, gesturing between the two of them.

Morgan raises an eyebrow. “This is just sex. And you’ve liked everything so far.”

The arrogance. Lucy grabs a stack of books to reshelve them, just to give her hands something to do. Fortunately these books belong on the opposite side of the room and it’s with half relief, half disappointment that Morgan doesn’t reach for her when she walks by. “Yes, but—”

“You’ve liked every single thing I’ve done to you. Don’t pretend you weren’t remembering all the places my mouth and fingers have been just now.”

Lucy whirls around. “You can’t keep saying stuff like that when I’m working!”

“But you like it when I do.”

“That is so not the point.”

“It’s completely the point.”

“Fine,” Lucy grits out. “I do, but it distracts me, and I can’t afford to be distracted at work. Nat was right, this is important knowledge for me to learn, and I can’t learn any of it when you’re looking at me like...like that!”

“I want you,” Morgan says, shrugging. Like it’s as simple as that. “I don’t see any issue with letting that be known.”

“Morgan.”

“All right.” Morgan rises from her seat and slowly saunters over, collapsing into an armchair a few feet away. Lucy’s throat goes dry. “How about...I cut back by twenty-five percent?”

“Excuse me?” Lucy squints. Unbelievable. “Are you negotiating?”

“Yes. And sweetheart, I suggest you take it because you’re not going to get a better offer.”

Lucy turns on her heel and starts aggressively placing the books back where they belong. “Is it that hard for you to keep your comments behind closed doors?”

“Just my comments?” Even without a visual, Lucy knows exactly which infuriating smirk Morgan’s sporting as she speaks. “So you’re fine if everything else is out in the open?”

“Morgan.”

“You let me fuck you at the carnival where anyone could’ve seen, so the lady doth protest too much about this, methinks.”

Lucy drops a book.

“Actually, given our track record, I’m inclined to believe you have a thing against closed doors.”

The conversation has spiraled so completely out of control, but she shouldn’t have expected anything different when it comes to Morgan. It takes a massive effort for Lucy to turn back around and adopt a calm, pleasant expression. “Fifty percent and I’ll kiss you after we finish this conversation.”

Morgan’s eyes darken. “You’ll kiss me anyway.”

“You seem awfully confident that I’m a sure thing,” Lucy says shakily. A hysterical laugh threatens to bubble up inside her. She already knows she is. The slow smile unfurling on Morgan’s face says she already knows Lucy is, too.

“...aren’t you?”

Lucy doesn’t respond. She can’t.

“Fine, fine.” Morgan rolls her eyes and extends a hand in Lucy’s direction. “Come here.”

Lucy eyes it suspiciously. “Why?”

“A show of good faith. Kiss me so I know you’re good for it, and you’ll have your forty percent.” She pats her lap and motions again.

“Fifty percent.”

“That’s what I said.” Morgan is unrepentant in all her glory. “Come here, Lucy.”

One day she’ll figure out how to resist Morgan’s pull. It’s not good for her dignity that Morgan has all but figured out she only has to crook a finger and Lucy will come running despite herself. But until then...

Lucy takes two steps in Morgan’s direction. Instantly Morgan reaches out and pulls her in to straddle her lap, hands resting on her waist as she smirks up at her. The feel of Morgan’s warm hands through the thin fabric of her dress gives Lucy a full body shiver.

“Show me my good faith,” Morgan murmurs, and then Lucy’s kissing her.

Morgan doesn’t bother with easing into it. As soon as Lucy parts her lips, Morgan’s there, licking deep into her mouth until Lucy’s dizzy with want.

Everything about Morgan overwhelms her. Her scent, her taste. The way she sucks on her tongue kicks Lucy’s pulse into overdrive and she whimpers, body on fire. Morgan’s hands tighten at the noise and then she’s running them along Lucy’s shoulders, up into her hair, down her back to squeeze her ass...

Lucy jolts and bites down on Morgan’s bottom lip in retaliation. Morgan laughs roughly against her mouth.

“I like this tart side of you, sweetheart.”

“Saved it just for you.” Lucy leans back with monumental effort, panting. “Is that enough good faith?”

“It’ll do for now.” Morgan bumps her nose against Lucy’s. It shouldn’t be so charming, but fuck, it is. “Anything other ground rules you wanted to go over?

“No. Wait, yes.” This one hasn’t come up yet in the limited time they’ve been doing...whatever it is they‘re doing, but Lucy figures now is the best time as any to get it out there. She makes to get off Morgan’s lap to allow herself some distance for actual thought, but Morgan catches her waist and maneuvers her so that she’s sitting with her back against Morgan’s chest. “What are you doing?”

“Relax, sweetheart. It’s just more good faith.”

Lucy squirms. It feels remarkably like the time on the carousel, when Lucy thought she might explode from the tension. “I think you’re getting more out of this negotiation than I am.”

“Then get better at negotiating.” The hand Morgan has resting on her thigh tightens just a bit but it’s enough that Lucy has to fight from spreading her legs. “What’s the next rule?”

“...No one else.” Lucy swallows. “No one else if you’re fucking me.”

Morgan stills so suddenly Lucy wonders if she just made a huge misstep. Maybe that’s too much to ask, too soon. She’s not ignorant of Morgan’s past exploits. What was she thinking, asking Morgan something like that? They haven’t known each other all that long, and even if they could probably be called friends on the best of days, they don’t have a relationship where she can ask something as brazen as this—

“No one else,” Morgan agrees quietly. It takes a moment to register, and then the relief is dizzying. Morgan’s hand on her stomach curls and Lucy’s not stupid enough to think it’s possessive but she can pretend it is, for a moment. “That goes for you too.”

Lucy snorts in surprise. “Oh please. Did you forget who you’re talking to?”

“That ex of yours keeps sniffing around.”

It can’t possibly be jealousy she’s hearing, but Lucy calls on whatever bravery she has left to poke. “Worried you have competition?”

Morgan has the gall to chuckle. “Sweetheart, I’m the best you’ve ever had.”

“You are incurably arrogant,” Lucy grumbles.

“And one hundred percent correct. Is that it? All the ground rules?”

“For now.”

“Hmm.” Morgan ghosts her mouth over Lucy’s ear. “Before I agree, I think I need one last show of good faith. Just to know you can uphold your end of the bargain.”

“Morgan, you have a supremely skewed idea of what a negotiation is.”

“Maybe. But for some reason I don’t think you’re complaining.” Morgan slowly spreads her hand across Lucy’s stomach, brushing along the underside of her breast. Lucy fidgets in the cage of her arms and squeezes her thighs together as her breath quickens. “This feel familiar to you at all?”

“...The carousel. When we were undercover at the carnival.”

“Mmm. Made the entire mission worth it, having you perched so sweetly on my lap.” Morgan slides the straps of her dress down her arms, baring her bra. Lucy’s nipples instantly go tight.

“You made the most delicious little gasp when I put my mouth here.” She seals her mouth over the scars of Murphy’s fangs on Lucy’s neck and sucks hard. And even though she should’ve expected it, Lucy gasps all over again, body going taut.

“And that fucking little skirt, teasing me all night long.” A hand idly strokes up the inside of her thigh, close to where Lucy’s pulse is pounding between her legs. And just like that, Lucy parts her thighs. “If I had reached under your skirt like I’m doing now…” Morgan draws a finger over the front of her panties. “...would I have found you just as wet?”

“Y-yes.” Her voice comes out breathy.

“Would you have let me do this?” She pulls Lucy’s pantiest to one side. There’s no urgency in Morgan’s movements as she traces her fingers over Lucy’s entrance, circling her clit, seemingly content to just explore with featherlight motions. “Touch your pussy with all those people around? No closed doors to speak of?”

She palms the front of Lucy’s bra with her other hand and yanks it down, baring her breasts. “Would you have let me do this?” Morgan cups one of her breasts and tugs at her nipple and Lucy almost comes on the spot. “There’d be no hiding what I was doing.”

Fuck. Lucy shouldn’t want what Morgan’s describing in her ear. It’s way too public, way too filthy. But when Morgan touches her like that, all rational thought flees and the only thing left is the image of Morgan spreading her open in front of the carnival and not stopping until she’s screaming.

It’s more than a little scary how much Morgan can make her want.

Morgan sinks her teeth into Lucy’s earlobe at the same time she slides a finger inside her. “I think they’d be jealous of me, if they saw. It’s me who gets to touch you like this. My arms around your tight little body. My fingers fucking your pussy.” She slides another finger inside and strokes a finger directly over Lucy’s clit. Lucy spreads legs even wider, letting them drape over Morgan’s thighs. “It’s me who’s getting you off, and all they’d be able to do is watch…”

Oh god. Lucy lets her head fall back against Morgan’s shoulder and moans as Morgan fucks her with her fingers. Morgan keeps the pace aggravatingly unhurried, like she’s that certain her words are enough to wind Lucy up.

She’d be one hundred percent correct.

“Would you put on a show for them, sweetheart?” Morgan sounds supremely unaffected and Lucy hates her for it, just a little. “Let them see how wet you get at the idea of an audience? Moan when you come so prettily around my fingers?”

“Please. Please, Morgan.” Lucy writhes in her lap, not even sure what she’s begging for, but as always, Morgan knows exactly what she needs. She shifts the hand at Lucy’s breast to hold tight across her stomach and pushes a third finger into her. The pleasure building inside Lucy spikes sharper when Morgan finally, finally, speeds up.

“I’d let them watch if you asked. They can watch as much as they want and imagine they’re the ones you’re desperate for, but at the end of the day they’ll know it’s only me who’s allowed to do this.” Morgan pinches Lucy’s clit and the tiny shock of pain sends Lucy careening.

She cries out when she comes, grinding down on Morgan’s fingers as Morgan continues her strokes. Distantly she registers Morgan’s mouth on her neck again, and something that feels suspiciously like fangs dragging on her skin.

“Beautiful,” Morgan murmurs against her ear when she finally slumps back against her, completely spent. “So fucking beautiful.”

Lucy turns her head to get a look at Morgan but Morgan just kisses her, gentler this time. It’s a kiss without a goal, and Lucy’s happy enough to sink into it and be swept away. When Lucy finally draws back for breath, Morgan’s grinning at her in that self-satisfied way of hers and even after everything Lucy’s heart still skips a beat.

She leans in to press another kiss to the corner of Lucy’s mouth. “Sweetheart, we have a deal.”

#the wayhaven chronicles #twc #twc morgan #specialist agent morgan #morgan #wayhaven #myfic #n/sfw #lucy x morgan

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geeks-universe · 4 years ago

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Veritas Vos Liberabit IV

The truth will set you free.

Previous Part

Next Part

Tag List: @the-british-koala @ilearnedthatfromethepizzaman @shadowalley @ao-spadez

A/N: Hehe, there’s gonna be a super awesome character arc just you wait

“You still haven’t explained,” John reminded you, pulling you from the staring match you were having with your phone.

You flicked your gaze towards him, stopping yourself from reading anymore texts. Lucifer was relentless, jumping from asking you to come home, to threatening sending Amenadiel after you.

“Hmm?” You hummed gracelessly, before realizing he was most definitely referring to your mojo. “Oh, just a little trick I learned from my dad.”

He didn’t really look like he was buying it, so you sent him an amused smirk. Deciding that presentation was better than explanation, you slowed him to a stop. Ever curious, Sherlock watched tentatively as you made eye contact with John.

“What is it you truly desire?” You inquired, that brief flicker of connection to your divinity sparking something inside. Your fingers tingled, air alight with a power you’d never had the opportunity to tap into.

“Uh,” John blinked a couple of times, “I…”

Sherlock was staring at his friend, brows furrowed as he saw the man at war within his own mind.

“I want to feel happy again.”

The smirk on your lips faded to a thoughtful smile. Humans were interesting creatures to you, but not in the same way they were to your father. He reveled in their sins, and believed in their corruption. You, however, were inspired by their flaws. Emotions were at the very core of their being, and it was a beautiful melody you would never tire of.

Sherlock looked to be torn between wonder and annoyance. John, however, shook his head, furrowing his brows in your direction.

“I couldn’t stop myself,” he explained slowly, trying to piece together exactly why that was in his mind. “No matter how hard I tried.”

You tilted your head to the side, just observing him. Confusion was evident, though he didn’t look upset by what he’d said, or embarrassed.

“Some sort of psychological trick,” Sherlock muttered to himself, pulling your attention to him.

John seemed ready to chalk it up to magic, while Sherlock was skeptical at best.

“Enough of that,” you exclaimed, “I was promised a tour! It’s already so different from Los Angeles.”

And just like that, John was back to the charming, kind host. Sherlock was inquisitive, but quiet. He kept a close watch on you, and offered brief explanations to some of your questions, but otherwise remained vigilant.

Every step you took was cataloged, along with each expression that crossed your face. Despite it, you didn’t let his quirky nature detract from the time you were having.

“Is it your dad,” John finally asked after one too many alerts from your phone. (Seriously, did Lucifer really not have anything better to do?) “That you’re ignoring, I mean.”

“Of course it is,” Sherlock interjected, looking for all the world like it was the most obvious assumption.

Instead of getting upset at his interruption, you found your lips turning up in a smile. He was rather fascinating, if not a little intrusive.

“I left without saying goodbye,” you admitted a little forlornly, nervously fiddling with your phone. There were moments when you felt that you absolutely made the best decision, but doubt wouldn’t leave you alone.

“Why?”

John didn’t sound judgemental, nor did he sound pushy. To you, he just sounded worried almost, like someone who knew the importance of close bonds and didn’t want you severing one without good purpose.

“I love him,” you were quick to defend your own actions. Of the two, John was the only one who seemed comforting. “But I need to be away from him. He was so worried about keeping me safe that he’d suffocated me.”

There was a hint of sympathy on John’s features. Even if he didn’t understand the full extent of your story, he did know a thing or two about family troubles. Perhaps having a confidant in him would help to soothe the growing loneliness in your family’s absence.

Silence reigned supreme over the three of you as you continued your walk. John was casting an occasional concerned glance to you. You were lost in the buildings and architecture that spread from the ground to the sky. And Sherlock, well, he was too busy connecting dots you’d thrown around with each word. Still, he couldn’t quite picture it all. There was something more to you than what he was able to uncover, though what it was he couldn’t be sure.

It wasn’t until a few minutes more that your feet stopped on their own accord. Your eyes, wide and full of sadness, scaled the stone steeple that stood proudly at a height far above the other buildings. There wasn’t much foot traffic moving in and out of the building, but a soft ringing called to you nonetheless.

You cleared your throat, dragging your teary gaze from the stained glass to your walking partners.

“I need a couple of minutes, do you mind if…”

John caught on immediately, quick to pull his friend out of the line of questioning he looked about ready to go into.

“I’ll grab us a bite to eat,” he assured you, practically dragging Sherlock away as you ascended the stairs into the church.

The air was buzzing with an energy you couldn’t recognize. The room was dark, and nearly empty. Something propelled you forward, bringing you to a stop at one of the pews in the back. You’d only ever been to a church once before. For obvious reasons, your father wasn’t the biggest fan.

Lucifer wasn’t the biggest fan.

But, then again, he wasn’t your real father.

You sucked a breath in, staring forward at the cross that stood proudly at the very center of the stage. Unlike the rest of your siblings, you had never actually met your father. As much as you tried to act like it didn’t bother you, deep down it did. Why had he handed you off to Lucifer? Why were you forced to spend your days in Hell when the rest of your family was acquainted with the Silver City.

You dropped your head into your hands, breaking your wandering gaze.

“Dad,” you breathed, your voice shaky.

“Why did you do this?” You asked into the silence, your voice nearly imperceptible to the people around you. “Why am I here? Why did you send me to Hell?”

There was no answer.

Not that you expected one.

Lucifer didn’t have any faith left in your father. He talked about abandonment, about the atrocities your father let happen. He spoke of an unfathomable cruelty and undeniable destiny.

You didn’t believe that.

No matter how bad things got, you couldn’t believe it.

There had to be some explanation, some rationalization of it all.

Whatever it was though, you would be the last to know. If your father didn’t even want you, he wouldn’t want to give you an explanation that he hadn’t even given his other children.

Tears were beginning to blur your vision, your phone burning in your back pocket. You should answer Lucifer. Your actual father may not be around, but you did have a dad, and at the very least he deserved an explanation.

“I just want to know who I am,” you quietly confessed to the empty room.

You took a moment to wipe away your tears and calm your breathing. Just as you moved to stand up, a person beside you cleared their throat politely.

He looked vaguely familiar, with his auburn hair and pressed suit. It wasn’t until you spotted the umbrella he twirled in his hand habitually that you realized who it was. John had told you all about Mycroft Holmes, and how you should expect him to pay you a visit just for breathing the same air as his younger brother.

“Oh, hello, didn’t see you there,” you admitted, smiling warmly at him.

The little you knew about the man in front of you caused a soft affection to bubble inside. You loved your family, and you could understand that desire to protect them. Even if he went about it in an odd way, you couldn’t blame the man for his vigilant nature.

“Miss Morningstar,” he greeted, the thin curve of his lips little more than an intimidation tactic, though he looked considerably charmed by your behavior, as did practically all humans. “I have a proposition for you, though I do apologize for disturbing you at a place of worship.”

You swallowed, briefly flicking your gaze to the cross.

“I’d say it hardly deserves worship,” you replied, inclining your head towards him. “Are you a man of faith?”

He raised a brow at your apparent disinterest in religion, despite your choice to retreat inside an old church. There was a certain amount of amusement in his brow, likely due to the question.

“Not particularly, no,” he answered cordially, but without much interest. “I consider myself a man of science.”

“Science,” you echoed, a fragment of a smile. “You believe science and faith can’t coexist?”

For one reason or another, he actually considered your argument. You knew it was likely a ploy to further his own business, but you found yourself innately curious about the man beside you. Most of what you knew of Sherlock came from John, and if there was a reason why he seemed to be immune to the divinity you exuded, you’d like to learn a little more.

“Faith is an explanation for what science can’t yet determine.”

His words were precise, and sure, as if there was nothing you could do to shake that determination. You paused thoughtfully, turning so that you might fully face him now. There was a glisten of veneration in his eyes, an unconscious acknowledgment to the river of divinity that flowed through your veins.

“Your proposition?”

You interruption was met with a continued cessation, followed by a diverted gaze.

“Information,” he claimed, leaning back to create an air of detachment. “Your recent neighbor, Sherlock.”

You waved off the rest of his proposal, not bothering to listen.

“No.”

His eyes narrowed a fraction, dangerous calculations swirling inside his mind as he scoured every detail on your person.

“So quick to align yourself without hearing how much I’ll offer you.”

You stood up, tilting your head curiously.

“If you want information on your brother, you could always just ask him, Mycroft.”

There was a momentary spark of confusion, or perhaps annoyance, in his stare, but you paid it no mind as you left without a further goodbye.

The sun was a blinding contrast to the dark building you were in before, but you found yourself comforted by its overwhelming presence. Your eyes shut on their own accord as you felt the heat seep into your soul. Before Lucifer returned to Earth, you had been in Hell with him. You hated it there. A part of you had always longed for the sun and the warmth it rained down upon mankind. In your youth, Lucifer took to calling you ‘sunshine’ and it had stuck with you through the years.

You knew, standing under the bright rays of the star, that you could never return to Hell again. Something in your veins longed for the sun, and the divine power that coursed through your system seemed to swell with its embrace.

Your thoughts were shattered as a body collided with yours, sending you stumbling a couple of steps by the sudden, unexpected intrusion. There was a moment, less than a fraction of a second, where your connection to the supernatural world was shifted.

“I am so sorry, I-”

Surprise stopped your words as you met the eyes of the man who ran into you. His gaze was unnatural, a color darker than night. They looked like the depths of Hell frozen over. A smile painted his face, one of cruelty and unspoken horror. His hands were icy where they held you in place, one on your shoulder and the other on your arm. You stood frozen to the spot, whispered tendrils beckoning you to the precipice of madness.

You nearly followed, to a destiny unknown and a journey fraught with danger. The presence was familiar, and much too comfortable. An evil lurked beneath his cool exterior, chilling the very air you breathed.

Still, you were entranced by the muted lunacy.

As you began to take the first step towards instability, you paused, a heat flaring up along your spine, to the base of where your wings stayed hidden. A claw gripped your throat, forcing fire down into your chest to wash away the sins of your thoughts.

As quick as the encounter began, it ended. You gasped for air, finding relief against John a minute later when he worriedly took a hold of your arm.

“Are you okay?” John asked, concern tinting his voice as he rubbed your back in the event you might have trouble catching your breath once more.

Sherlock was quick to look you up and down, tracing any details he might need.

“What happened?”

The black eyes flashed in your mind. This wasn’t an issue you could take to the two of them. Whatever happened was something more in your realm than theirs.

“Nothing,” you assured them, “Someone in a rush.”

Your smile was every bit as convincing as you could make it, hiding the image of blackened eyes and a searing pain along your collar.

Sherlock wished he could believe the lie you tried to sell, but curiosity got the best of him, and he would discover the truth without your help, as it seems.

#Sherlock Holmes x Reader #sherlock x reader #sherlock imagine #sherlock holmes imagine #vvl #the plot thiccensssss #also yes #the reader and mycroft are gonna be best bros #whether he wants it or not #because that man just needs a hug honestly

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thepaperpanda · 5 years ago

Text

Little Dreams || Arthur Morgan x Reader Smut

Summary: While being away from.the camp, you and Arthur enjoy the time together.

Warnings: Smut & Micah Bell

Words: 1237

Authors: Bear

"You know, Art, once I had a dream of a cozy place, a place where we could start a family, our own one" you told him as you were having your head on his chest.

It was one of those evenings where you and him went outside the camp to spend some time in your own company. Now, you were laying on a grass, sky full of stars just right above your heads.

"You have a new horizon, some kind of a melancholy town where we will build the new future together" Arthur said jokingly as his strong arm wrapped around your waist.

You smiled at him briefly and hummed a song under breath.

"Darlin', I promised you once that I'll do whatever it takes to fulfill your dream which I also share with ya" Arthur put hat on his face, inhaling cold air of the upcoming night.

The wind blew gently in your face and you giggled when you felt he tickled your side. "Mr Morgan, stop it now or I'll have to punish ya!" You warned him playfully.

You knew your words caught his attention immediately. His large hand grabbed your hip and squeezed enough to leave bruise. He took hat off his face and grinned at you in the way he always did when he was teasing you.

"Am I mistaken or are you messing with a dangerous outlaw, miss Y/N?" He teased kissing top of your head, his eyes on your features.

You rolled lock of you hair on your index finger. "I like to play with fire, sir" you told him firmly, licking your rosy lips slowly and raising head to look him in the eye.

You loved it. Those intimate moments were priceless to you and they meant much more than feelings he was showing you while being in the camp. Of course, you were a couple and everyone knew the fact, yet Arthur Morgan was always getting a bit shy about being open if it came to his feelings toward you. He was type of man to rather kiss your cheek than make out with you when others were looking. And though you loved this romantic side of his, you also craved more.

Arthur's palm slipped suddenly under your chin, he grabbed it and pulled you into a messy kiss. Your hands pressed his chest and you hummed happily, he was a good kisser.

When you broke the kiss to gasp for air, he smirked. "Eager at her cowboy as always, duh?"

You served him a brief nod before climbing on top of him. "Always."

You unbuttoned his shirt making sure to tease his exposed skin with nails. When his plain shirt was opened fully, you leaned to him and kissed his jaw, moving down his body. After jaw there was a time to caress his clavicles with your soft lips. Then you moved to his neck for a second to lick a trail down to his belly. You smirked when you heard a deep grunt - it was a sign you were doing a good job. As you were standing him, you could feel how hard he got, just for you and it made you wet. You moved one hand to rub over his crotch and Arthur shivered, like he wanted to escape your touch because of unbearable pleasure.

"Darlin', holy Christ, look whataya doin' to me" he whispered through parted lips as his hands moved to unbuckle his leather belt.

You kissed him, your tongue danced with his as you did.

He closed his eyes shut and grunted again when he pulled his already hardened cock out of his jeans.

Your palm wrapped around the shaft and you pumped it, then spat on it to make him slick and more vulnerable at touch you served.

"Undress, darlin'. I need to taste you" he almost begged while helping you with jerking his member.

You licked lips and smiled at him but obeyed his ask. When you dropped your clothes off, you knelt next to him to kiss his lips. He gave you a wry smirk and grabbed your hips, pulling them hardly. You knew what he wanted and you let out a whimper. Soon, you straddled his face, slowly and gently and moaned his name as soon as his lips wrapped around your hit, already slick sex.

Arthur was so skilled, both his fingers and tongue were making miracles to your craving body. Everytime you were having sex.

You tried to rock your hips but his strong palms were holding them tightly, preventing you from any kind of move. His tongue teased your entrance as his thumb rubbed circles around your swollen clitoris.

You moaned again and bended down to wrap mouth around his hard shaft. You bobbed your head back and forth, sucking onto his tip and massaging his balls with free hand. He was grunting deeply and it was giving your pussy an additional friction, so in the end you were moaning for him, giving same in return.

You both were pleasuring one another and there was no end to your mixed moans and groans.

Finally, he cum in your mouth and you gladly swallowed everything he gave you. You pumped hand few more times around his dick and sucked briefly onto his balls.

Shortly after, you started to rock your hips hardly, grinding on his face, which he happily obligated. You supported yourself on his wide chest, digging nails in his skin. He sucked your pussy hard enough to leave you moaning his name as you cum and your wetness dripped down your parted thighs, right onto his bearded mouth.

Then you moved yourself from him and quickly laid right on his side, nuzzling to his neck. "Oh, dear heavens, how good it was! You're freaking amazing, love" you praised him, stroking his jaw as he was looking at you.

"Darlin', it's you who make me so hot, just look at yourself, fucking shivering from me eating that sweet pussy out" he grinned widely and handled you clothes. "Put 'em on, I don't want you to get sick."

As you put your dress and coat on, you heard a nasty laughter from nearby. Arthur was buckling his belt again as he looked at that direction only to frown angrily. "What the fuck are ya doing here, you shit?"

It was no one else but Micah Bell himself, he leant back against the tree, huffing on his cigarette. "Just having some nice views, night's early, I went to think about things and I was pleased by some interesting event" he smirked at you both nastily. "Y/N, I would never say you're such a dirty whore but as I see now, Morgan taught you some things."

Arthur quickly got up and pulled to his back, pulling his revolver out from behind the belt. He aimed at Micah. "Get the fuck off of us and go somewhere else instead, duh?"

Micah ostentatiously improved old jeans on his crotch, smiling wryly at you as he measured your features with his eyes. "Don't ya forget, darlin', one day you're gonna be mine." After these words he simply walked away.

You shivered and nuzzled to Arthur.

"Don't ya worry, I'm here and he won't bother you again, don't ya worry," Arthur stroked your hair and grabbed your palm. "Let's go back to camp. We need some rest before another duties will occur."

Pandies🐼: @imidarogerson @grossograsso @thewildgardensstuff @leven-and-ashley @la-verdura @bearded-steve-rogers @sebbystan-plantlover @atuckyismylife @krispyjellyfishzombie @personality-within @haseki-huricihan @choppedgardenwhispers @vroobelek @lattimelka @chris-beamz @hidden-secrets69 @purepearls @volcanoxxx @kastrup-sofie @mikkal-akasaki @withoutashadowofhope @radbluebirdeagle @marvel-fan-site @smutloversblog @buquete @super-psycho-love69 @tanglesss @peter-sommer @baysidewest @vegemania @philip-stan @chodiusmmm @subwaystunnel @tykorclint @dagger-dragger @kurant @nothing-can-least-forever @oxfordkipem @deliciousbouquet90 @tuptuptup @hellenna80 @karina-marina9 @latimeriaaa @bratko @wurld89 @scott-evans @kiss-me-rouge @ovonel-espaniol @dancing-tacco @ratugadhi @white-tiger-shangrila @axn69 @eternal-life-awaits @mrs-laura-harmon @artsy-inside @gleeeeees @darkllaama @jatut @agawux @fuzzy-tigrrr @jrjohnsson2 @maaargoshaaa @dontgetmewrongman @einexx @nwmtagsb @anini71 @secretlygrantaire @kyloren-supreme-ben @infinity-stones-seeker @thehappyspider @wings4life @huxyluxy @dontbeafraidchild @misafiryanki @electronicpatrolcollective @thisismysecrethappyplace @aulika @hidden-secrets69 @a-happy-wolf @creative-seahorse @biologyforliving @stareyedplanet @arthurmorgan-bae

#Arthur Morgan x reader #Arthur Morgan smut #Arthur Morgan x reader smut #Arthur Morgan one shot #Arthur Morgan drabble #Arthur Morgan fic #Arthur Morgan fiction #Arthur Morgan x you #Rdr2 #Rdr2 x reader #Rdr2 x you #Rdr2 smut #Micah Bell #Micah Bell is a nasty rat #oh yes he is!

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xylune · 3 years ago

Text

FFXV Ardyn fanfic

I’ve been replaying Final Fantasy XV since things have settled down and I’ve had the chance to get all the additions and episodes. An idea for a canonverse AU hit me last night and I started working on it this morning, but for some reason, I just had to start writing a scene that won’t happen until later in the story...if I maintain the inspiration enough to keep at it.

Quick explanation: This story will build off the “Dawn of the Future” book addition, taking place after those events. Ardyn is unwillingly revived and supremely unhappy about it. Noctis and company are left with little choice but to try and manage him, as he’s become virtually un-killable. Unfortunately, Ardyn is desperate to die and the choices are to either deliver further torment on the man or try and help him find a purpose in his endless existence.

Beneath the cut (provided it works as it should) is a sample of a scene in which Gladiolus and Prompto are trying to babysit Ardyn, and the situation is made worse when he believes he’s seen a ghost from his past.

"Hmm, first time here. Let's see what's on the menu."

Ardyn checked a sigh of impatience. His flat still awaited, but it was a good ways further into Lestallum and they had been driving all day without a bite to eat. Even he, who could not die, still suffered the pangs of hunger and thirst. Cruel twist, that. What purpose did it serve for an immortal to still require food and drink? It wasn't as though he could starve to death; he'd already tried that. Going without did make him sick and weak, though.

Ever polite even when killing someone, the former Chancellor gave an elegant shrug and flourished a wave of his hand. "By all means, after you."

Gladiolus waited for his smaller companion Prompto to pass through the door first, and then the big, tattooed warrior followed behind. Ardyn held the door open for them both, and then he joined them inside the building.

"Charming little place," he mused, casting a look around. "There, by the window. A perfect spot for us."

The pair looked, and Gladio nodded. "Yeah. Backs to the wall and we can see who comes in and out. Good call."

"Paranoid sort, aren't you?" Ardyn smirked at the black-haired kings guard. "I chose it for the aesthetic position, but you see—"

"I see what I've been trained to see for all these years," interrupted Gladiolus in a low, serious voice. "Don't act so surprised. You're a big part of the reason we all learned to do everything strategically, learned to treat every place we went as a potential ambush spot."

"Guys," interjected Prompto before Ardyn could respond, "who cares about that? We're here to feed our faces and get something hot and nice to drink. Come on, I'm fading fast, here."

Gladiolus kept his hard brown gaze locked with Ardyn's for a moment, and then he nodded. "Right. A meal, then Ardyn's old place, then a place to sleep for the night."

"That's a top plan," agreed Ardyn amicably. "I would offer my flat for the night, but the utilities, I'm sure, have been cut off by now. Not to mention, the place hasn't been given a proper cleaning since I was last there. Dust mites, you know."

"How do you even know it's still available?" asked Prompto as they claimed their table and sat down. "You've been gone for a really long time. They might have cleared it out and rented it to someone else by now."

Ardyn shook his head, removed his fedora and plucked up the menu sitting on the table before him. "I'm paid up for the better part of two years on rent. You see, I can be forgetful about some things, and while it's easy enough to get utilities turned back on if I'm away for too long, personal effects can be a bother to replace. The flat is mine until the end of the year."

"Huh." Gladiolus examined his own menu. "Why not just buy the place, if you had that kind of money?"

Ardyn's usual flair with speech dropped, leaving his tone flat and level. "Because I didn't intend to be here for longer than that."

The younger two men paused, and they exchanged a look with one another over the tops of their menus.

"Oh dear, have I made you uncomfortable?" Ardyn's smirk came back, though it lacked humor. "How tactless of me. Still, you asked."

"Enough talk of suicide and death," insisted Gladiolus.

"I don't believe either of those two words were—"

"Or insinuations of the subject," interrupted the black-haired man, his squared jaw tightening. "We've talked about this. Remember the agreement."

"Yes of course, but the point remains that I was asked a question, to which I merely answered with honesty." Ardyn turned to the freckled blond seated beside him. "True, Prompto?"

"Well, yeah. That's a pretty valid point."

"All right, whatever," huffed Gladiolus. "Let's just drop it and get on with the eating. I'm starving and we're burning what's left of our daylight."

Ardyn could have ordinarily thought up a few snappy quips in response to that, but the inadvertent turn of the subject matter, however brief, reminded him again of his misery. His thoughts twisted back into the same dismal questions he'd been asking himself since the day of his unwilling return to the flesh.

How was he to maintain what little he had left of his sanity, knowing he had endless days and nights ahead of him with no end or purpose in sight?

"Hmph. No rest for the wicked," he mumbled under his breath.

"What was that?"

Ardyn glanced sidelong over the top of his menu at Gladiolus, and then he pointedly focused on the text again. "Just thinking aloud, friend. Hmm, the Nebula Salmon Melt looks rather appetizing. I think I'll try that. What say you?"

Gladiolus scowled—not at Ardyn this time, but at the menu. "Everything looks pretentious to me. Iggy would love it."

"No meat and potato sub, then?"

"No cup o' noodles, either," added Prompto glibly.

Bless the speckled pistol specialist. Even though he clearly shared an understandable grudge and mistrust against Ardyn, Prompto's sociable nature compelled him to join in on some good-natured ribbing. Ardyn rather liked the lad for that.

"Knock it off," warned the big man. "Don't poke the bear when he's hungry, got it? I'm not in the mood."

"Yes, Prompto," Ardyn nudged the blond beside him with an elbow. "Do be careful. Now, Gladio—"

"I've told you not to call me that," reminded the kings guard with a frown. "Only friends and family are authorized to use the short version. You're neither. In fact, you're still at the top of my shit list, so cut the familiarity crap."

"Of course, Gladiolus," revised Ardyn politely. "I forget myself at times. Now, as I was saying, have you noticed the menu items on the other side? They have several items of a meatier variety."

Gladiolus flipped his menu over and looked. "Huh, you're right." He peered at the menu for a moment, and then he frowned, and he looked at Prompto. "What's 'prosciutto'?"

"Beats me, dude." The blond spread his hands helplessly. "I bet Noct or Specs would know, but I'm just as uncultured as you are. Ardyn, do you know?"

He did, but the older man's patience was quietly wearing thinner, and Gladiolus' rudeness wasn't helping. "It's meat."

Gladiolus' tiny smirk suggested that he was picking up on Ardyn's veiled frustration. "What kind of meat?"

"From a dead animal."

"No shit. What kind of animal? What part? Must be pretty special for such a fancy name."

Now Ardyn could feel his precious control slipping, and the daemons within him were trying to push to the surface. He spoke through his teeth, with a smile. "Why, the most delectable of both. A human ass."

Prompto sputtered, coughed and put his camera away. "Okay guys, time out. Let's just ask a waitress before you two eat each other. Hey, I see one over there. She's cute, too! Not as cute as Cindy, but real pretty. Uh, actually, I'll just go straight to her and ask. Don't kill each other, okay?"

For a moment, gold-amber eyes remained locked with dusky brown ones. Gladiolus was the first to look away, and he covered up whatever disquiet he felt by turning his attention to their companion, who had left the table to speak with a server.

"Him and the blondes. He's got a real thing for them. She is cute, though."

Inwardly glad for the distraction from his own annoyance, Ardyn followed Gladiolas' gaze across the room, to the bar area. Prompto was chatting with a fetching young woman wearing a uniform apron over her clothes. No matter the horrors he'd seen or the darkness he lived in, Ardyn could still appreciate beauty in all its forms. Women were certainly no exception, so he examined her with as much interest as his companions.

She had her back turned to him at first, but he noted that she had a pleasing form with delicate curves. Small of build, of average height, she had her hair gathered into a ponytail at the base of her neck.

The color of her hair caught his attention the most, provoking a little pang of nostalgia within him. It was certainly blonde, as Gladiolus said, but it wasn't a yellow tone like Prompto's or a platinum shade like the queen's. Most would consider it an unremarkable color blonde, almost a neutral tone between white and yellow, pale and with just enough highlights to lend a faint touch of gold.

Ardyn knew this particular hair color well, for he'd run his fingers through strands of it just like that, many times in the distant past. He'd always compared it to pale wheat, and he'd always found it to be the most interesting variation of that hair shade. Even the density of the waitress's hair was the same, though the length was greater than the hair he'd once touched.

She then turned, and Ardyn Izunia was treated to the interesting experience of feeling his body go hot and cold all at once. He couldn't say it was a pleasant thing. He couldn't move, and his breath halted in his lungs, lodging somewhere in his throat on its way out.

Her face, sweetly, softly rounding a bit where the cheekbones met the jaw, softening her features there before tapering down to a gently curving chin.

Her brow, pale and fine like the hair on her head.

Her nose. Her lovely, pert and perfect nose.

Her lips, pouty with a slight upward curve at the corners, sweet and generous with both kisses and smiles.

Her eyes. Colors of blue and green, forest and sea harmonizing together, creating a beautiful, soulful color made even more expressive by the downward tilt of the outer eye corners. There was wisdom in those eyes, made ancient by an abiding love and devotion to the gods, and to the light. There was compassion there as well, and laughter.

A collection of words describing his dead betrothed kept spinning in Ardyn's head, and a part of him realized he had reduced this poor girl before him to a collection of body parts, comparing them to his lost love's bit by bit, because he simply could not believe what he was seeing.

Everything about her, every part of her, was an exact copy of the woman he would have married, had fate been more kind. Down to every detail, as far as he could tell from this distance. He had eyes like a hawk though, and he could even see that she had the exact same faint little freckles on her cheeks and nose, in the exact places he remembered them. He used to kiss them lovingly when they spent afternoons together, so he'd memorized them all.

Gladiolus was talking to him, in his rough voice. Ardyn could hear him, but it was faint as if coming from far away. There was a ringing in his ears, and it drowned out his companion's questions. For a moment, Ardyn wondered if he'd gone deaf, but then he heard the waitress's voice. Even that was identical to the one he remembered. She even had the same accent.

Every other voice and every other sound in the cafe faded into the background as the fallen healer focused on the sound of her voice.

"—cured ham," she was saying to Prompto, smiling. "It's quite popular. You can assure your friend that it doesn't come from a human's ass."

Prompto then pointed at the table they'd claimed, and Ardyn was overwhelmed with a sudden, immediate rush of panic as the waitress's gaze flicked to him. He quickly looked away, turning his head so hard that his neck popped in the process. He closed his eyes, willing himself to calmness.

He was imagining things. Seeing things that weren't there. It wouldn't be the first time. His beloved Aera couldn't possibly be there, serving sandwiches and coffee in a cafe. She was dead. Not only that, she was lost to him forever. When he'd let go after the defeat of Bahamut, thinking he could finally rest, he thought he was going to be with her. She wasn't there, though. There was only darkness, and then...he found himself in the flesh again, in pain, in Noctis' throne room.

He only got to see his beloved for a moment, and she wasn't there waiting for him like he'd thought. Perhaps he'd only hallucinated her after all, and they couldn't be together in any form because of the sins he'd committed.

She wasn't really here, in this establishment, offering sandwich advice. It wasn't possible.

"Hey, what's with you?"

For once, Gladiolus's aggressive barking was received with gratitude, because it startled Ardyn enough to anchor him back to reality...somewhat.

"So sorry," he managed to verbalize, "but I need fresh air. Be right back."

She was coming. He could feel her presence, hear her dainty steps like the thunder of an approaching storm. Ardyn Izunia abandoned all pretense of grace and manners, snatched up the fedora he'd set on the windowsill, crammed it on his head and made his egress as quickly as he could without using his warping abilities and causing a scene.

"What the hell did you say to him?" Prompto looked from Gladio to the door Ardyn had just vanished through.

"Nothing. He just spaced out all the sudden." Gladio was frowning, appearing just as lost as Prompto. "He looked like he saw a ghost or something, if you ask me. You went over there to talk to the waitress, and then he went still as a statue and turned about five shades whiter. All I did was ask if he was okay."

Prompto scratched his head, looking through the window and leaning a little to get a better view. "I see him. He's by the street lamp. He's just standing there with his hands in his coat pockets and his head down."

"Prompt, I swear I didn't do anything. We watched you talking to the waitress, and then he flipped."

Prompto combed his fingers through his spiky hair—or as much as he could before the stiffening product in his locks stopped him. "Damn. Well, who knows with him? Why was I the peacekeeper here, anyway? Ignis is better at this than me."

"Because Noct is stressed as hell and right now, he needs Ignis at his side as his advisor and his hand."

"I know, I know," sighed Prompto. "This is kind of a vacation from babysitting for him and Luna. I...I guess I'll go out and talk to him, see if I can figure out what's up before he blows a gasket. She's gonna come bring us some water in a sec, but if we're not back inside would you order the drinks?"

"Fine. What do you want?"

The blond shrugged his slim, bare shoulders. "Just the usual green soda. I don't know what Ardyn wants."

"He needs a tall glass of calm the fuck down," grumbled Gladio.

"I don't think they serve that here," Prompto answered dryly. "He said something about coffee earlier."

"The last thing that guy needs right now is caffeine."

Prompto threw his hands up. "Well, I don't know! Tea or something? He likes tea, right?"

"Guess it couldn't hurt. Go on; I'll hold the fort."

Ardyn had calmed himself enough to risk another look inside, but Prompto came out and tapped him on the shoulder just as he was about to try and confirm what he thought he'd seen. To his chagrin, the older man jumped a bit, and he turned to face Prompto with a frown.

"You, boy, should avoid sneaking up on me that way."

Truthfully, Prompto was no "boy" anymore. He and his friends were now nearly of an age with Ardyn. At least physically. He couldn't help but still think of them all as youths though, for compared to himself, virtually everyone alive on Eos was just a babe.

"Sorry, I was worried about you."

The casually and honestly worded response gave Ardyn pause. He knew the core of Prompto's concern was rooted in Noctis' expectations of him, naturally. Prompto's concern was more in letting his friend and king down than any true care for Ardyn's well-being, but it was nice to hear someone say that without hesitation, all the same.

"You saw her too, didn't you?" He was hardly aware of what he was saying. The words spilled out without conscious thought, but Ardyn realized that he did need confirmation from someone.

"Saw who?"

"The girl."

Prompto blinked, and there was a rumble of thunder overhead. He glanced up at the sky briefly, then flinched when a drop of rain landed on his nose. "There were a few girls in there, man. Can you be more specific?"

Growing more agitated, Ardyn grabbed Pronto by the shoulders. "The girl. The one you were speaking to."

Prompto's hand inched toward the holster where he kept his gun, but he didn't draw it. He regarded the ancient warily, his fair brows hedging with alarm. "Whoa, slow down. Do you mean the waitress?"

Aware that he'd just inadvertently made Prompto feel threatened, Ardyn relaxed his hold, though he didn't release it. "Aye, the waitress. Blonde, fair of skin, eyes like the color of a lagoon. Voice like bells."

"Um...okay. Your speech has ah...really gone old school all the sudden. And that's a pretty intense description..."

"Just answer me!"

Prompto nodded convulsively. "Yeah, yeah! Of course I saw her, dude. I was the one that pointed her out in the first place!"

"So...she's real. She's really here."

The smaller man's eyes were almost bugging out now. "Well I sure as shit hope so, because otherwise I was standing there talking to thin air about human ass sandwiches."

If he weren't so bewildered, Ardyn would have laughed uproariously over that. Under current circumstances though, his sense of humor was crippled. Nonetheless, he tried to at least put on a facade of calm for the sake of his companion. He removed his hands from Prompto's shoulders, taking a step back to give the other man space.

"Ah, well. Begging your pardon, friend. I was merely...startled. She looks very much like someone I once knew, and well...this is rather embarrassing, but I feared for a moment that I was hallucinating. Hence my asking you those odd questions."

Prompto's "fight or flight" stance relaxed a bit, and he shifted from foot to foot. "Oh. Yeah, I can see where you're coming from. I mean, after what you've...well, it's okay."

Prompto gave the taller man an awkward pat on the shoulder. "She's real, you're not seeing things and the rain is starting to come down. Let's go back inside for some chow, okay?"

"Splendid. Do let's. After you."

Ardyn tugged his hat brim down a little lower, waited for his companion to go back in, and then peeked through the window furtively. The rain was coming down faster now, streaking the glass and spoiling his view. He couldn't see the waitress, but she was in there.

"Pull it together," he whispered to himself.

The girl was real, and she definitely shared some traits with his lost love, but surely his mind had tricked him earlier. He saw through the eyes of a grieving heart, and he was clinically insane. He could make it through a quick meal without going completely off hinge...he hoped.

#Final Fantasy XV #Fanfiction #Ardyn #Prompto #Gladiolus #suicide mention #dark humor #misunderstandings #insanity #part of a potential multi chapter fanfic #If I write this in full it will be one of those twisty turny massive headache inducing plots #what can I say I love the mad ones #Ardyn is love

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banalbones · 5 years ago

Text

The Petite Prince: Chapter 5

Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4, 6, 7, 8

Chapter 5: The Treasure Hunt, Part 2

Summary: Roman is a child. Virgil and Logan lost him, and have been questing to find him for way too long. Remus loves his bro, but is feeling a bit more chaotic.

Words: 2485

Ships: Familial prinxiety, logince and Creativitwins. Eventual familial royality, roceit and DRLAMP

Genre: Fluff with a side dose of angst

Warnings: A few swears, tiny blood mention, arguing, a mention of being unconscious, a dragon, falling, tell me if there’s any more!

Taglist: @pricklyfish777 @sunflowerblondeuwu @itriedandimtired @draw-your-perfect-world @cemmy @battlebunnyteardropsinthesun @nonbinary-lizard-2

_________________________

The ‘twins’ were doing karaoke with the birds.

“Love is an open doo-oo-oor!”

The song was perfect for the pair, an adorable ‘love’ song for Roman, and a Disney villain tune for Remus.

Roman was grinning madly, his gap tooth showing, as his sweet little child voice perfectly nailed all of the notes.

“You’re really good at this,” Remus commented, taking a break from the song. “But Elphaba’s better.”

Cue the *o f f e n d e d p r i n c e y n o i s e s*.

“She’s a bi- she’s a bird! How can she be b- be better?”

Remus cackled. Annoying his brother was fun, even when he was a child.

He probably shouldn’t be thinking that, but still.

Quoting Virgil, sometimes I just gotta be me-an.

The smol one wacked his leg with the stick.

(Remus truly didn’t know how he kept getting it.)

“You know,” he said, “We could decorate the stick.”

That was a thing kids did right? Decorating sticks?

Apparently it was, as Roman squealed in delight and jumped around, whilst simultaneously summoning paint and glitter and smaller sticks and a whole lot of other stuff Remus didn’t bother to acknowledge.

I would have just gotten blood.

_________________________

“Are we supposed to climb this thing?” Virgil asked incredulously.

Logan wasn’t looking at the tower, so much as the dragon. It had shimmering scales, the color of the sea, covering the entirety of its lithe body, with accents of a bright gold littered throughout. The sunset colored wings however, were the things that stuck out most.

The dragon was quite beautiful and had cool wings, in an abbreviated sentence.

It also appeared to be asleep, which was definitely a pro in this situation of cons.

“If we wish to retrieve Roman, I believe so.”

“Well, fuck.”

_________________________

Virgil for all his faults, was loyal. Or so he told himself. Janus (?!?!), when the emo was still a part of the Others, had told him that dark sides were extremely protective of what they deem to be theirs.

So he supposed it made sense that he, the literal embodiment of anxiety, was about to climb a fifty foot tower with no safety precautions, just to save the little prince.

He turned to Logan and grinned sheepishly.

“So, uh, do you want to start?”

Just because Virgil was going to do it, didn’t mean he had to go first.

_________________________

The Dragon Witch smirked slightly as she rested her scaled head atop the tower’s black roof, gazing down at the two sides.

Looked like it was time to drop the ladder.

_________________________

Logan rolled his eyes at Virgil and began to reach for the tower, not sure what he was actually going to do when he touched it, when suddenly a pile of pili fell on his head.

“What the heck?”

The sub-astute teacher looked up to see… a rope of hair?

What?

“It’s like in Tangled!” Virgil said, somewhat excitedly.

“The Disney movie?”

“The Disney movie.” Virgil nodded.

“So what do we do, climb it?”

“I mean I guess,” The Supreme Dark Overlord of Negative Commerce (That’s a throwback) paused, “Because I don’t see any stairs.”

Logan, once again, rolled his eyes.

Might as well start climbing.

And so he did.

_________________________

Roman watched LoLo begin to climb through the fly-eyes. It seemed so fun!

Maybe he could do that one day…

If Remus would let him.

Roman giggled.

He probably would.

_________________________

Remus had wanted to add a thorn bush at the bottom of the tower, to be true to the original, ya know? But the smol one hadn’t wanted them to get hurt.

Again.

So instead, he had come up with an ingenious compromise that Logan would have been proud of.

Put vines at the bottom, but make them look like thorns!

It would be so funny to see Virgil panic and try even harder not to fall, especially with the armor-

Oh yeah!

“RoRo, do you want to give them the armor now?”

The little prince nodded enthusiastically, his face scrunching up in concentration.

And then…

“I did it!”

Little did the prince know that Remus had done a slight flick of the wrist, ensuring that the metal protection would… weigh them down.

He may be my brother, and I still love and will protect him at all costs, but I am always a chaotic rat man.

_________________________

I can’t believe you acknowledged that you were a chaotic rat man.

I can.

_________________________

Patton hummed softly, twirling around as he made the brownies.

He had tried checking on Roman in his room, but the princely side hadn’t answered.

So, he decided to make brownies to give to Roman when he felt like he could talk to him again!

If he ever felt like he could…

Patton shook his head quickly, dismissing the thought.

He would! It was Roman, after all!

Patton swallowed.

It was Roman, after all…

_________________________

Logan was halfway up the tower (and the hair) when he felt a weight be placed on his body. A very heavy weight.

The logical side was now extremely glad he had made Virgil stay on the ground.

Gravity tugged a little too hard on Logan for his own liking, and then he was falling.

And falling.

And f

Into a pile of thornbushes?

Logan inwardly groaned. It was like in the Grimm Brother’s version of the fairytale.

The prince fell into a bunch of thorns and got blinded.

I’m already blind enough, come on!

He barely registered Virgil screaming out his name through the rush of air and thoughts.

And then he landed.

________________________

Virgil screamed as Logan fell.

He was gonna die!

Could sides even die?

He didn’t think so, but what if they could?

The emo’s mind was so filled with what ifs, that he barely registered the dumping of heavy metal on his shoulders.

It was like a weighted blanket but five times heavier.

“Oof.” He was pulled to the floor, just as Logan landed… in a pile of thorns?!

How had he not noticed that?

“Holy shit! Logan!”

He heard a groan.

“Ow.”

Virgil breathed a sigh of relief.

At least he was alive.

_________________________

You fell off a tower?!

Yes. I just said that.

How did you survive?

We’re getting to that.

_________________________

The teacher figure groaned as he opened his eyes. He wasn’t blind, and he wasn’t bleeding.

That was a good sign.

It seems I have not, in fact landed in a pile of thorns.

“Holy shit! Logan!”

Logan attempted to move his head. A fall like that could not be good for his neck.

He managed it, if only slightly, to see a raccoon-like side running, well trying to run, towards him.

“Hello, Virgil. Before you ask, no, I do not know how I am alive.”

“Are you-”

“Yes, I am indeed hurt,” Logan interrupted, “I fell twenty five feet, what did you expect?”

“I don’t… whatever. How come you’re wearing armor?”

Logan responded with a dry “You are too,” before craning his neck (ow) to see that he was, in fact, wearing a bunch of bulky metal.

It was very blue. Or indigo, depending on how specific you wanted to be.

“Why is it so heavy?”

“That’s because of Remus,” a very familiar, lilting voice answered, as weapons materialized in the boys hands.

“Oh shit,” he heard Virgil mutter.

Logan looked up (once again, ow) to see the dragon that had been sitting atop the tower flying towards them.

It let out a roar.

To mirror Virgil’s earlier words, oh shit.

_________________________

Roman stood proudly, brandishing his stick for all to see.

By all, he meant Remus and the birds, as they were the only ones left to see it.

(The other forest creatures had to go, they had told Roman, it was almost dinner time for them.)

Apparently, birds had really weird eating schedules.

Big me had a really weird eating schedule too. He only ate during the night.

That, along with the fact big him never slept at night either led to the little prince forming a rather intelligent conclusion.

Big him was nocturnal!

Like an owl!

Wait…

If Big him was nocturnal (or an owl)…

Did that mean ReeRee was too?

…

“ReeRee… are you a- you an owl? Or noc- or noc-tur-nal?”

The Duke turned.

“Also, do yo- do you li-li-li’ my stick? Its glitty-ery!”

The tiny royal’s big brother looked confused.

“No? Why? Your stick is splendiferous, by the way.”

Now it was Roman’s turn to be confused.

(He was happy with the reaction to the stick.)

“Big me is. How co-how come you aren’t?”

Maybe the lack of sleep at night isn’t something that owl’s do.

Oh! Elphaba’s leaving! Byeee!

The petite prince was so caught up in his train of thought that he didn’t see Remus’s concerned gaze.

Bye bye birdies!

_________________________

Virgil stared at the bedazzled dirk in his hand, the onyx gems glinting in the light of the fire.

Wait, fire?

The emo turned to see a large green dragon (?!?!) diving towards him, flames spewing out of its mouth.

A dragon?

Shitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshit

“Virgil! Move!” he heard a voice shouting.

But for a moment he was paralyzed.

Then, in a way that was opposite his regular behavior, he let out a battle cry and leapt towards the reptilian rapscallion (Roman would be proud), brandishing his weapon.

The dragon roared as Virgil threw one of his dirks, the sharp metal burying itself in a shimmering teal scale.

No blood emerged.

One weapon wasted.

“What the fuck are you doing, you inbecile? Run!”

For some reason, Virgil decided to ignore the admittedly good advice.

The dragon swiped at the anxious side, knocking him into the hard brick of the tower.

The scaled beast crept forward.

It poked Virgil’s head, slamming it back into the stone.

And then the world was fading to black.

Well, he knew that wasn’t good.

_________________________

Logan shut his eyes, restraining a groan of frustration.

WHY did people (metaphysical people) never listen to him?

Virgil was the smallest of the sides (apart from Roman, at the moment) and though he was fight or flight, the anxious side really didn’t know how to defend himself, especially against dragons. It also didn’t help that he only had a tiny daggers and a leaden suit of armor to protect himself.

Logan took a deep breath.

…

When the logical side’s eyes reopened, he was subjected to the view of Virgil being yeeted (slang words) into the tower.

Virgil was quickly climbing up the idiot list.

Very quickly indeed.

_________________________

Where am I on the list right now?

The same place as you were when this happened.

Where was I?

That is not important.

What? Yes it i-

_________________________

Remus was concerned. Which was weird for him.

What did the smol one mean?

An owl?

Nocturnal?

Was Roman secretly an owl? Or did his twin have a really unhealthy sleep schedule that led to negatively affecting his mood, energy levels and attention span, making him lash out in even the slightest of stressful situations whilst simultaneously causing his metaphysical human being-like health and mental health to deteriorate?

Nah, he was probably an owl.

And with that (most of) Remus’s concern washed away.

His brother was an owl.

_________________________

Roman was watching the battle through the fly-eyes. Well, battle was an over exaggeration. It was really just VeeVee getting smacked into a wall by a dragon (who looked suspiciously like the Dragon Witch Big him had killed a while ago).

The prince looked to where Logan was.

The nerd looked reeeeeally annoyed.

Probably because now he had to defeat the dragon all by himself.

What’s he gonna do?

Roman watched as the logical side got up, a broadsword appearing in his grasp.

The prince summoned a bowl of popcorn.

He should throw it. Mama should definitely throw it.

Logan threw it.

And missed.

The sword didn’t even get near it!

Come ooooon, Mama.

The dragon roared and pounced on Logan, baring its teeth.

Roman leaned forward, a handful of popcorn nearing his mouth.

This was getting good.

A drop of saliva dripped onto Logan’s face…

Aaaaaannd…

He was whisked away from the fly-eyes view by a pair of grimy hands.

“ReeRee! No fair!”

“Sorry RoRo.”

The little prince pouted, and Remus held something out to hi.

“Look I made a stick!”

_________________________

Did it work?

Did what work?

The stick. As a distraction.

It wasn’t a distraction, I just really wanted to show him my stick!

Liesssss.

It was also a distraction.

_________________________

Patton was becoming concerned.

Roman usually would have come out by now.

Maybe he decided to talk to someone else.

But who?

Definitely not Janus, for obvious reasons. Maybe Virgil?

I should check. Just to see if he’s okay.

I’ll bring the brownies.

Just in case…

And so the walk to Virgil’s room began.

_________________________

Do it for the child.

That was the mantra that Logan was repeating in his head.

He truly did not appreciate being carried through the sky in a dragon’s claws, especially since it had caused his glasses to fall off of his face.

For the last time, I’m already blind! Why is it always me?

It also didn’t help that every single part of his body was aching.

_________________________

Do it for the bean.

That was the mantra that would probably have been repeated in Virgil’s head at this moment, if he wasn’t unconscious.

_________________________

Patton frowned.

Virgil wasn’t there.

Maybe Roman and his dark strange son were with Logan!

And so the walk to Logan’s room began.

_________________________

Remus giggled.

RoRo had forgotten about the fly-eyes almost immediately, being too distracted by the glowing stick.

He waved his hand.

A visitor (or two) was about to drop in.

_________________________

Patton furrowed his brows.

Logan wasn’t in his room either.

Were they all together?

Who else could they be with?

Remus?

It was worth a shot.

And so the walk to Remus’s room began.

_________________________

Back in the dragon witch’s claws, a fully healed, very confused Virgil awoke, and Logan felt all of his physical pain disappear, along with the stupid heavy armor.

And then they were thrown through the window of the brick monstrosity,

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

As Patton twisted the door handle,

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

As Virgil and Logan crashed through the floor of the tower,

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

As Remus looked up to see the ceiling falling in,

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

As Patton pushed open the door,

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

As the left brain boys fell into the Duke’s room.

Oh boy.

_________________________

Roman looked up from the stick to see ReeRee grinning like a madman (That’s pretty normal), VeeVee and Mama sprawled on the floor (Yay! Why’s the ceiling broken?), and Da- Patton glancing around the room with a plate of brownies in his hands (ohnohonohonohonohonoh).

The petite prince was feeling slightly overwhelmed.

“Wha?”

_________________________

Thanks for reading this chapter of the Petite Prince!

(And by the way, at the time of the stick distraction, Roman is around five. If you’re confused, don’t be scared to ask.)

Any and all feedback is appreciated!

#sanders sides #thomas sanders sides #tss #the petite prince #baby roman #roman sanders #ts roman #remus sanders #ts remus #virgil sanders #ts virgil #logan sanders #ts logan #patton sanders #ts patton

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luvknow · 5 years ago

Text

priceless | bang chan [1/2]

genre: rich kid!chan x fem!reader feat. rich kid!felix & rick kid!woojin ; friends-to-lovers ; fluff ; angst ; alcohol consumption ; crazy rich asians inspired summary: lucky you, you fall for the rich and powerful bang chan that every woman has their eyes on and he likes you back! but you get a taste of the luxurious life they all live in and you realize that someone like you isn’t meant to be with someone like him. wc: 12.9k a/n: two parts cuz this woulda been like 20k and i’m tired lol enjoy!

PART 2/2

Love at first sight was a horrendous idea. The thought of falling for someone the second your eyes met was absolutely terrifying. Of course this wasn’t exactly how it worked, but it sounded like sorcery, didn’t it? At least to Chan it did. He asked his father one time what it meant to feel so enamored by someone simply from the first encounter and he replied with,

“That’s just Hollywood mumbo-jumbo! Love takes time and it will come naturally, not right at the start. Love is patient. Just look at me - I’m patient with your mother all the time!”

So instead of expecting a spark with every person he met, Chan didn’t bother and let his feelings develop naturally. With every girlfriend he’s ever had, he let his heart take the lead and his mind, body, and soul followed shortly after.

Then he met you. Everything he knew about falling love went out the window. With you, love was not patient, nor was it kind, nor was it anything close to how it should ‘develop naturally’. It was a bullet train that hit Chan without remorse, crumbling every word and memory about what he thought love was supposed to be. It was unforgiving, with you two spending your entire college careers together as he watched you smile whenever you got your food, witnessed the stars in your eyes on your weekend nights together, and took note of the way your brows furrowed cutely when you were focused. The worst was when he had to sit there and listen about the guy you went on a date with or took back to your place. Love was truly unfair, and yes, he wasn’t so innocent on his side either, but how else was he supposed to distract himself from you? Surely partly-meaningless but healthy relationships with other women was much healthier than drowning in alcohol or whatever his inheritance-mooching friends did these days, wasn’t it?

Koi no yokan. It meant something along the lines of the type of feeling when you meet someone and you know that one day, you’ll fall in love with them. It might not be today, it might not be tomorrow, but it was inevitable. Chan hoped that was the kind of feeling you had when you met him. He hoped - he even prayed! - that the day you two met, you looked at him and thought, ‘he’s the type of man I could see myself falling for endlessly one day. Absolutely, positively ardently.’

Even when everyone around him and his ancestors above knew that you two couldn’t possibly be together, he’d find a way. Bang Chan always found a way.

After one thousand four hundred sixty days, multiple meaningless flings, and a couple of diplomas later, Chan continued to wait for that day to come.

four years ago:

You met Chan through your classmate-turned-friend Felix. It all started with some stupid class that was some elective you didn’t care about with a Professor who still believed in assigning partners for projects because college students weren’t capable of doing work on their own. Lo and behold, you were paired up with Felix, who wore an impossible amount of hyped-up designer brands, some of which you haven’t even heard of before. Of course you thought you were stuck with some rich, snobby, stuck-up inheritance-hogging brat who only went to college and majored in business so he could upstage all the other rich kids in his Daddy’s social circle, making him look like he was better than the rest of them for earning his inheritance. Surprisingly, that wasn’t all true. He was definitely trying to be The Top Heir, but he wasn’t a total dick. He was actually pretty nice for someone with a zillion dollars. That was the start of a beautiful and dynamic friendship.

“I can’t believe that’s what you really thought of me!” Felix gasped, clutching his heart at your insult. You tried to shush him from the nosy customers in the coffee shop, but he didn’t care. “You can’t judge a book by its cover, _____.”

“How can I not when you’ve rubbed your worth in my face since day one?” You took his Gucci x SUPREME collab black wallet with the signature GG logo and a Kingsnake painted on it that held four of his very heavy credit cards and shoved it in his face like he did with you and his entire existence.

“Yo, chill! The friction isn’t good for the credit cards!”

“I’m sure you have your emergency billion dollars stashed up in your penthouse suite just in case.”

“Yeah, but I hate carrying cash, so stop it,” he whined, snatching his wallet back. His phone vibrated on the table. “Oh, he’s almost here.”

“Who?”

“One of my friends. He asked to borrow the Versace belt you love so much.”

“You have two dozen Versace belts,” you scoffed. “Which one?”

“The one with the Barocco print.”

“English, Felix, English.”

“The floral one.”

“Oh my God, he wants to borrow that six-hundred dollar color-clashing mess!? Shouldn’t you people with money have some sort of fashion sense?”

“You are so mean. Stereotyping ‘my people’ is not cool, _____. Not cool! And my fashion sense is A-1!” he scolded, poking you harshly with his embossed fountain pen. “Can you at least try to be nice to him when he comes? You’re always so distant when you meet my friends.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Remember when you met Changbin?”

“Changbin told me he wanted to fly me to Paris to wine and dine me and rent a room in the Palace of Versailles like a Diamond-Grade prostitute, of course I try to stay far away from him!”

“But isn’t that the nicest thing a guy has ever told you? Isn’t it tempting to want to say yes? If I were you, I would’ve taken the offer.”

“Not surprised.”

It was then an impossibly handsome guy walked through the door. That had to be him because all of Felix’s friends were hot, but it was hard to tell. He wasn’t wearing anything ostentatious that screamed he was born into money (unlike your buddy Felix) nor did he wear anything that even resembled expensive brands. He wore all black, and though some items were stamped SUPREME, you couldn’t tell or at least recognize any other brands he wore. His fluffy, curly hair, cut jawline, kind eyes, and a warm million-dollar smile let you know he wasn’t like Felix’s other friends at all.

“_____, this is Chan, a family friend of mine. Chan, this is _____, the sole reason I haven’t flunked school yet.”

Chan was raised to judge every person he met by their looks and what they wore - it was an old habit his parents and grandparents embroidered in his brain, like silver thread on fine silk, that he was trying to get rid of since he started college. You wore nothing that indicated you were either from old or new money, nothing that said anything about your family name or bloodline, and no jewelry that looked like you inherited your great-great grandmother’s jewels that were gifted to her by a Prince. You were ordinary - quite possibly one of the only ordinary people he’s met thus far at this school.

Yes, you were nothing special material-wise, but you were pain-painstakingly stunning. How was that possible? Maybe it was your cute nose, or your pink lips, or the adorable way your brow quirked that caught his attention. Your curious eyes met his wide ones, sending his heart up to his throat, stopping him from breathing. It took him a minute to realize you had your hand out, waiting for him to connect. Quickly and awkwardly, he took your hand in his and felt his heart drop back into his chest cavity. But now he was sweating.

The effect you had on him was dangerous.

“Nice to meet you,” you said politely for the sake of Felix’s plea. The boy only nodded silently, trying not to look too affected by your infectious, beautiful smile. Great, another weirdo, you thought. Why were all the rich kids in this school so fucking weird!? Maybe it was your fault for accepting a scholarship to one of the country’s most expensive schools.

“Here’s the belt you requested.” Felix pulled out the belt a unicorn vomited on and handed it to Chan, who had snapped out of his trance. Your disgusted look doesn’t go unnoticed by him and he’s afraid you’re judging his choice in accessories. He wondered what kind of style you liked if you didn’t like this belt because all the upperclassmen born into old money that had girls falling on their knees had this belt. He’d have to ask Felix some other time.

“Thanks, dude. Mom said if I didn’t have Versace to wear at the charity event this weekend that she’d write me out of her will.”

So dramatic, you thought. You didn’t want to listen to boys talk about what pieces of clothing they had that cost more than tuition, so you sat back down and went back to studying.

“You owe me. Don’t get any champagne stains on it. And I better not see any wrinkles or stretches in the leather.”

“Yes, Dad. I can’t believe you let me borrow this. What are you gonna wear then?”

“I don’t know, something vintage probably, but I’ll figure it out. Got a date?”

“That’s requirement number two in order to stay in Mom’s will. I’m bringing Sana. What about you?”

“I’d rather go stag than bring some clingy arm candy to a simple charity fashion show. Unless _____ wants to be my date ~?”

“I’d rather die than be your arm candy,” you snorted.

To your dismay, Felix ruffled your hair playfully. “She hates it when I talk about this stuff. Don’t tell anyone I’m not bringing a date or else I’ll get kicked out, they’ll figure it out once I get there.”

“Gotcha. I’ll see you then.” After their bro handshake, Chan mustered up the courage to say, “It was nice meeting you, _____.”

“Nice meeting you,” you said in a sickly-sweet tone.

He saw right through you - you didn’t like him. He’s not sure why, when you barely talked to him for those two minutes he was there. Was he being too weird when you shook hands? Maybe he was talking too much about the show, since Felix mentioned you hated those kinds of talks, but why? Surely, you had to be used to this kind of stuff, right? Really, it shouldn’t bother him so much to know you didn’t like him already, but that famous Bang Pride coursed through his veins because everyone loved Bang Chan! It didn’t help that even knowing he didn’t need your attention, he was still so intrigued by you. To have those feelings not be reciprocated for the first time, to have you not eyeing him like you wanted him so badly, to you being completely disinterested at the simple mention of a high-class charity event that everyone was attending… It was exciting.

He accepted the challenge. He was going to win you over, whether you liked it or not.

“So what’d you think about Chan? He’s not so bad, right?” Felix asked before snatching up the last madeleine.

“He’s a little weird.”

“Yeah, I don’t know why, though...”

“You mean he’s not a space case all the time?”

“Not at all. If anything, he’s the one with the most confidence and focus out of our group of friends. Usually, people become a space case because of HIS presence, never the other way around. Did you cast a spell on him, or something?”

“I must have if I got one of your cocky millionaire friends to fall silent. I can feel the power in my veins.”

“Hey man, you better not flaunt that big ass head of yours. If word gets out that Chan was like that around a lil ol’ ordinary Olivia like yourself, you could be in big trouble.”

“You never warned me like this when it was Changbin. What makes Chan different?”

“Chan’s wealth has a long history. Like, really long. Almost pre-1800s long. His great-great-great-grandmother was one of the most well-regarded doctors in the country in her time. She was very well-off with the money she made, lived happily on her own, did her duty as a citizen and helped heal the soldiers during some war, and captured the heart of one of the most honored war heroes. Chan’s fortune began with a doctor and a war hero who gave birth to some inventor guy who married a luxury hotel heiress, whose history of wealth even I can’t trace back, and gave birth to the hotel heir that expanded its locations to eighteen different countries who then married the founder of a children’s charity, much to everyone’s surprise, and they gave birth to Chan’s grandmother, the sole heiress to the number one luxury hotel chain in the world. His Mom, who is currently sits at the head of the charity organization, is next in line. Then Chan gets to lead the organization until he inherits the hotels.”

Your brain struggled to wrap around Chan’s pedigree. “So he’s rich just like the rest of you.”

“Yeah, but he’s filthy rich. He’s been the Asia'’s most eligible bachelor under twenty-five twice in a row. What I’m saying is Chan is probably the number one most sought after guy slash son-in-law right now, and if anyone knows he’s taken even the slightest interest in you, they’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you two don’t happen.”

Well, that was terrifying. “God, this sounds like Cinderella on steroids. You better make sure we don’t happen!”

“I refuse to mess with fate, so this is all on you, babe.”

The F in Felix stood for Fake Friend.

Chan couldn’t find anything about you.

Google told him nothing, your social media showed him zilch, hell even his family private investigator only got as far as your great-grandparents owned a restaurant together which your grandfather and then your father happily took over. Really, he should have known from the start when he saw your clothes and lack of jewels that you didn’t come from the same background as him or Felix. This only made you more interesting.

After his thorough research on your social media and accidentally hitting the ‘add friend’ button (to which he shut his laptop and refused to look at the app for at least twenty-four hours out of pure embarrassment), you added him back only a couple hours later and he couldn’t stop the goofy smile growing on his lips. He felt like a little kid with a crush on his classmate! Your pictures were very silly, but you were still so pretty, and your captions were goofy with a touch of your wit peaking through and God, Chan had never been so struck by someone before, let alone by someone whose family history didn’t have their own Wikipedia page.

He needed to get to know you - to pick your brain, figure out your taste, and see that smile again. He needed to.

Poor Felix had to deal with texts like this:

issa banger [11:03 am]: wyd

yung felix [11:05 am]: eating lunch, why?

issa banger [11:06 am]: is _____ with you?

yung felix [11:09 am]: ??????????? no, why??

issa banger [11:09 am]: Read at 11:09 am.

And this:

issa banger [9:23 pm]: is that _____ in your snapchat?

yung felix [9:26 pm]: yeah u creep, we’re studying.

issa banger [9:32 pm]: what a coincidence, me too! i’m coming over.

yung felix [9:55 pm]: oop, she just left.

issa banger [9:47 pm]: ………..…. well i’m already here, so open the door.

And most recently this:

issa banger [2:15 am]: she’z sooiioioo cute felix…………

yung felix [2:17 am]: oh my god can u shut the fuck up.

This was all within one week of meeting you! Felix had to end this. He had never seen such a sad, desperate, puppy-loving side of Chan before, it was disgusting! What happened to the ‘I-don’t-care-about-love-I’ll-just-fuck-around-for-now-because-I’ll-probably-be-arranged-to-be-married-and-have-a-mistress-on-the-side-before-I’m-thirty’ Chan he knew since they were in diapers!? And like, no offense to you, but Chan was like this because of you, of all people, who came from a working-class family. The Bangs were groomed to date and marry only the best, so you two would never work out for even a day if it even got that far. But whatever, if meeting you again was all it took for Chan to stop bothering him, then so be it. You might kill him later for setting this up, but he’ll take the fall - anything to get his filthy rich and lonely friend to stop breathing down his neck.

fungus [5:43 pm]: hey u at the coffee shop?

you [5:57 pm]: yeah why?

fungus [6:01 pm]: i told chan to drop off The Versace Barocco-Print Belt with u if that’s cool

you [6:02 pm]: uuuuuuuuuuuuugggggggggggghhhhhhhhhh fine

fungus [6:05 pm]: thanks bro.

fungus [6:06 pm]: play nice ~ he’s a cool guy.

On cue, the ever-so handsome, front cover of GQ magazine, most eligible bachelor under twenty-five who added you on social media at three in the morning last week walked through the door. Again, he didn’t wear anything that stood out or any brands you didn’t recognize, so he didn’t necessarily look like he had any type of money Felix had informed you the first time, but the way he walked made up for it. Back straight, broad shoulders that swayed, chest out and peaking through the white satin button-up that was buttoned too low, flexed jaw and pursed lips that said ‘move, bitch’, and his expensive dress shoes that clicked and echoed on the floor, drawing the attention of everyone in the cafe. He may not have dressed to stand out, but that didn’t matter because he drew everyone’s attention anyways.

He paid no mind to everyone else because all of his attention was on you. The second he laid eyes on you was when his annoyed expression melted into a mix of something sweet and thankful.

“_____,” he greeted simply in his honey voice. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“Hi,” you said casually. “Likewise. Do you have the world’s ugliest belt with you?”

He chuckled lightheartedly, which sounded more like a cute giggle. “Is it really that ugly?”

“Too avant garde, if you ask me.”

Chan invited himself to a seat next to you. When you didn’t object or look noticeably disgusted by his presence, he took it as a sign that you welcomed his company. One foot through the door. “I’ll have you know it was a hit last weekend.”

“I’m sure anything you wear is a hit, even if it is something so atrocious.”

“It’s called couture.”

“I suppose my taste isn’t as high-class compared to your couture.”

“What is your taste?”

“I don’t think the lack of zeros in my bank account qualify me to answer this question.”

Another silky laugh escaped his curled lips. _____, stop looking there! “You don’t need to have a lot of money to know or have good taste.”

“There’s a whole world of clothing, food, and architecture that I didn’t know about before meeting Felix, so the expanse of my knowledge when it comes to a taste of anything isn’t as vast as those who do have a butt-load of money.”

“Even so, I happen to like your style.”

You did that cute little brow quirk he liked so much. “My t-shirt and jeans? You’re kidding, right?”

“What? I’m wearing a shirt and jeans, too.”

“Your shirt is made from the finest silk China could afford and mine is a mix of cotton and polyester.”

“Close enough. At least our jeans match.” Chan placed the belt free of champagne stains and leather wrinkles on the table. “Here’s your favorite belt of art that’s been passed around our friend group like a blunt.”

“Ooh, I can’t wait to hold something that’s touched nine millionaires’ crotches.”

“I bet,” he teased. “You look busy, so I’ll leave you alone.”

Normally, you’d be more than happy to bid a man farewell, but something came over you. “Actually, I’m not. Are you busy?”

“Me? No, why?”

“I’m kind of hungry. Would you like to join me for dinner?”

Chan had to stop his grin from growing. He couldn’t look too excited, or that would creep you out. And to think he doubted himself about winning you over. You even beat him to asking you out! “I’d love to. I know the perfect place.”

“I’m sure you know this by now from my impeccable style but please choose somewhere affordable.”

“This place is cheap, I promise.”

“Like two dollar signs on Yelp cheap?”

“One.”

“Now you’re talking my language, Mr. Chan.”

He’ll talk all your ‘languages’ - your food language, your money language, your love language - he’ll come to know all of them like the back of his hand.

Despite picking a place to eat for the both of you to enjoy without denting your bank account, Chan ended up paying for both of your meals with his black metal credit card.

“Hey, why’d you do that!?” you whined.

“I never let my friends pay when they’re with me.”

“Well, I’m not one of your money-hungry friends! I have pride and dignity! This means I owe you a meal next time.”

“Ok, it’s a date.”

Chan was making his way towards the door before you could fully process the exchange. A date? Oh God, was tonight’s dinner a date!? No way, right…? Out the door, you saw him chuckle at how confused your face must have looked and he ushered you with his hand to hurry and follow.

Smooth move, Mr. Chan… I’ll let that one slide.

two years ago:

Falling for Chan was effortless. After dinner the night he returned Felix’s belt, spending time together happened so frequently that you didn’t even notice how fast you were falling. You hate to sound cliche, but Chan wasn’t like all the other rich kids within their massive social circle. He didn’t flaunt his worth, he didn’t judge you for your lack thereof, nor was he some dumb ass kid going to school to just party and hook up every other night.

Chan was kind. He’d always put your needs above his, like wanting to pay him back for all the food he’d buy, but that got hard to keep up with real fast. He never wanted you to pay him back in the first place, but if buying him a cup of coffee would make you happy, then so be it. He’d always walk you back to your dingy apartment after dinner or drive you home in his blacked-out Ferarri after studying at the library so late because he worried about you walking alone in the dark. You fell faster on the days you were sick and he’d stop by with the best chicken soup in the city, packets of fragrant teas to chase the Nyquil, and the fancy tissues with vapor rub and soothing lotion. But he must do these kinds of things with all of his friends, because that’s the kind of person he was.

Chan was intelligent. He told you about his childhood spent in private schools with private tutors while playing sports and instruments and learning multiple languages and if he didn’t rank in the top 5% every year, he got his ass handed to him by his mother (fourth year of high school was rough). What amazed you even more was how he retained all of the languages and talent.

“I took five years of Spanish and I can speak at a child’s level,” you pouted. “How the hell do you know seven languages!?”

“Gotta learn the languages of where the hotels are located, y’know?”

“Of course…”

Chan was passionate. Not just about the charity work his family does, not just about the hotel business, but every little thing that interested him sparked a little fire inside. Chan put his mind, body, and soul into all his projects, his work, and everything he ever cared about. When he’s focused and has a goal in mind, he won’t stop until he gets it done and the execution is perfect. You thought it was kind of hot - the way his pupils dilated, the satisfied smirk after completing something, the dangerous little sparkle in his eyes… So hot.

It was the little things that solidified his place in your heart. All the times he tucked your hair behind your ears, when his hand was on the small of your back to guide you, and when his breath tickled your ear when he leaned in close to whisper were all little catalysts to your already-aching heart that beats for him.

What were you to do? You, a simple woman growing up nowhere near his and Felix’s type of lifestyle. You didn’t have diamond-encrusted pacifiers, or ten maids and nannies, or a yacht that you got on your eighteenth birthday. You lived a simple teenage and young adult life that you wouldn’t change for the world, yet you fell for someone who had everything served to him on silver platters and fine china. You thought that there was no way you two could ever work even if he reciprocated your feelings.

But he didn’t see you as the simple woman you saw in the mirror. He saw the extraordinary, goofy, diligent, beautiful you all the time. Your background or financial status didn’t matter to him. The way you smiled at him mattered; the way your hand lingered on his arm a little longer after you hit him for something funny he said mattered; the dreamy look in your eyes that you had whenever you looked at him mattered. Nothing else mattered.

“Why do you always look at me like that?” he asked you one evening while hanging out on his massive penthouse porch.

“Like what?”

“With your wide eyes and that soft little smile that breaks all the boys’ hearts,” he teased. “Did I do something? Am I that sexy?”

“Shut up,” you blushed. “I’m just thinking about how it’s weird being friends with you.”

“Why weird?”

“I don’t know. I’m not used to being around all of this.” Your arms widened to showcase Chan’s apartment that was at least ten times the size of yours.

“Ah, you mean my butt load of money. Even after two years of being The Dynamic Duo?”

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it. I just feel out of place, you know? I see the way some of your other friends look at me. It shouldn’t bother me so much, but I can’t help it. I feel like I don’t have the prerequisites to be your friend.”

“Who’s looking at you funny? Is it Bambam? I’ll kick his ass -”

“Stop, don’t kick your friends’ asses.”

“They just haven’t gotten to know the wonderful, thoughtful, dumb ass _____ yet.” Chan pulled you into a tight bro-like hug and ruffled your hair like a little kid to mask his rapidly-beating heart. “Don’t pay attention to them. You should know by now I don’t care about money.”

“But -”

“None of that about you matters to me, ok? Only you matter.”

You learned by now to not be affected by his poetic words, but tonight you fell back into your old habits. Only you mattered to him - that felt good. Feeling defeated by your dumb feelings, but comforted at the same time, you lazily wrapped your arms around Chan’s tiny waist as you lay your head on his shoulder.

“You’re so corny,” you muttered.

He ruffled your hair once more. “Only for you.”

It was then you thought to yourself that maybe this could work. Maybe falling for him wasn’t a mistake and being together wasn’t so far-fetched and being loved was something obtainable. For the first time, you thought having Chan by your side wasn’t as ridiculous as it seemed.

But of course, it wasn’t that simple. Nothing was simple when it came to Bang Chan. It was always out of the ordinary. Extraordinary. The night you realized you and him would never be was the same night you witnessed what life was like when you could drown in your own gold and jewels.

“Singapore?” you repeated to your two Aussie friends incredulously. “You’re going to Singapore just for the weekend?”

“We’re going to Singapore,” Chan corrected.

Felix called you and said to come over immediately because it was an emergency, which was Felix talk for ‘I have a trip in a couple of days and I need you to help me pick out my outfits.’ Really, you never actually helped with the picking process, he just wanted you there to tell him he looked good. So as usual, you sat in one of his oriental-style bright red cushioned chairs that were placed on both ends of the ten-by-ten foot mirror in his massive walk-in closet and Chan stood next to you, wondering how you ever put up with Felix’s outfit changes. Tonight wasn’t the usual packing agenda when they broke the news to you that yes, you were definitely joining them on a weekend trip to Singapore for Choi San’s birthday this weekend.

“I can’t afford that!” you screeched. “I can’t just book a flight and a hotel like this on the spot!”

“Oh, _____, you’re so cute ~” Felix teased, adjusting the collar on his shirt. “Like hell am I going to let us fly like the locals. We’re using my Dad’s private jet and staying in Chan’s private Black and White bungalow, of course. And none of us have to pay a dime.”

“But I don’t even know San like that.”

“You will this weekend. C’mon, it’ll be so much fun! It’s going to be the party of the century! He always throws the most extra parties.”

“Even if I did want to go, I don’t have the clothes for it. I don’t own anything high-end like you guys. I’ll stick out like a sore thumb.”

“I already got that covered.” With his shirt half-buttoned, Felix ran to the other side of the closet to open a door you had never seen before. Inside of his bedroom, which held a 500 square foot closet, held a smaller 300 square foot closet. A closet within a closet - closet-ception, if you will. You didn’t have to go inside to see all the crystal-embroidered tulle gowns and the silkiest shirts that hung on black velvet hangers. “My older sister keeps her clothes here sometimes so Dad doesn’t see it. Just borrow some of her stuff.”

“I can’t just take her clothes!”

“Actually, she already picked out the ones she thinks would look best on you,” Felix showed you her incoming text messages as proof that one, you definitely had her permission to wear whatever you’d like and two, she thought you looked best in Valentino.

“Ooh, Valentino ~ I agree,” Chan piped in.

“I don’t know…” you hesitated. You could handle Felix and Chan and their riches when it was just the two of them, but to be surrounded by hundreds of people who had the same kinds of bank accounts? And you, floating among them in clothing that wasn’t even yours, faking your way into the social circle? It sounded like a suicide mission.

“You’ll have one of us by your side the whole time, we promise. We want you to meet our friends and show you that not all rich people are assholes like our parents.” Chan stuck out his lower lip and clasped his hands together like a kid begging for some ice cream. “Please come?”

Felix joined in with the begging and now you have two golden retriever puppies begging you to go on what should be a multi-million dollar vacation for the weekend with them, dressed to the nines twenty-four seven. You had to be crazy to not immediately scream yes, but the whole idea of this weekend was just terrifying. But you’d be with Chan, vacationing in a beautiful country, with him by your side. You couldn’t pass this opportunity up.

“Fine,” you sighed in defeat.

“Yes! Ooh, this weekend is going to be so much fun! Hey, we should all match for the party! _____, I know exactly what you should wear -”

Chan snickered at the excited boy pulling out piles and piles of clothes to dress his new life-size doll. You already deeply regretted your decision.

As Felix held up pastel-colored tulles and jewel-toned satins up to your body in front of the ridiculously-sized mirror, Chan couldn’t help but fantasize about the weekend. He already had it all planned out - you would take the front seat in his cherry-red convertible and breathe in the clean Singaporean air with the biggest smile on your face as you all pulled up to his Black and White bungalow, your eyes would widen at the decor, you’d claim the bedroom right next to his, you’d take tons of pictures and capture every moment together, eat the foods he grew up with when he spent his summers here, and then party ‘til the sun rose. You’d look so beautiful in whatever Felix chose, and you’d link arms with him like you two were together. Then you’d dance, drink, and laugh the night away in his arms for hours. Felix would probably stray away to find some poor soul to bother and that’s when it’d be just the two of you. When the party was too much to handle or the alcohol was too strong, he’d walk you home. If you were stumbling over little bumps, he’d pick you up and carry you the whole three blocks distance and you’d be so cute and giggly that he, too, couldn’t help but laugh because the warmth of your blushing cheek pressed against his made his heart ecstatic. Once you arrive home, he’d take you to the backyard and you two would stargaze or watch the sun rise, depending on how late you came home. You’d start out with some space in between. Then he’d get closer. Then he’d brush his hands against yours. Then he’d hold them, fingers laced loosely at first, hoping you’d squeeze back tightly. Finally, he’d confess that after two years of knowing you, he’s fallen for you harder every single day since he met you at the coffee shop. If you felt the same, then perfect, the night would end with a soft kiss. If you didn’t, he’ll run to the pier and sail his yacht all the way back home and claim he was blackout drunk, or something.

Yeah, that sounded like a solid plan. What could go wrong?

It was six in the morning when you were dragged out of bed and thrown into Chan’s Ferrari. Felix’s private jet only had you, him, and Chan as passengers. You thought for something as big as a damn plane that maybe the whole friend group would be tagging along, but apparently they insisted on flying on their own and leaving a larger carbon footprint, but hey you weren’t surprised in the least. That just meant less arguing over what to watch on the eighty-inch flat screen and more champagne for the three of you.

“Holy shit,” you muttered after taking the middle seat in front of the television.

“Pretty cool, huh?” Felix boasted, hopping on the seat to your left. “Have I not introduced you to JASMINE before?”

“I think I’d remember if I’ve been on your private jet before.”

“Ah, maybe I’m remembering the time you went on my yacht, ROSEMARY.”

Chan joined in to your left with a handful of flute glasses filled with bubbly, golden champagne and a single raspberry at the bottom for you and Felix. He raised his glass in celebration. “Cheers to the weekend.”

“It’s six thirty in the morning,” you groaned tiredly.

“It’s five o’clock somewhere.”

“You can’t keep using that excuse, Chan, your liver will fail you one day.”

“A wise man once said YOLO, my dearest _____, so let’s drink to that!”

“Ugh… cheers,” After taking a sip, your face twisted sourly. “Oh, that’s not good…”

“It’s terrible, but it gets the job done.”

“You’re both crazy, I love this stuff,” Felix said, chugging the whole glass. “Forget water, make sure only champagne and 1738 course through my veins for the next two days.”

For the duration of the six hour flight, the three of you watched one horror movie (to which Felix cowered under his fluffy monogrammed blanket) and one romantic comedy (to which Felix cried while holding his Rilakkuma bear). Then after the smoothest plane landing you’ve ever experienced, you finally landed in the beautiful country of Singapore. The skies were so blue, the skyline was gorgeous, hell even the airport was voted the most beautiful airport in the world. A red convertible pulled up to the three of you waiting at the arrivals section and the driver tossed Chan the car keys. As the driver put your luggage in the back of a separate car, Chan opened the passenger seat open for you like a gentleman.

“Your chariot awaits, my darling,” he smiled cheekily. “Her name is Cherie.”

“Do all rich people name their motor vehicles?”

“Of course, it’s only right.”

The crisp afternoon air felt good flowing between your fingers. Chan caught glimpses of your smile and knew then that inviting you to this weekend was the best decision he’s made concerning you. His plan was going swimmingly thus far - now to survive the next couple days.

The Black and White house was quite literally a Black and White house, but it was nothing close to being monotonous. It was a beautiful symmetrical white bungalow with black trimming and a tanned overhanging roof. All of the shutter-style windows were wide open, allowing the same beautiful breeze to pass through the house, wafting the smell of fresh scones and muffins as you walked through the door. The inside of the house got more extravagant with every step you took. The walls were all white (porcelain white, not daisy, of course), the tiles a glossy pearl, every corner filled with the greenest potted plants and too many antique potteries to count, high ceilings with a crystal chandelier dropping in the living room, and a deep mahogany wood door that led to the backyard that overlooked the entire city.

“You vacationed here in the summer!?” you gasped.

“Yup, every year.”

“It’s beautiful!”

“You should see Changbin’s bungalow,” Felix interjected. “He demanded the house to be repainted black instead of the classic white.”

“My childhood summers were spent on my grandparent’s farm. I can’t imagine what it’d be like to wake up every morning to freshly-made scones and fruit jam.”

Chan led you up the stairs to show you the bedrooms. You lost count of how many there were by the time you got to his. His room was enormous, with a king-sized bed right in the middle covered in the fluffiest white covers. He had his guitar and other music-related toys on one wall of the room with a soft yellow neon sign that said ‘CB97’ mounted high on the wall with posters beside it. His room was decorated very Chan-like, and you thought it was quite charming.

“I didn’t like being by my siblings, so I asked to get the one at the very end and the spares were used whenever Felix and the guys came over. Felix’s is across the hall and your’s is the one next door.”

“Ah yes, Chan’s room - where all the magic happened,” Felix teased, jumping on the bed. “I’ve heard way too many stories about the girls you’d take up here -”

“Ah ha ha ~! No need to relive that!” Chan blushed deeply.

“You’re suddenly shy about it now? You sure didn’t have any problem boasting about it every summer.”

“That was so long ago.”

“Please, two years was not that long ago. Didn’t you come her last year, too? God, who knows what happened then.”

Your heart sunk. So he’s taken girls up here before. A lot of girls, according to Felix, and by the way Chan blushed from embarrassment, he wasn’t denying it, either. It wasn’t right for you to feel jealous, you didn’t even know him during those times, unless he had a fling last summer that no one knew about. No, it definitely wasn’t right for you to feel jealous, but the burning in your chest was a little difficult to ignore at one in the afternoon.

“Gross,” you say as light-heartedly as you could. You left sourly without another word to unpack your belongings.

Fuck. Damn Felix and his big ass mouth! You probably thought he was a disgusting playboy now. This was one of several things Chan was afraid of when you were introduced to this side of his life - that his scandalous, rebellious past would come back to haunt him and hit you in the face and you’d be so turned off by it. Well, that’s exactly what happened, not one hour on the island. He couldn’t help that he was a horny teenager back then! Chan chucked one of the embroidered silk pillows at his cowering childhood friend before hastily following you.

You held up a jewel-toned satin piece that Felix chose from his sister’s closet. It was different than the one chosen a couple of nights ago (“_____, I change my mind, wear this one instead.” “Wha - Felix, we’re leaving in ten minutes!” “Just trust me!”), but Chan thought this one suited you much better. The look on your face said you thought otherwise.

“Not a fan of Valentino?” he teased.

“Quite the opposite. I think it’s beautiful, it’s just I don’t think it’ll look beautiful on me.”

“Nonsense. You look beautiful in anything.”

“There’s no need to lie.”

“Who’s lying? You look especially dashing in t-shirt and jeans.”

“My impeccable sense of style,” you giggled. “Is the party tonight really going to be this fancy? Isn’t it just a house party?”

“My dear _____, it’s not just any house party, it’s the house party,” Chan corrected. “San owns the biggest Black and White bungalow in the country. He decks it out to the max with unnecessary decorations, hires Singapore’s multi-Michelin star restaurants to cater, ships in expensive wines and spirits, and hires those exotic dancers that hang from the ceiling. San’s parties make international headlines, and this one’s extra special because it’s his birthday, so yes, fancy is just an understatement.”

“Yeah, I really don’t belong here…”

“Don’t worry about it for now. What we need to worry about is lunch, ‘cuz I’m starving.”

“Hey, I’m gonna be with Jisung and Changbin until the party. I’ll just see you guys there,” Felix waved off casually.

“Guess it’s just you and me.” Chan hoped he didn’t look too glad Felix was gone. “I want to take you to a restaurant I always ate at in the summer.”

“How many dollar signs on Yelp?”

“Not telling ‘cuz I’m paying.”

“Chan, you ass, you said you’d make things even from now on!”

“A man just wants to fly his friend to a whole new country and treat her to his favorite restaurant, is that too much to ask for!?”

You didn’t answer while following a happy-go-lucky, skippy Chan to his red convertible. You’ve never seen him so happy before. He must have missed being on the soil that held his summer-y childhood memories. Being in the hot sticky sun in the house he loved the most with the widest, dimple-iest smile on his cute lips let you know that Chan was at home. Spending every moment with him for the next two days watching his smile grow as he revisited memory lane would make it hard for your heart to stop fluttering.

It was no more than a ten minute drive from his house, but from where you parked, you couldn't spot any restaurants.

"It's a bit of a hole in the wall. I hope you don't mind walking a bit."

"Not at all! The best places to eat are always hidden well."

The surrounding area reminded you of the more crowded and space-efficient parts of home. The buildings were all kind of squished together with tiny alleys in between and there was a ton of foot traffic, but it was probably because it was the weekend. You almost lost track of Chan until he grabbed onto your hand and guided you through the sea of locals.

"It's a little overwhelming if you haven't been here before," he said apologetically. "It's worth the journey, I promise."

"You used to come here a lot over the summer?"

"Almost every day. The woman who runs the place was like another grandmother to me. She is the sweetest thing. Oh, there she is!"

Chan sharply turned the corner of the street and you were taken to a whole other dimension. It reminded you of the beginning scene in Spirited Away when Chihiro and her parents stumbled upon the empty street filled with different tents of food, only this time you couldn't even see past the second tent. Even in the daytime, a place like this seemed so magical that it was no wonder a kid wanted to come here everyday. The different spices and aromas marinated in the air and it was so heavenly, you couldn't wait to get a bite! Somewhere in the middle, the tent that Chan had been dying to go to all year round was right where he left it.

"Auntie!" Chan called from the back of the endless line.

"Eh?" A cute little woman with a floral bandanna and red apron squinted in your direction. The second she saw Chan's handsome face, her grumpy expression smoothed to that of a grandma seeing her grandson grow so much in just a single year. "Channie! You're back for the summer!?"

"Just for the weekend, auntie."

She didn't miss a single beat as she continued to serve her loyal customers. "Ah, you're too busy to visit me everyday now, huh?"

"Sadly, yes," he pouted.

"You want the usual, Channie?"

"Yes, please! Can you make that two?"

"Eh?" Again, the little woman squinted in your direction. Chan had let go of your hand and placed them on your shoulder, indicating that you were his guest of honor this afternoon. A teasing twinkle gleamed in her youthful eyes. "Ah, I see ~"

Chan didn't deny her teasing. He didn't say, 'nah, it's not like that' or say 'she's just a friend'. Instead, he hung his head down embarrassingly, his grin not faltering, neither yours. You wondered what he was thinking.

The line was long, but it moved quickly when Chan was by your side telling you stories of his childhood spent with Felix and his other friends making a ruckus in the streets and buying up all the meat skewers until not a single shop had any left.

"Jeez, growth spurt much?"

"Hey, a man's gotta eat, ok?"

Finally, it was your turn in line, and the Queen of the shop already had two plates full of noodles slathered in a dark, sweet-smelling sauce and two large styrofoam cups.

"Channie never ate anything else besides my kway teow noodles,” Auntie told you. “The first few years of eating it as a little boy, he thought there were no vegetables, so I never told him there were any because it was the only way he'd eat them - covered in my special sauce.”

"No need to relive my unhealthy childhood…" he muttered while you laughed.

"It's fine now, since you've grown up to be so~o handsome!" she pinched his chubby cheek. "Finally, you have yourself a girlfriend. 'Bout time! Even San beat you! But that’s no surprise, the ladies love that bad boy."

"O-Oh, we're not…!" you stuttered nervously, unable to finish your sentence. She really was like an embarrassing auntie…

"We're not together like that," Chan concluded. “She’s just a close friend.”

She scoffed incredulously. "Yeah, for now."

"Auntie!"

She ignored her favorite customer’s whining and turned to you once more. “Watch out for this playboy, he’ll be hard to tie down.”

“So I’ve heard.”

Chan needed to get you out of there before any more of his past was brought up. So much for his stellar, fool-proof plan. He handed Auntie what looked to be a lot of money, but you’re not sure what the conversion is to their dollar. A quick kiss on her cheek and he whisked you away. “Bye, Auntie! Love you!”

“Visit me more often, you stingy brat! And by, sweetheart, it was nice meeting you!” she called out sweetly.

Chan hastily grabbed one of the wooden benches just outside of the long street of vendors. He seemed quite relieved to have left his favorite food stand before Auntie revealed too much of the past summers. Your feelings clashed with a sense of jealousy and a bit of pride that she thought you were his girlfriend. Yet again did you have to remind yourself that no, _____, you cannot be jealous, you dumb ass!

“Sorry about that,” Chan sighed. “She doesn’t have a filter.”

“I like her. She’s very spunky,” you laughed. “Does she do that to all the girls you bring to her?”

“No. Why would you think that?”

“It seems like she’s met a few of them.”

“I’ve told her stories, but I’ve never brought any of them to this place. Now that I think about it, you’re the first girl I’ve brought to her. That’s probably why she thinks we’re serious.”

“Really? Why’s that?” You took your first bite of the savory-sweet noodles. It’s chewy, glutenous gold. “Holy shit.”

“Crazy good, right? Auntie makes them the best. And you’re asking why I never brought anyone else here?” You nodded silently, too preoccupied stuffing your face with Chan’s childhood favorite dish. “This place holds a special part of my childhood. I can’t just bring anyone here.”

“What’s makes it so special?” You took a sip from the styrofoam cup. It’s sugarcane juice!

“When I was a kid, I didn’t come here to bask in the sunlight and play at the beach all day. I’d go to summer school during the day where I was taught math and economics at least two grades ahead of me and attend Mom’s business and charity meetings in the evening. I was always so tired, no matter what time of day it was. One time, I was being so bratty and was crying so much from all the unwanted stress and my parents didn’t like it because I’m supposed to be the Charity Chairman’s perfect son and the perfect heir to the hotel franchise, you know? But I just wanted to be a kid. My family got so mad at me for being selfish that they kicked me out of the house for the night without dinner and I couldn’t come back until the morning.”

“That’s crazy! Where did you sleep!?”

“The pool house behind the main house,” he stated obviously.

“Oh, of course. Silly me.”

He threw his crumpled-up napkin at you before continuing. “That’s when I met Auntie. I was crying and wailing and sobbing like a baby on a Wednesday evening, so it wasn’t busy and no one really saw me. I sat at this very bench with my head down crying until I could fall asleep because I really didn’t want to return home. Then I felt someone nudge me awake. It was Auntie, and she gave me a bowl of curry with some paratha and I thought, ‘an old lady wouldn’t try to poison me, right?’ So I inhaled that whole bowl and chugged all of the chocolate Milo. I tried paying her with all the cash I had because I was so thankful, and she couldn’t believe a young kid like me had so much in the first place, but she never took it. I came every week to order from her and she remembered me every time. I tried everything on the menu by my tenth visit, and the kway teow is my favorite. I’d come here after a rough day with my parents, after I failed an exam, after I cried over some girl I had a crush on, after I found out my Dad had a mistress, you name it. Sometimes I came for no reason at all - I just didn’t want to be home.”

A shaky sigh escaped Chan’s lips. His eyes were glossy and it broke your heart to see Chan on the brink of tears, but he’s smiling. His upbringing was rough, but he’s smiling because he wouldn’t have survived his childhood without the spunky woman behind the food stand in the middle of the street. You dared to reach across the table and hold his hand, hoping he’d find some comfort in your touch. He does, and you know so by the way he squeeze it back so tightly. There were no more tears in his eyes.

“This place was my secret hideout for a good chunk of my life. I can’t just bring anyone here.” Chan began to trace little circles on the back of your hand.

“What am I if I’m not just anyone?”

“Special,” he replied. “To me, you’re special.”

The air was filled with your cute giggles and you took your hand back to cover your blushing, glowing face. Chan always had a way with words. “You’re a cornball!”

“I’ll have you know that the ladies love cornballs!”

“Not this one.”

“Oh, hold still, you got a little of the dark sauce on your cheek.” Chan leaned over the table with a napkin in his hand as you sat still. The very last second, he drops the napkin, scooped up a hefty dollop on his finger, and smeared it on your cheek.

“EW!”

“That’s what you get!”

Your special man began running to the car with you on his tail laughing like two young lovers on their honeymoon. Both of you failed to see someone taking pictures as they sent them to San’s entire guest list.

“Bro, you look hot.”

You jumped at Felix’s comment and chuck a pillow at his almost-shirtless torso. He had a weird habit of not buttoning up his shirts until the last minute. One of his many idiosyncrasies.

“Chill, that’s a compliment! Didn’t I pick out a hot Valentino piece? Chef kiss, m’lady.”

“You’re so gross… But you do have taste, so thank you. You really didn’t have to ask your sister to let me borrow this, though. I still feel terrible.”

“Shut up, you’re fine. She’s never going to wear that, I promise you. Besides, I can’t have someone not wearing designer stand next to me, that’d be blasphemous.”

“Can you please button up your shirt?”

“Why? These Hawaiian Sweet Rolls too much for you to handle?” he teased, flexing his six-pack. You dry heaved dramatically.

“You two are like siblings, it’s so funny - whoa,” Chan stopped mid-sentence, completely stunned by your presence. Of course he’d love how you looked if you wore a hoodie and jeans because he never even imagined you wearing something like this, but you blew him away.

“Good whoa or bad whoa?” you panicked.

“Definitely a good whoa… U-Uh, I mean, yeah. Yes.”

“Thank you,” you grinned. You eyed the man in the black and gold polka-dotted Muslin Yves Saint Laurent button up (buttoned too low, as usual) tucked loosely in Yves Saint Laurent cuffed trousers. Certainly, Chan was bound to be the center of attention at one point, regardless of whose birthday it was. Felix sported Louis tonight and you thought to yourself that you three were quite a sexy trio. “You two don’t look too bad yourselves.”

“Straight from the runway,” Felix boasted.

“Straight from my closet,” Chan shrugged.

“Can we get drunk before I cry about how much money I don’t have?”

Chan’s driver sported a white Rolls Royce to take you all there, despite it being only three blocks away (Felix was more than happy because he didn’t want to scuff his shoes). You thought you were fashionably late, but it turns out San was just showing off his cars and leaving them parked on the circular driveway. The size of his house made the cars look so, so tiny, but his house was truly enormous, way bigger than Chan’s. Couples among couples began to file in the house, making you feel nervous and very, very single.

“Do people usually bring a date to these parties?” you asked the boys.

“Yeah, for clout. Two shots later and suddenly everyone’s up for grabs,” Felix explained, walking up the driveway without waiting. “I’ll see y’all back at home. Or not. Don’t wait up for me ~”

When Chan saw that what Felix said didn’t lessen your nerves one bit, he held his arm out for you. “Wanna be my date for tonight?”

“You won’t ditch me after two shots?”

“Two, no. Five, maybe.”

How could you deny his dimpled grin? You couldn’t, so you slipped your arm through and walked into San’s palace. You were taken to a whole new world; a whole new dimension of luxury and riches that you only tapped into upon landing here. There was indeed dancers twirling on ribbons from the ceilings, loud music from some famous DJ that headlined at EDC, and liquor of every shade of gold in crystal glasses. Everything was so magnificent and expensive, it was like you couldn’t even afford to look at anything or even anyone. Everyone who was anyone was here, and you recognized a lot of their faces from Chan and Felix’s social media. You couldn’t even pronounce the brands they were wearing! Again, Chan sensed your anxiousness, something he was so unbelievably good at, and slipped his arm down so that he could grab on to your hand. He figured if you were able to let all his past worries go away by just holding his hand across the table that he could do the same, only this time he was by your side like he always wanted to be. You always predicted that his hand would fit so nicely in yours.

“CHAN! MI AMIGO!” San screamed into the mic from the dance floor. “Everyone, the sexiest bachelor of the hour has arrived!”

“Oh, boy,” he sighed.

He was surprised to hear you giggle at his friend’s nickname. “Looks like we came a little late.”

San stumbled in front of you before falling into your arms for a tight hug. You weren’t used to such an affectionate San - you shared multiple classes with him and you’re surprised he even remembered you, if you were being honest.

“Happy birthday, San,” you struggled to say as you held the boy up.

“Hi, _____! Thank you! I’m so glad you’re here!” San’s foxy eyes widened at the sight of his questioning friend. “Chan! I missed you!”

“Miss you, too, buddy,” he chuckled, hugging the sloppy man. “Happy birthday, bro. Making Mina work hard, I see.”

“Why, do you see her!? Don’t tell her you saw me!” And that was the last time you saw San.

Chan shook his head at his childhood friend. Then he took your hand and lead you deeper into the party. “Let’s go find people we actually know.”

As you slipped between the crowd, you felt eyes staring. A bunch of eyes, actually. A lot of them. The owners were mostly girls, ones you recognized, and that’s when you knew it was because of Chan, the bachelor of the century. They eyed you maliciously, switching between judging you from what you were wearing and your hold onto Chan’s hand. Where was that handsome waiter with a tray full of shots? You needed that right about now.

On cue, Chan handed you liquid gold. “Cheers to a fun night.”

“Right… Cheers.” Bottoms up! Oh God, that burned! But the warm finish was quite nice. “More, please.”

“Jeez, what for? You trying to leave me after two shots already?” he teased.

“No, I’m just trying to blind myself from all those… eyes…”

“Huh?” Chan caught a glimpse of what you meant when he caught the eyes of familiar flings and old friends. His jaw clenched. “Don’t worry about them, ok?”

“I’m trying, but you’re holding me back if I can’t take at least one more shot.” Reluctantly, your handsome date gave you what you wanted and he followed suit. “Bottoms up!”

Bottoms up indeed, several times too many, if Chan thought so himself. But you were loosening up and not worrying about another thing he feared about this trip - that you would meet his exes, or worse, they would do something to hurt you because that’s just what girls with tons of money do. He soon forgot about all his worries when you dragged him on the dance floor and had your body pressed up against his. You were so goofy and cute when you were drunk just by itself, singing to all the songs and taking silly selfies, but when you were dancing? He could hardly keep his hands off of you.

Chan pulled away and you pouted, not wanting the warmth of his body to leave even for one second, but he told you he had to go to the bathroom and that he’d be right back, so don’t you move! But your intoxicated self didn’t listen and you found yourself wandering to the backyard where Hyunjin, Woojin, and a bunch of people you were familiar with gathered around the open-pit fire and having a little party themselves.

“Did _____ get her Rich Bitch ID?” Hyunjin teased, looking at the label of your dress. “Shit, I guess she has.”

“It’s Felix’s sister’s, so no, it’s just a fake ID to last me the night.”

Woojin swung his arm around you boyishly. “You’re always welcome to OUR Rich Bitch club. No cover for girls,” he winked.

“How generous of you.”

Chan didn’t take long in the bathroom. He made sure to come back to you as quickly as possible to pick up where you left off, but after a couple of minutes searching the crowd, he couldn’t find you. He’s not surprised you wandered off somewhere, he just wished you sent him a text, or something. He felt a tap on his shoulder, thinking it was you, but it ended up being Sana, his old fling.

“Channie!” she squealed happily, throwing her arms around his neck. “I missed you ~!”

“Hey, I missed you, too,” he hugged back awkwardly. “Long time no see.”

“I’m glad the feeling’s mutual. Whatcha doing?”

“I’m just looking for someone…” he said, continuing to scan the crowd like she wasn’t there. He shouldn’t have drank so much…

“You mean _____?”

How did she know your name? Not important. “Oh, yeah. Have you seen her?”

“She’s outside with Woojin.”

“With Woojin…?”

“Yup! Take a look.”

Sana took Chan by the hand and lead him to the back door. His tunnel vision, though quite blurry, found you with your back facing the door and Woojin, his childhood rival, to your right, where he had his arm around your shoulder. Oh, he was such a Kim! He always snatched whatever was his when he wasn’t looking, just like that modelling contract! Normally, Chan would be the bigger person and not care, but this was you, someone so important to him. He couldn’t let this go that easily. There’s this uncharacteristic rage and jealousy that built up in his chest, making his heart hurt with every beat. You weren’t even doing anything, but seeing you in someone else’s arms just as he left for the damn bathroom? After trying to make you his for so long? It hurt. It really, really hurt...

Sana took the opportunity to pull him away from you. “Hey, let’s dance. Like we used to.”

Without hesitating, Chan took the lead and went to the dance floor.

Time passed like it meant nothing while you caught up with some good friends, but sobriety was kicking in at three in the morning and you wondered how long Chan needed to go to the bathroom.

“I’m going to find my damn date,” you waved off to them.

Even at three in the morning, the house was still as crowded as ever, bumping music like the sun wasn’t going to rise in a couple of hours. You searched every room, every face on the dance floor, near every waiter that had a platter of liquor on it, and he was nowhere to be seen! Even the rooms that held couples making out (and then some) luckily didn’t have him in it, but where could he be? You ended up in the front yard last, perhaps he was looking at San’s cars, or something.

But that wasn’t where you saw him. At the end of the driveway, where it met the main street, you saw Chan walking some girl dressed in diamonds and crystals on the way back to the house.

That was the moment you knew you and Chan could never be. Even when he was with you for ninety percent of the night, he chose someone else. He was made to live his life in luxury, and that meant his love life was meant for luxury, too. No matter what you did, no matter how much you thought he liked you, how much you thought you were special to him, you could never live up to any of these other women at this party. You were nothing compared to them because you had nothing. You should have known better than to think otherwise.

“Hey,” you heard someone behind you. It was the ever-so handsome and dashing Woojin. Even in the dead of night, he looked so handsome. “Did you find Chan?”

“Um…” your voice was shaking. “Yeah, I think I saw him go home.”

From the tears in your eyes, Woojin assumed he didn’t go home alone. Typical heart-breaker Chan, always leaving girls behind to cry over him. Things never change. “Do you want me to walk you back?”

You nodded slowly. “Yeah, that’d be nice.”

You and Woojin walked the three blocks in silence. There was a considerable amount of space in between as Woojin figured you didn’t want any man to be near you at the moment. Of course he understood - he’s had a fair share of his heart-breaking days. Those days were now over because he was getting tired of this lifestyle. His liver didn’t function like when he was younger and he craved something deeper than just one night stands. God, he sounded like a total douche.

The walk up Chan’s porch made you nervous and made Woojin nostalgic. He remembered coming here everyday after summer school when he was a kid. He kind of missed it here. Woojin was about to knock on the door but stopped when he realized you weren’t beside him. You stood by step, not wanting to go any further.

“Everything ok?” Woojin asked.

“Yeah… No. Not really. I don’t want to go to bed.”

“Why not?”

“Our rooms are next to each other and I don’t know how thin the walls are.”

Woojin didn’t laugh nor try to convince you otherwise. Instead, he walked up to you and stopped so close that you could smell his Gucci The Voice of the Snake cologne. Then, he smiled sweetly, a trait of his that you always thought was so cute, and sat on the stairs.

He patted the seat next to him. “I’ll keep you company.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I don’t want to go home and I really don’t want to go back to the party.” His bottom lip pouted. “Please let me keep you company.”

You could use the distraction. “Even without trying, rich people get whatever they want.”

“Hey, we’re not all bad!”

“That’s what they all say,” you slurred, remembering that’s exactly what Chan said earlier.

“Yeah, you’re right. We’re pretty bad.”

“Maybe I should stop hanging around you guys and start hanging around my people.”

“But I like hanging out with you.”

“You know, before I met Felix and Chan and all your little yacht club friends who make fun of me for the clothes I wear -”

“Hey, that’s just Hyunjin, don’t lump us together like that! I like you no matter what you’re wearing.”

“- my life was so much simpler! I lived a simple life without luxury, I ate foods without truffles and caviar, I drank cheap soju like a regular poor delinquent instead of champagne and top-shelf liquor, and I didn’t like boys whose yearly income were worth ten times as much as I’d make in ten years!” You cried out to the skies above and buried your face in your hands. “Biggie was right… Mo Money Mo Problems…”

“There there…” Woojin comforted awkwardly.

“Woojin, can you be honest with me for a sec? Coming from a sad, average girl seeking advice from a rich bitch like yourself?”

“Of course.”

“Was I stupid to think I was anything special to Chan?”

Again, the handsome man beside you wrapped his arm around your shoulder like a good friend. Woojin was always a good friend to you. Outside of Felix and Chan, he was the only other man who was kind, despite you not being like the rest of his social circle.

“You said I can be honest, right?” he asked nervously.

“Oh my God, I’m an idiot.”

“Hey, that’s not what I was going to say. I was thinking naive was more of an appropriate word choice.”

“I’m so dumb, I might as well drop out.”

Woojin’s grip around you tightened. “Stop, don’t say that. You’re the smartest person I know, did you know that? Remember when you tutored all of us that one time? If you can tutor nine idiots in one session and we all somehow passed the class, you’re not an idiot.”

“Being book smart and Rich Boy smart are on two totally different levels of intelligence! Why am I so dumb in the latter!?”

“You aren’t. We’re the dumb ones. We let amazing people slip through our fingers because somehow this lifestyle sucks us back in. Some of us are able to overcome it, but most succumb to it.”

“... You’re right, you guys are the dumb ones.”

You and Woojin sat on Chan’s summer Black and White bungalow for hours, talking about the most useless things until the sun rose above the horizon and the light was almost blinding. It started out crying about how boys were stupid and ended with laughing until you couldn’t breathe from the stories he told you about his old flings.

“She said the mitochondria was the trap house of the cell,” Woojin tisked.

“She must have been kidding.”

“I can assure you she was not.”

“Wow,” you giggled. “You’ve dated a lot of… exciting people.”

“I wouldn’t say exciting…”

“Come to think of it, I can’t remember the last time I heard about some poor girl coming out of your place from Felix. He likes to whine about how lucky you are. Has Woojin lost his touch?”

“I will never lose my touch, don’t get that twisted,” he warned. “Maybe I’m tired of hook-ups. Maybe I’m trying to settle down.”

“Ha! Good one!”

“No, really!”

“Yeah, ok ~”

“Let me prove it. Let’s go on a date.”

Your laugh got caught in your throat. You’re stunned silent, looking at the man beside you like he was delusional. He had to be talking nonsense - it was six in the morning and neither of you had any sleep or anything to eat for several hours, he’s just talking crazy, right!? But the slight smirk on his lips told you that no, he wasn’t joking. He was enjoying that you were probably thinking about it right at this moment - what it’d be like to go on a date with Mr. Kim Woojin. He’s not wrong.

The front door to Chan’s house opened and startled you to death, but you’re so, so thankful that the girl Chan took home stumbled in between you two and you could avoid Woojin’s proclamation for a little longer. Both of you turned to see Chan in his pajamas bottoms and no shirt standing in the doorway, hair disheveled with droopy eyes, looking like he didn’t get any sleep at all.

Woojin helped you to your feet before greeting his old friend. “Good morning, Chan.”

The sleepy boy’s jaw tightened. Why did he look so triumphant? If you two were here the whole night, it’s not like you two did anything… right?

“Hey,” he greeted shortly.

Woojin turned to you. “Think about it. I’ll see you later?”

You nodded silently, still too stunned to move. Then, taking advantage of your frozen form, Woojin swooped in for a quick kiss on the cheek.

Oh shit, this man was serious.

You’re completely sober and you really wished you weren’t because now you were going to reflect on everything that happened yesterday, from the time you landed until just this very second. On top of that, you were probably going to have to deal with Chan’s grumpy ass right now because when you walked right past him to the kitchen to chug a whole bottle of water, he followed right on your tail.

“How was last night?” he asked bitterly.

“Not as good as yours apparently,” you replied, trying to stay light-hearted and calm. Don’t get jealous, _____. You don’t have a right to.

“Nothing happened.”

“Oh?”

“She was puking all night. I barely had any sleep while taking care of her.”

“Did you bring her here just so she can puke in the comfort of your home, or was that just an inconvenient coincidence?” The words made you sound jealous, but you were genuinely curious. He claimed that nothing happened as if he knew you’d care if something did. Well, you didn’t!... you said, lying to yourself.

Chan stayed quiet. That was more than enough to answer your question.

“I’m tired,” you mumbled. “I’m going to bed.”

Chan wouldn’t let you. “What were you and Woojin doing?”

“Uh, talking?”

“On my porch?”

“Yeah? You left me at the party and I was all alone! So he was nice enough to walk me back here. I didn’t want to go inside to my room because God knows what you and her were doing there -”

“Nothing happened,” he repeated.

“Yeah, now I know. But if she wasn’t puking, who knows what would have happened, and guess what, I didn’t want to hear that or deal with it or even think about it, so we sat on your porch for hours until you opened the door.”

“You were the one who left me first. I thought you and I were having a great time! I was having so much fun with you and I wanted you back in my arms as soon as possible, but then I saw you in his. Do you know how much that hurt? I have liked you since the day you took my breath away when we first met, and I thought I could finally tell you that when you were back in my arms. But then I saw you in his and panicked. I swear to you, nothing happened with me and Sana. Nothing was going to happen, not when all I could think about was what you could possibly be doing with him. I thought you left me for him, and I got scared. I’m an idiot. I’m so sorry, ok? Can we talk about this over breakfast?”

That was what Chan wanted to say. But he’s tired, and he’s hurt, and the tears in your eyes were too much for him to handle. With his head down, he said,

“I hope you had fun.”

Chan brushed passed you to get to the coffee maker. He might as well stay up - what was the point in sleeping now?

You rushed up stairs so he didn’t see the tears rolling down your face.

The day was silent. Everything seemed to stop, but that was the last thing you wanted. You wanted to pack up, get in the damn cherry red convertible, and fly all the way home where you could forget about this whole weekend and the people involved. Felix finally made it home around noon, chatting nonstop about the yacht party that happened at four in the morning and all the girls he was talking to and thankful he couldn’t sense the tension between you and Chan.

The drive to the airport was silent. The flight back home was silent. The drive to your apartment was silent and the only noise you made that night was crying yourself to sleep.

Where did you go wrong? Was it when you wandered off to Woojin? Was it when you agreed to go on this trip? Was it when you fell for someone so unattainable for someone in your social class? Was it when you weren’t born with a billion dollars to your name?

Life was unfair and it had a funny way with playing with you and your heart.

You didn’t see Chan much after tonight.

#chan #bang chan #skz #stray kids #skz chan #stray kids chan #skz scenarios #stray kids scenarios #skz imagines #stray kids imagines #chan scenarios #chan imagines #i love making chan look like an asshole LOOLLLL #sorry if some of the suggestive stuff was uhh explicit?? idk #also sorry it's in two parts HAHA i did not wanna post something more than my seungmin fic ._.#omg i hope yall like this :/ im not so confident w this one

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elisaphoenix13 · 5 years ago

Text

Small Life Lessons (And Weaponized Candy)

Tony was in meetings all day, Peter was at Ned's working on some new Lego set and watching Star Wars for the billionth time, and Harley was at a friend's house as well. It left Stephen and Diana home by themselves, and the little girl wanted to spend time with the sorcerer instead of Cassie. He had things to do at Kamar-Taj and he told her so, and Diana was more than happy to accompany him. So while he taught a few classes and did his routine checks of the compound, his daughter followed at his heels. After all was said and done, they sat in the main room and Diana sat in front of him with her hands palms up and resting gently in his. She only showed a single ability of telekinesis, but he was curious to know if she had any other powers at her disposal. In case her ability to control magic wasn't natural though, he opened the mirror dimension around them so she wouldn't cause permanent damage if anything were to happen or she lost control.

"We're going to try something today...see if you have any other magic." Stephen tells her softly, his voice echoing in the mirror dimension.

"What if I don't?"

"Then that's perfectly fine. Your magic doesn't make you who you are."

Diana looks up at him, scrutinizing him carefully. "It makes you who you are though."

Stephen smiles. "Are you sure about that?"

"Aren't you the Sorcerer Supreme?" She asks and he nods.

"Yes, but that's not all. What am I to you?"

"My mommy." Diana replies immediately.

"I am many things. A master of the mystic artes, a mother, a friend, a doctor, a husband-" Stephen chuckles when his daughter corrects him by saying 'wife', and continues. "My point is that you are what you make of yourself, and it doesn't have to be one thing. I may be the Sorcerer Supreme to the students and masters here, but to you I am not."

"So even if I don't have more magic…"

"You are still my daughter. You could lose your magic and it would remain that way." Stephen looks down at Diana's hands. "Focus on your hands." Diana looks down at her hands. "Now, I want you to imagine a small flame."

Moments pass in silence as Diana stares at her hands, but when nothing happens over that time, Stephen notices his daughter slowly getting frustrated. Her eyebrows were scrunched together, her face was pinched, and she was actually glaring at her hands. The sorcerer figured that he didn't word his request correctly and clears his throat to get her attention again.

"Nothing's happening."

"That's because you're thinking too hard, and I miscommunicated what I wanted you to do. Instead, think about how you started using your telekinesis. Did you think about it?"

"No. I couldn't reach one of my coloring books, but I really wanted it and then it flew off the shelf and into my hands." She explains and Stephen raises an eyebrow.

"Try wanting the flame in your hands then."

Diana nods and looks back down at her hands, and not even five seconds later, a small ember hovers over one of her hands. His daughter's eyes widen in surprise and excitement, and Stephen's widen in realization. She really did use her heart to control her magic and from the small test, Tony could actually be right about Diana having natural control. She gave Stephen exactly what he asked for. A small flame and nothing more. There was no spark building up to it or overgrown flames, just one small flame. She didn't have a mean bone in her body, so even when she fought with the boys, she never wanted to hurt them. Or anyone for that matter.

"Try a single drop of water in your other hand." Stephen requests and a second later, Diana's other hand contained the one drop. "Have you ever wanted to use your powers for anything?"

"No. Just to get something in my room that I can't reach...or to help me color."

"What about to hurt your brothers?"

Diana actually glared scathingly at him for his question and pulled her hands out of his after making the water and fire disappear. "No! They make me mad sometimes but I don't want to hurt them!"

Stephen holds up his own hands to placate her. "I just want to know how much control you have."

Diana pulls her knees to her chest and wraps her arms around her legs. "I asked Uncle Quill about his powers before. I asked him how he knew when Uncle Scott was the one walking up to him when he's really angry."

"And what did he tell you?" Stephen asks quietly.

"He said he uses his heart to control his powers. Is that real? Do you do that too?"

"To an extent yes. Some magic I do have to think about to make sure it will be useful for what I'm trying to do, but otherwise, I know I want to use it to protect or help people. When I'm really sad, I can't use my magic, and that's why I like to cuddle you and your brothers." Stephen explains as Diana unfurls herself and climbs into the sorcerer's lap.

"Because we make you happy?"

"Very happy." He confirms and gently combs his fingers through her hair. "Just like Uncle Quill loves Uncle Scott and Cassie, Wanda loves Vision and the team, and I love your father and you kids."

Diana giggles. "And Uncle Loki loves Uncle Thor even though he won't admit it. They remind me of Peter and Harley."

Stephen snorts. "It's a brother thing. I was like that with my brother too."

"That's dumb."

Stephen bursts into laughter. Diana wasn't wrong, but some people have trouble expressing their feelings to others. Peter technically wore his heart on his sleeve but he always stumbled over words because he was just awkward like that. Everyone knew though, especially because he was a little better about his expressing his feelings through actions. Just a little. Harley was strictly expressing his feelings through actions...and Diana easily did both. Verbal and action. She was a little girl that didn't give a single shit though.

The sorcerer's laughter tapers off as be dismisses the mirror dimension and his bracelet beeps loudly just as his cell phone vibrates in his pocket. He asks Diana to move so he can get to it, and the moment he accepts the call from Christine he sighs a little dramatically.

"For the last time Christine, I'm not-"

"Stephen! Harley's here!" The woman informs him frantically and Stephen immediately sobers up. Her tone definitely didn't nose well.

"What happened?!"

"Hit and run. I tried calling you and Tony earlier but neither of you answered."

"I'll be there in a moment."

Stephen ends the call and jumps to his feet before opening a gateway to the Metro General Hospital's janitorial closet, and Diana follows immediately. She sticks to his side as he uses his magic to change his robes into his street clothes, and closes the gateway before leading his daughter out of the closet. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn't have bothered changing, but there was a strong possibility that disrespectful reporters caught wind of one of Tony Stark's kids being in the hospital and Stephen didn't want to garner any more attention than necessary if at all. They weren't legally allowed into the hospital without permission but one or two always managed to slip in.

"Stephen!" Christine calls from the nurse's station and he rushes over to her, accepting the clipboard she hands him.

"Did he need surgery?"

"He had some internal bleeding but nothing severe. I just finished when I called you again."

A broken leg, broken arm, a couple of cracked ribs, but thankfully nothing more serious than the minor internal bleeding that Christine had told him about. His first reaction was to sigh with relief that his oldest got off relatively lucky, and his second was to think about how miserable Harley was going to be. That in turn was going to make Stephen miserable because he hated to see his kids hurt, and he knew Harley was going to try and take care of himself.

"What room is he in?" Stephen asks and Christine points down the hall.

"Closest one to this station. I wanted to keep a close eye on his room for obvious reasons."

"Thank you." The sorcerer herds Diana over to the room Harley is in after handing the charts back and kneels down to look at her. "Your brother got hurt, but no matter how bad he might look, he's going to be okay. Understand?"

"Yes."

Stephen stands back up and opens the door as quietly as possible into the private room, and Diana sits in one of the chairs as he makes his way over to Harley's bedside. The next hour passed quietly, with only the sounds of quiet scratching from Diana's crayons as she drew (Christine had brought her some blank paper and crayons to keep her occupied twenty minutes into their wait), and Tony rushed in at the end of that hour. He looked frazzled and worried, but Stephen quickly soothed his husband before he could open his mouth.

"He's going to be okay."

"I somehow accidently turned FRIDAY off. I didn't see the SOS from SARA until I turned her back on twenty minutes ago. Has he woken up?" Tony manages to spit out and Stephen shakes his head. "Do we know who did it?"

"No. It was a hit and run."

Tony growls quietly and pulls out his phone. "Not for long." He walks over to the table Diana is at and sits in the chair across from her. "What are you doing there Little Miss?"

"Making Harley a card." Diana replies quietly as she draws a teddy bear onto the front of said card.

"That's a good girl. Daddy's gonna find who did this so they get the punishment they deserve."

"Good."

The coldness in her voice had both Tony and Stephen staring at their daughter in surprise. She had never acted like this before, but it was possible that she didn't feel the need to because whenever someone in their dysfunctional family got hurt, team included, someone else was already getting angry. Right now though, it was just her and her parents, and Stephen was keeping vigil at Harley's side, and Tony was already searching through cameras to find the one responsible for hitting their son. He cringed a couple of minutes into his search and that's all Stephen needed to know that his husband came across the accident.

A sharp inhale pulls Stephen's attention back to their oldest child, and Harley winces before slowly blinking his eyes open. To his surprise, the teen slowly reaches up to him and grips the front of his shirt, tugging weakly in a silent request for Stephen to lay down, and the sorcerer obliges immediately. Harley moves to the side so Stephen can settle on his side as comfortably as possible, and then moves back to curl into the sorcerer's chest.

"Better?" Stephen asks quietly and Harley nods once. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I got hit by a car." The teen mutters.

"Well you're not wrong."

Harley looks around the room and frowns. "This isn't the med bay."

"No. It's Metro General. Thankfully Christine was on duty. I'll talk to her about transferring you to the tower in a little bit. Just rest for now."

"'Kay…"

Harley dozed off after that, and when Stephen finally got around to asking Christine for the transfer, she asked to keep him overnight just in case. The sorcerer only agreed as long as someone (him) could stay with him for the night, and Christine allowed it, even though they both knew Stephen was going to stay whether she liked it or not. She didn't mind though, and Stephen stayed overnight, leaving Tony to take their daughter home. Peter wasn't aware of the accident until he got home later that night, felt kind of awful that he wasn't at the hospital to sit with his brother, and ended up in the medbay as soon as Stephen brought Harley home. The oldest teen was more lucid than he was the day before, so Peter kept him company with games and movies.

Tony had found the culprit soon after he and Diana got home and sent the evidence to the proper authorities, and Diana finished her card. She gave it to Harley with the teen's favorite candies that Cassie had sent up for him (she didn't want to overwhelm him), and he genuinely smiled at the gesture.

"Thanks Dia."

"Sissy got you the candy."

"I'm eating it all right now." Harley says with a grin and whines when Stephen takes the majority of it away. "Mom!"

"You need proper food as well or you won't heal any faster."

"Maybe I wanna be a crip for longer than usual!"

Stephen snorts. "We all know you're going to go stir crazy by the end of the night you insufferable cub."

"That's probably true. Can I at least have a second bag?" Harley asks and Stephen sighs before handing over another small bag of candy. The boy was hurting and did ask somewhat nicely. "No the gummy worms!"

"I am literally handing you gummy bears."

"I want the worms!"

Stephen sighs and switches the bears for the worms, and Harley rips into the bag. "What difference does it make?"

"All the difference in the world!" The sorcerer tilts his head in confusion as Harley seemingly jumbles a couple of worms together, and then suddenly, he uses his gummy makeshift slingshot to shoot an M&M at Stephen's forehead. "I can't do that with the bears!"

"...I'm sending you back to Christine."

Stephen walks out of the medbay, leaving all three children behind laughing hysterically. He should have known Harley would find a way to weaponize candy. At the very least, it would keep him occupied for a little while and they could send Steve in to clean the mess. He was next on the cleaning list for breaking one of the windows after all.

#ironstrange #supremefamily #stephen strange #tony stark #mama bear stephen strange #peter parker #harley keener #diana stark strange (oc)

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thefandomlesbian · 5 years ago

Note

Hey so I’m dropping this prompt here but PLEASE do NOT feel obligated to write it immediately. I just know I’ll forget I thought of it if I don’t leave it with you (I know many, including myself, are excited for TLAG so pleeeease just file this 1 away for another prompt fest): blind supreme AU: it’s their wedding day and misty is superstitious about seeing the bride before the wedding but Cordelia misses Misty. They make it work by blindfolding misty. Fluff for days. I appreciate your fics!!

This prompt has been sitting in my inbox for about a year now, and I sincerely apologize.

I’ll be honest, wedding fics are really not my thing at all. But I ended up getting several more requests for the wedding attachment to the Blind Supreme AU, so I did my best to make it something that I was comfortable writing. It’s probably not as fluffy as you wanted, but I did try my best!

Read here on AO3!

Cordelia sighed as she sank down over her desk, burying her face into her hands. Her hair drifted down around her head. This can’t be happening. Even her eyes hurt, as if from strain, and she knew that was downright impossible. But she hadn’t had a break in three weeks, since the school released for the summer and most of the students headed back to their respective homes to share what they had learned with their families. She had hoped the lack of classes would give her and Misty more time, but instead, it had left her with piles of paperwork legitimizing them as an educational institute in Louisiana—without this, claimed the state, her students had no shot of getting into college because they wouldn’t have a high school diploma. I never should’ve done this. It’s too much work.

“Delia?” Misty called. “How long has it been since April was taken outside?” She knocked twice on the office door and stuck her head inside. “Boy, you look like something the cat dragged in. The Braille spells not working?”

“I wish they weren’t,” Cordelia breathed, lifting her head up from her desk. She blinked a few times. “Sorry, I’m just—I’m just frustrated. I don’t know, it’s been awhile, she was following me around whenever I got too close to the stairs. She needs her dinner, too.” I need my dinner. Cordelia swallowed. Her dry throat crackled. How long had it been since she had a drink of water? She couldn’t remember. She was exhausted and was no closer to legitimizing them as a high school in the state of Louisiana than she had been two hours ago.

Misty clicked her tongue, and April rose from under the desk and trotted over to her. “The girls are going out for the next couple of days. Florida, I think. Anyway, it’s just us over the weekend. Didn’t know if you wanted to make plans.”

“Blech. Plans. Whatever happened to spontaneity?”

Misty cackled. “That’s my girl.” She patted Cordelia on the shoulder and kissed the top of her head. “I’m taking April to potty. I’m locking you in so you don’t get lost and fall down the stairs.” Cordelia rolled her eyes, and she affectionately shooed Misty away, picking up her pen. I don’t know why I try. My handwriting has got to be complete garbage now. She could never tell how much space she was putting between the letters, no matter how much she tried.

The office door clicked closed and then locked as Misty and April headed downstairs; Cordelia could hear Misty’s soft, nearly silent footsteps on the staircase. Cordelia stacked her papers on top of one another and pushed them to the corner of her desk. We were supposed to get married this summer. But all of the planning had gotten pushed to the side before they had even found a venue or set a date. They had gotten a marriage license. They had purchased the rings. I don’t even remember where we put them. Cordelia sucked in her lower lip. Was she already a terrible wife? She was older now. She had more responsibilities on her plate. She was blind. Things took longer. Misty understood that. She had to give Misty that—Misty was understanding, where Hank would’ve lost his mind by now. Cordelia would’ve been bending over backward to please Hank; she didn’t have to worry about that with Misty. Maybe I should be worrying more. I need to try to make more time for her. Like setting a wedding date… It’s too late to try to host it this year, we should try to look for a date for next year.

She had a date book for the next year started. Of course, its contents pertained to the school, the coven, the counsel. It contained nothing personal, nothing about Misty. “God, I hate planning.” There was no way she could plan everything , and the coven had to take precedent. If it didn’t, she would have a whole clan of unhappy witches without high school diplomas unable to get into college, or worse, all of their parents angry with her for not giving their children an appropriate education. She licked around the corners of her mouth. “At this rate, we’re never going to be married.”

The thought landed on her mind, and then it latched on there, refusing to leave. She frowned. “Whatever happened to spontaneity?” she asked herself again, aloud. They had the marriage license. The courthouse took wedding parties. It would be cheap. It wouldn’t require any planning. And then it would be done! “And then it would be done?” she repeated aloud to herself, biting her inner cheek. “I don’t think that’s how we should start our marriage…” Didn’t she want a big party? She had wanted one with Hank. She had wanted to show everyone how normal they were… especially Fiona.

But Fiona was gone, and the world knew, now, exactly how not-normal she was. Misty had never wanted a big party in the first place; she never would have said so, but Cordelia could tell from her aloof, disinterested behavior that she had less invested in a huge wedding than she wanted to let on. It’s not like either of us has any family, and we see everyone else almost every day. No, she realized now, an ostentatious wedding would only waste time and money. They knew they loved each other, and so did the rest of the coven. Why put so much effort in a huge wedding to hear things they already knew? They could save that for their marriage, for the future of their relationship. She had saved nothing with Hank, because there had been nothing to save. She wanted the show because that was their relationship: a sensational theatrical performance.

There was nothing to perform with Misty, and Cordelia couldn’t say she wanted to be at the center of any more stages for the rest of her life, except for the love they shared for one another. “That’s it.” Cordelia pushed herself back from the desk. “We’re getting married.” She turned on her heel and found the doorknob… locked. “Damn. Misty! Misty, come let me out!” She rattled the door in its frame, but she didn’t dare try to open it with magic—if she fell down the stairs now, it would scare Misty. She had gone months without a fall, since they’d gotten April, and she couldn’t go back on that in her haste. “Misty!”

Misty’s footsteps struck the staircase again, firmer this time as she ascended in a hurry to reach her. “Cordelia?” She unlocked the door and opened it. “What’s wrong? We just came inside—I told you you were locked in.” April panted faintly. Misty paused. “You got a really bizarre look on your face, duckweed.”

“We’re getting married.” Cordelia blurted it out. Maybe I should’ve asked her first. But it was too late; the words had escaped.

Silence. Misty cocked her head. “Uh… yeah, we discussed it, but it’s not happening this year. What’s the matter? You figure you need an annulment or something?”

“I—what? No, why would I need an annulment?” Misty shrugged, making a vague, noncommittal noise. “No—we’re getting married. Let’s go do it. Right now.” She could feel the side-eyed look Misty gave her. “I said it, right? Planning sucks. I love you, you love me—I want you to be my wife, and I’m tired of all this other shit getting in the way!” She gesticulated ambiguously in the air. “The courthouse doesn’t close for two more hours. They’ve got walk-in weddings seven days a week. We have the marriage license! That’s all we really need.” She darted forward with her arms outstretched, stumbling over April and falling into Misty’s arms.

Misty spun her around and laughed in spite of herself, tilting Cordelia backward in a clumsy dance move. “What brought this on? I thought you wanted My Big Fat Witchy Wedding up in here!”

Cordelia flung her arms around Misty’s neck. “That’s not what I want! I don’t care! I already had the biggest wedding I could’ve dreamed of—and it sucked! It was terrible!” She was breathless. “And it’s not about me— you don’t want a wedding, either, do you?”

Another nonchalant noise followed from Misty. “I wasn’t sold on the idea, but I kinda figured the bodacious stuff was up your alley. You’re the bride, and I’m…” She drifted off. “I’m realizing I probably should’ve stopped calling myself the groom awhile ago.”

Cordelia froze. “You’ve been calling yourself my groom? ” she repeated, astonished.

“Well… yeah. I started calling you my bride, but I guess I ended up taking it a little too far.”

“To how many people?”

Misty snorted, a high-pitched, nervous chuckle attached to her voice. “All of them.” Cordelia’s face broke out into a grin, and she cackled, trying to muffle her laughter into Misty’s shoulder. “Oh, c’mon, it’s not that funny.” She held Cordelia back at arm’s length. “The point is, the wedding isn’t that important to me. I’m more concerned with what happens afterward.”

Cordelia paused. “The sex?”

Brow quirking, Misty said, “The marriage , you horn-dog.” She swatted Cordelia on the butt. “But I’m looking forward to the sex, too, I think.” She grinned, and she dipped down into a soft kiss.

Pressing her hands against Misty’s shoulders, Cordelia pushed her back. “So you don’t care about a wedding. I don’t care about a wedding. Why are we bothering with a wedding? Who are we really going to invite, anyway? Everyone here already knows. It’s not new to anybody by any means. Why would we waste that much time when we want to be wives?”

“Because,” Misty said quietly, “you wanted My Big Fat Witchy Wedding until about three minutes ago, and I don’t want you to marry me on some whim that you should be spontaneous.” A desperate frown sank onto Cordelia’s face. “You’re just bored of paperwork.”

Cordelia’s lip curled. She tried to stifle it. “I am not going to marry you just because I’m bored of paperwork! You and I both know that paperwork boredom is cured by good sex.” Misty snorted, nodding along in agreement. Cordelia could be candid, knowing the house was empty; she missed being able to be so frank . “No, I don’t want a party wedding. I want a marriage. I just had to realize that. And I’m not wasting another minute being your girlfriend when I want to be your wife. Let’s suit up and get to the courthouse!”

Misty was becoming more lenient, but she still wasn’t completely sold. “Are you sure this is what you want? A courthouse wedding? Don’t you think that’s a little tacky, even for us?”

“If I decide I hate it, we can always have a party to celebrate later. Lots of people do that.”

Listening closely, Cordelia could nearly hear the gears turning in Misty’s head. Say yes, say yes, say yes. Misty’s mouth opened. “I agree, but…”

“But?”

“I can see you.” Cordelia’s mouth opened, hanging there in confusion for a moment. “I’m not supposed to be able to see the bride before the wedding. At least, after you’ve gotten changed into wedding clothes.”

“What wedding clothes?”

“Whatever clothes you decide! I can’t see you in them until it’s time to get married. It’ll kill our relationship if I do.”

“Nothing is going to kill our relationship —I was just going to wear these clothes.”

“You can’t wear these clothes.”

“Why not? Because you saw them? I can’t even see them!”

“Well, yeah, but also because they really don’t match that well. I mean, they’re fine for paperwork at home, but probably not for our wedding.”

“So you can’t see the clothes until we’re at the altar, but you’re going to judge me based on how well they match?” Misty paused at Cordelia’s proposition. She was being thoughtful—dammit, she was so thoughtful, Cordelia rolled her eyes, laughing to herself. “C’mon. You can pick out the outfit. As long as it’s not on me, it doesn’t count, right?”

A quiet, satisfied noise left Misty’s nose. “I’m sure glad I’m marrying such a smart lady.” She put a hand on the small of Cordelia’s back. “It would’ve taken me a lot longer to come to that conclusion than it took you.” April followed them down the hall to their room. “What color do you want to wear? Nothing that could trip you up. Green?”

“Green,” Cordelia confirmed, not because she liked green, but because she knew Misty liked green. “What about that green turtleneck and some slacks?”

Misty hesitated. “Delia, I don’t know how to break this to you, but you don’t own a green turtleneck.” Dread pooled in the pit of Cordelia’s stomach. “I did think it was kinda odd that you were wearing that ugly Christmas sweater to meetings and stuff... Makes sense, you thought it was a turtleneck.”

“You let me wear an ugly Christmas sweater to meetings? ” Cordelia repeated, her voice jumping up the octave. “Misty! Why didn’t you ever think to ask me?”

“I thought you knew it was an ugly Christmas sweater!”

“You thought I would deliberately wear an ugly Christmas sweater to professional meetings? I’ve been representing us as an educational institution in front of state and national boards! No wonder they’ve got me jumping through so many hoops. They’ve got to think we’re completely off our rockers.”

Misty snickered. “Well, if they’re half-way decent educators, they’ll have taken enough classes to know better than to judge a blind lady over what she’s wearing. But, c’mon, Delia, the thing has bells on it. How didn’t you know? It made you jingle like a kitty-cat collar.”

She flushed. She has a point. I always wondered why that turtleneck gave me tinnitus. “I never really noticed. I was busy.” She sighed and took the turtleneck—the ugly Christmas sweater—out of the closet. “Let’s just throw this away before I forget that it’s not my business sweater. Just pick something out!”

Poking around in the open closet with the doors wide open, Misty picked through. “What about your pretty summer dresses? I’ll wear one, too, so we’ll match. We’ve got a yellow polka dot one and a blue polka dot one.” Cordelia held out her hand to take it. The cloth fell out of her hand. “Alright, I’ll go downstairs and call a cab.”

“A cab? Why?”

“Well, I’m gonna have to be blindfolded, aren’t I? So I can’t see you. I can't drive with a blindfold.”

“You want to go through all of the admissions paperwork blindfolded ? Couldn’t you just not look at me?”

“Not worth risking it. You’re used to being blind, you can help me figure it out!” Misty dipped her down into a kiss. “I’ll be right back. You need help getting April ready to go before I get blind?”

It was silly. It was spontaneous. Whatever part of Cordelia was mildly annoyed at the inconvenience rapidly zipped away, replaced by mirth, humor at Misty’s antics and the unconcerned way she regarded her superstitions as casual fact. “I think I can handle April, babe.” She wrapped her arms around Misty, hugging her tightly, and she reached to kiss her once more. “When you see me the next time, we’ll be married.”

“I know.” Misty’s voice was faint as she realized it. “I can’t wait to be your wife.” She kissed the crown of Cordelia’s head and slipped their hands apart, heading out of the room and down the stairs with her dress in tow.

Cordelia rushed to prepare. She fumbled to suit up April with her harness and leash, and then she dressed herself in the modest summer dress and slipped into her flats, praying they were the same color she remembered. She found her cane and left the bedroom. Standing at the mouth of the stairs, she called down, “Misty? Are you ready?”

“How am I going to know when the cab gets here if I can’t see?”

“This is ridiculous! I only say that because I love you! You’re ridiculous!”

“I recognize your complaint, but I still have a perfectly valid question!”

Cordelia laughed. She took a step forward and sat down on the top stair. “I’ll stay up here, and when you see the cab, you tell me to come downstairs, okay?” April sat beside her and reached to lick her face. Cordelia giggled. “Good girl, April. Good girl.”

A few minutes passed. “Okay, he’s outside!” Cordelia stood and took April by the harness, and together, they drummed down the stairs and met Misty, who waited by the front door. “The cab is going to think we’re insane.”

“The blind leading the blind,” Misty confirmed. Cordelia’s light criticism hadn’t changed her mind, so with the acknowledgment that Misty refused to budge on her conviction, Cordelia allowed Misty to take her arm and ordered April out of the house.

Misty kept stumbling and tripping over the sidewalk. Oh, this is going to take forever. Cordelia smirked. It was atypical for Misty to lack confidence—it was amusing in a way, if dangerous in several others. But Misty could take off the blindfold if she had to. What could happen? Cordelia opened the door to the cab and clocked Misty in the face with it. “Ouch! Delia!”

“Oh, god, Misty, I’m so sorry!” Cordelia fumbled for her hand. “This way, get into the car this way .” She sidled into the seat. April settled down on the floorboards of the car, lying down across Cordelia’s feet, and Misty stumbled in after her, hitting her head on the roof of the car.

The cab driver popped his gum. “What’s with the blindfold, miss?”

Some part of Cordelia wanted to lie, but she couldn’t come up with anything more plausible than the truth, which Misty provided without second-guessing herself. “We’re going to the courthouse to get married, but I can’t see the bride before the wedding!” The man’s mouth opened and closed and then opened again, sort of hanging there in the air, like he had a feeling to express but didn’t have the ability to put it to words. “We’ve got two good eyes between the three of us.”

“And they both belong to the dog?” the man asked, and Misty hummed along enthusiastically. None of this had robbed her of her zeal for life—if anything, the silliness had added to it. Cordelia giggled, shaking her head, leaning over to rest her cheek on Misty’s shoulder. “Good luck to the two of you, then. Congratulations.” He shifted the car into the gear and pulled back onto the street.

“We forgot the rings,” Misty said after a minute of silence.

“Eh, we’ll get them when we get home. We might lose them, since neither of us can see right now.”

“Well, only one of us can see usually.”

“And our track record of keeping up with things is not the best,” Cordelia pointed out. Misty acquiesced with a smile and kissed the crown of her head. She’s going to be my wife. Cordelia felt sick inside—a good kind of nervous, anticipatory sick. Why had they been putting this off for so long? They could’ve done this ages ago! She was ready from the moment Misty had mentioned them having a wedding together; she had known that. Why had she ever gotten hung up on the formalities? She had spent enough of her life doing things right . Doing things right had lost her Misty once. Cordelia had learned enough that following the rules often led her astray. Misty had taught her a lot of things. One of them: Rules were made to be broken. “Are you ready for this?” she whispered into Misty’s ear.

Stringing a warm arm around her neck, Misty’s voice cooed right against auricle of her ear. “I’ve been ready from the moment I woke up in your arms, duckweed.” Chills trickled up Cordelia’s spine. She closed her eyes, relishing in the moment. I may never see your face again, but I feel your love every moment we’re together, and that will last me a thousand lifetimes over. “Do we have to say vows or anything?”

“I dunno. I guess we’ll find out when we get in there.”

“What if I need to prepare?”

“I don’t think you need to prepare,” Cordelia teased gently.

The cab pulled off in front of the courthouse. “Congratulations, ladies. Do you need help getting up the steps?”

“No, thank you, sir.” Cordelia paid him, hoping the tip was generous enough, and she opened the door and slid out onto the sidewalk, April ready to work at her side. Misty tumbled out after her, nearly falling down, but Cordelia caught her by the elbow. “Okay, clumsy.”

“I’m not clumsy.”

“Right. Your middle name is Grace, that’s why you conked yourself in the head getting in and getting out,” Cordelia teased. She gave Misty her arm. “Let me tease. I’m rarely the more mobile of the two of us.” Maybe these stairs aren’t such a good idea. Misty clearly was not the best at judging distance without her eyes—why should she be? She wasn’t blind, and she didn’t exactly have a reason to regularly blindfold herself and practice for this insane wedding venture. “Let me help you.” Unlike Misty, Cordelia was quite practiced at the stairs, and with April’s help, she could go slowly and reach the top safely. “Forward up.” April started up the stairs, and the pressure guided Cordelia. “One step at a time. Stop trying to rush.”

“This is really hard.”

Cordelia laughed. “I know .” She gave Misty’s arm a gentle tug. “Are you okay?” Each step caused Misty to wobble, but she didn’t topple over. “It’s a lot easier with April.”

Misty gave a wheezy, breathless laugh, too nervous from the stairs directly beneath her to concentrate on anything else. At a platform, she sighed. “Was that it?”

“No, babe, there’s a whole flight left. That was halfway, though.” April kept going, and they proceeded to the top, Misty stumbling more than once. At the top, Cordelia gave a whimsical laugh. “I bet you’re glad you get to take that blindfold off for the way back down.”

“I’ll never complain about cutting a sandwich for you again.”

“You never did in the first place.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Taking care of my duckweed is something I enjoy.” Misty walked directly into the divider between the doors. “Jesus Christ, this world is a death trap.” Cordelia laughed again. I didn’t have this much fun at my first wedding, she realized, and it made her want to laugh more, that Misty with all of her free silliness blew away a wedding that had taken thousands of dollars to put together. “Which way?”

Finding the correct floor was half the battle, but fortunately, the courthouse had elevators. Cordelia held fast to Misty, afraid they’d get separated. They came out and got into a line leading up to a desk. “What’s with the blindfold?” asked a no-nonsense clerk, pushing some paperwork at them. She put her thumb next to the X for Cordelia to sign her name. “What kind of shenanigans are you trying to pull?”

“No shenanigans, ma’am. I can’t see the bride before the wedding.”

The clerk was silent, waiting for a punchline, but there wasn’t one. She took a deep breath and put her finger beside the X for Misty, too. “That’s a first for me,” she muttered under her breath, “even for crazytown.” Misty and Cordelia elected to ignore her as they signed. “Get in line for the chapel down the hall.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

It was another line. Cordelia couldn’t hold still; she was buzzing. “I can’t believe we’re really doing this.”

“Do you not want to do this?” Misty asked.

“More than anything,” Cordelia promised. “It’s so surreal—just an hour ago, I was miserable thinking we were never going to have time to get married! And now here we are.”

“You said it was time to be more spontaneous.”

Cordelia laughed. “The girls are going to tell us we’re crazy.”

“Oh, they’re going to be furious. ” Misty squeezed Cordelia’s hand. “Zoe and Queenie were waiting for me to take them shopping for bridesmaid dresses. But they hadn’t bought anything yet, so they ought to be glad, right?”

Shaking her head, Cordelia agreed. “Yeah… Right.”

The chapel doors swung open, and the line moved up ahead, the two of them clinging to each other a few couples back from the large wooden doors. “They’re moving them out fast,” Misty observed. “Like an assembly line. Just putting marriages together. Bam, splat, you get a wedding, and you get a wedding, and you get a wedding!”

Trying to disguise her grin, Cordelia bent her head forward toward the ground. “You’re going to make me laugh!” Were people staring at them? She didn’t know, couldn’t know, because Misty couldn’t see, either. As far as she was concerned, it was just the two of them in this huge, dark world, and April was their lighthouse, her tail wagging slowly back and forth. “I love you, Misty. Even if you are silly and ridiculous.”

“You love me because I’m silly and ridiculous.”

“Maybe that’s it.”

It was, indeed, like an assembly line, as couples came and went, and soon enough, Misty and Cordelia shuffled into the chapel after the officiant. “Are you meant to be blindfolded?” he asked, and Cordelia bit her lip to keep from laughing.

“I’m not allowed to see the bride before the wedding.” To her credit, Misty didn’t get impatient at explaining it over and over; she knew nobody else would understand at first glance that she had her own superstitious rules about their wedding. “But I’ll be able to take it off in a minute here, right?”

The man’s smile was evident in his voice. “Well, you might’ve just made my day.” He cleared his throat. “Yes. You actually can take it off now, if you like.”

Misty did so, the fabric slipping off of her face, and she balled it up into her fist. She tremored on the spot. “You’re so beautiful, Delia,” she whispered, and Cordelia’s whole face grew warm.

The man stood back. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to celebrate the union of Cordelia Goode and Misty Day in holy matrimony.” He had the words memorized, barely glancing down at the podium before him. “Miss Day, if you’ll repeat after me.” Misty gnawed at the bit, straightening at the sound of her own name, and she repeated his words by rote, not too fast nor too slow.

“I, Misty Day, take thee, Cordelia Goode, as my wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish, til death do us part; and thereto, I pledge myself to you.”

They were such familiar words, ones Cordelia had heard dozens of times on the television and in weddings. Someone else might have heard them as empty words, but Cordelia didn’t; from Misty, all of her heart and her magic flowing into those words, Cordelia had never felt fuller. “Miss Goode?”

She felt like a little girl trying to recite the pledge of allegiance in front of the class as she repeated the words said aloud by the officiant. “I, Cordelia Goode, take thee, Misty Day, as my wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish; and thereto, I pledge myself to you.”

She didn’t stumble over any words, to her own surprise. Misty sniffled, and Cordelia realized she was crying. Her own eyes burned, but crying hurt too much for her to allow it of herself here.

“Misty Day, do you take Cordelia Goode to be your lawful wedded wife?”

Her voice was thick with emotion. A slight shiver was attached to her two, simple words, words which had never made Cordelia so happy before in her life. “I do.”

“Cordelia Goode, do you take Misty Day to be your lawful wedded wife?”

Cordelia cleared her throat. She suddenly had cottonmouth. “I do.” She sounded hoarse.

“Then, by the power vested in me by the state of Louisiana, I witness and affirm your union of love and now pronounce you wife and wife. You may kiss the bride.” Misty reached for her, guiding her into her arms. She was, once again, Cordelia’s eyes, just as she was meant to be. Their lips connected, and Cordelia made a happy, soft sound as she sank against Misty’s body, wholly supported hers.

Their kiss severed. Misty gave a throaty chuckle. “Ready to go home, Mrs. Day?”

Cordelia blinked. “Did we decide on your last name?”

“I was going to combine them, but I decided Mrs. Gay was a little too forward even for us.” Cordelia’s laughter floated them all the way out of the courthouse.

#foxxay #sarah paulson #lily rabe #misty day #cordelia goode #my writing

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unadulteratedfandomtrash · 5 years ago

Text

Loki Laufeyson x Reader ~ Rest Assured [Pt. 10]

[My Marvel Masterlist] [Previous Part]

A/N: Sooooo.... Plans have changed and now there will be more than ten chapters because this segment ended up being much longer than anticipated. I’m sorry it took this long for me to write and post this chapter!

Also, the time difference between now and the previous chapter is mentioned in the dialogue, but for those of you who want to know before reading this, it has been two Midgardian years.

Word Count: 2359

“Well, that should conclude today’s session. Have you experienced any negative reactions or symptoms since my last visit two nights ago? Lightheadedness? Headaches?”

“No, she has not,” Loki answers from the threshold of the room, stepping in with a sly smirk on his face, “and, as my wife, she would be wise to inform me if otherwise, right, darling?”

“Spying on us again?” An amused smirk stretches across (Y/n)’s lips. She gestures for her husband to take a seat beside her on the bed, her head immediately resting upon his shoulder. “You both know as well as I do that I have been feeling just fine, so quit worrying so much over nothing. All that fretting will turn you two into wrinkly old fellows before I even get a chance to become a mother.”

A pregnant silence leaves the God of Mischief and Sorcerer Supreme staring awkwardly at a random corner of the room. Their constant badgering comes with good intentions, but (Y/n)’s teasing brings up the fact that maybe, just maybe, they truly are worrying over non-existent health issues that she has long since overcome.

“Now, if you two don’t mind, I would like to rest.”

With a quick nod of acknowledgement, Stephen bids the two Asgardians a good night before exiting, the door automatically closing behind him thanks to JARVIS. Loki and (Y/n) remain unmoving in the darkness of their shared chambers, both unsure of their next move.

Deciding to break the silence, Loki clears his throat softly while glancing over at his wife. “You wish to conceive children in the future?”

“Of course,” (Y/n) answers quickly, though her voice can barely be heard. “Why would you ask such a thing? Of course I wish to have children with you, though I have no demands on when it will happen. Is it not something you wish for, my love?”

“I have done nothing to prove myself worthy to potentially be a parent. If anything, my actions discredit me.”

“Oh, Loki, you have done no such thing.”

“What are you tal-”

“Let me finish,” she states, cupping Loki’s face; her firm grip pulls the black-haired god closer until there is no longer an empty gap between them. Pressing a chaste kiss to her husband’s lips, (Y/n) ensures his eyes meet her own as she explains, “I understand and am fully aware that several…previous events…have broken both legal and moral codes, but you’ve moved on from that. So long as you learn from those mistakes and never repeat them, that alone proves your worth.”

“Be that as it may, there are many others from numerous realms who will disagree with such a statement.”

“Who says you have to listen to them?” (Y/n) has a point. Listening to others has never been Loki’s favorite thing to do, so why should he bother to stop now? Plus, he can never win an argument against his perceptive wife— (Y/n) knows best. “Ignore those who only express their hatred towards our lives; they do not deserve a second of our attention.”

Birds chirp happily as they glide throughout the morning sky, providing a serene view as (Y/n) gazes out the window from her seat on the couch, the book in her hands long forgotten as her mind wanders.

“Good afternoon, (Y/n),” Thor greets as he strides into the room. Despite the large smile on his face, the dark circles convey his weariness from having just returned from a mission with his fellow heroes. “I was informed you wish to speak to me as soon as possible.”

The God of Thunder’s entrance startles her from her thoughts. She closes her novel, setting it aside with the intention to continue reading later on, and stands to greet her brother-in-law, who pulls her into a tight hug. Her arms remain wrapped around Thor for a moment longer than anticipated, prompting to him question the reason he was summoned.

“Yes, but first, I must ask: How are you, Thor? You must be exhausted between all the assignments with your team and your continuous travels to and from Asgard. Surely you can ask for Heimdall to pass on messages instead of running back and forth between two worlds, or request for one of his messengers to assist you?”

“Though the many journeys have left me weary, it is my responsibility to inform the AllFather of Loki’s progress here on Midgard. I do not wish to burden Heimdall. He has many duties as it is. Now, what is it you wish to discuss, (Y/n)?”

(Y/n) returns to her seat on the couch, resting her hands in her lap as they fiddle around anxiously. Patting the cushion next to her, she gestures for Thor to sit beside her. The large blond does as he is asked, a worried frown taking over the cheerful grin on his face once he notices the young woman’s nervousness.

“It has been nearly two Midgardian years since my departure from Asgard…and though I do not wish to pressure Loki into agreeing unless the decision comes from his heart, I have given this decision a lot of thought: if and when the time is right, I wish to have a child with your brother.”

“That is wonderful, (Y/n)!”

“Yes, however, Loki's opinion on the matter differs drastically. Your brother believes his attack on Midgard, along with his upbringing and bloodline, dictates the future of his child, should he decide to have one.”

“I do not understand…” Upon noticing Thor’s blank, lost expression, (Y/n) shuffles to sit closer to her confused brother-in-law. For several seconds, the young woman remains silent to gather her thoughts in order to clarify the situation.

“Thor… Loki is afraid. His hands are stained with blood and betrayal, his biological father was a manipulative, cruel individual who only ever brought death and despair to those near and far, and numerous realms do not take kindly to his existence,” she cautiously explains in a hushed whisper, afraid to catch the attention of any unwanted listeners. “Your brother believes he is unfit to father offspring, and I am quite sure you are aware of his hatred towards his heritage. He still struggles to accept himself; he sees himself as a monster.

“As the child grows older, they will bear the responsibilities of being Asgardian royalty, which is a formidable expectation alone, but Loki’s past will follow our family even after our passing; it is a part of our history. Asgardians are warriors. We often yearn for the thrilling rush of being on the battlefield. If they were to learn of Loki’s current situation, that alone would rile the citizens enough to start a war between the people and sovereign family. Loki’s child will only receive hatred just as he does.”

“Father has a plan,” Thor interrupts (Y/n)’s explanation. He understands his brother’s fears, and with the help of the Allfather, steps have already been taken to ease the citizens of Asgard into the idea of Loki’s return to the realm. “We had discussed this long before Loki was permitted to return to Midgard with you. The Allfather plans to slowly convince the people of Brother’s improvements. With you by his side, I am sure we will be able to persuade them in no time!”

“Stark, I require your assistance on a matter of great importance!” Thor storms into Tony’s lab with only his thunderous footsteps and booming voice providing the latter any hint of the Asgardian’s arrival. The sudden announcement piques Tony’s curiosity, but without any context, he remains silent to allow Thor to continue his train of thought. “(Y/n) approached me with her concerns over a personal issue she wished to discuss, but given that you claim yourself to be a genius, I shall ask for your assistance.”

An eyebrow raises at the mentioning of (Y/n). Since Thor mentioned her issue being personal, Tony is confused as to why he is being so open about the matter; if it were him, he would not want his brother-in-law going to someone else to talk about a private problem, but maybe this is different.

“Okaaayy…I need context here, buddy. What sort of godly problems call for my help?”

“Loki requires assistance in bearing a child wi-”

“SAY WHAT,” Tony shouts suddenly, hands dropping the tools that were once hovering cautiously over a new prototype gauntlet. Said prototype discharges without warning thanks to a soldering iron coincidentally falling onto the operating panel.

From across the room, Bruce is quick to duck beneath a nearby desk as debris rains down from the hole in the ceiling that Tony has now created, shooting a pointed look at his colleague once the dust settles.

“My bad,” he apologizes with a sheepish grin. “But in my defense, Point Break shouldn’t have sprung that sort of information on me without any warning. I really didn’t need to know that Reindeer Games and his wife are trying to make more trickster gods. In my tower at that.”

“That is where you are wrong,” interjects Thor, “My brother fears his late attack on your planet, amongst many other issues, will affect his ability to produce children. I understand you possess plenty of experience with women, especially with your lover, so I would greatly appreciate it if you could lend your expertise to Loki.”

The God of Thunder’s statement leaves Tony sputtering out his coffee mid-sip, staring at the man in question in absolute disbelief.

“Excuse me?! What did you just say? Please tell me that I did not hear what I think I just heard. JARVIS, am I going crazy?”

“Well, according to an analytic scan I performed the other day, your br-”

“Y- Don’t actually answer that. I was being rhetorical.” Hunching over the table with his temple resting on three fingers, the genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist loudly exhales as he takes his time to take in the words Thor had just spoken.

He truly does want to help the blond god, but the topic is neither his or Thor’s business to be sticking their noses into. Everything should stay between the two gods concerned with matter. Tony is pretty sure that if he were to approach either of the two to talk about it, they would turn him away.

“Okay. I’ll humor you for a bit, blondie. Why should I help you? Correction: Why should I help Loki? Even though he’s staying in my tower, that doesn’t mean I actually like him.”

“As you already know, (Y/n) belongs on Asgard. Though she is content with staying on Midgard, so long as Loki is by her side, her heart longs to reside in the realm she was born to live on, and the Allfather is well aware of this. He allowed for (Y/n) to follow us to Midgard in hopes that Loki will yield to his lengthy sentence.

“Those two are heirs to the throne. Without them, Father has nobody to succeed him when the time comes, as I do not wish to rule Asgard as its king. Loki and (Y/n) are expected to birth an heir in order to secure the fate of Asgard, should tragedy befall on either of them.”

“Wait, why don’t you want to be a king? I would love to be born into the royal family of gods from another planet.”

“Being a ruler is a heavy burden I am unequipped to bear. My brother, alongside (Y/n), is far wiser than I will ever be. He may not act like it at times, but Loki is the perfect candidate for King. I am far happier with my role as the protector of my realm, not its ruler.”

“But a king has to protect too, ya’’ know,” Tony points out. “But that’s beside the point. We’re getting off topic! So, what’s the point of me talking to your brother?”

“My father has informed me that Asgard shall soon accept Loki with open arms. If the two were to become parents, the Allfather may permit an early return. I understand that you wish for my brother to vacate your tower, and I only wish for him to live in contentment, so by helping Loki, we shall all benefit.”

A pregnant silence fills the room as Tony mulls over the proposition. A hand strays from his side to his beard, absentmindedly playing with the strands that come in contact with his fingertips.

No words can describe how much he yearns for Loki’s departure from Earth, he must consider his options. On one hand, if he does help the blond god with his family issues, Loki will no longer bother the Avengers, life in the tower will be peaceful, and everyone gets to live a happy life. However, on the other hand, Tony is willing to bet his entire fortune that the God of Mischief’s reaction to the genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist’s interference with his personal matters will be anything but positive. Since the start of his sentence on Earth, Loki has been irritating towards every person who has stepped foot in the tower, yet he has never crossed any lines. If Tony provides his input, he fears more than just lines will be crossed.

He prepares to say no, to turn his back on the situation and let it pass without another thought, but movement outside the laboratory captures his attention. Beyond the frosted glass, the wealthy hero watches as the blurry figure of Doctor Strange puts a hand to (Y/n)’s head; she must have gone to him with concerns regarding her health, since Stephen has been studying Asgardian anatomy and physiology within the adjacent lab in order to treat the female Asgardian during her stay on Earth. Despite the strong urge to turn his back on Loki, Tony cannot find it in his heart to do the same with (Y/n). And so, with the guilt hanging over his conscience like the blade on a guillotine, a decision is made.

“Well, looks like I’ve got no other choice but yours. Lead the way, Point Break.”

[Next Part]

Tag List

@scienceofficersmith @wecantgiggleitsafandom @drstrangefictions @tvdplusriverdale @laxarnas @tarynkauai

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chroniclackofselfpreservation · 4 years ago

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A Harvest Prayer

Prosperity wasn’t a fan of hanging around the heavens listening to her siblings bicker over the state of the universe. She found their conversation dull and their council meetings lacking in anything remotely interesting. As a goddess, she found supreme pleasure in exploring the Earth and seeing what the mortals had been up to in the past few centuries. Last she heard, they’d begun revolutionizing agriculture.

She also enjoyed walking barefoot in the riverbeds and squishing mud between her toes, but she kept that to herself.

The night was warm. She stood on the shore of a gurgling stream, the causal mortal-style dress bunched in her fists and held aloft. Mud caked her feet up to her ankles, staining her perfect copper skin a dark gray. Minnows nibbled at her toes, and she snickered.

The wind took a sudden chill and Prosperity felt the air pressure plummet. She didn’t look up as a figure coalesced out of the shadows, stepping into the moonlight. He was cloaked in inky shadows. A thick mist of darkness wrapping him like a robe, shrouding all but his milk-white face and hands in black. His hair was a sheaf of black atop his head; his eyes were pupilless and radiated with the crystalline shimmer of stars.

“Hello, Night.”

“What are you doing?” His voice was a deep baritone, rumbling through the ground and rattling her chest.

“Avoiding my duties. You know, the usual.”

“You cannot simply abandon your position on the council because Nature gets on your nerves,” he chastised, but a whisper of a smile played at his lips and she could tell he only half-meant it.

“I’m not abandoning it,” Prosperity muttered, kicking a clump of muddy weeds into the flowing water. She was far younger than the rest of her siblings. Tohrin had been hanging the stars and ruling the dark for millennia. Time had lorded over the Earth for even longer. Her sisters Nature, Life, Death, and their many children weren’t older by much, but enough that they saw fit to rub it in her face every time they saw her.

“Why does everything have to be so complicated?” she said. “Mortals live such simple lives. Must be nice.”

Night came to stand next to her in three strides, stepping into the water. She glanced down as saw his own pale, bare feet poking through the hem of his cloak.

She grinned, nudging him with an elbow. “Nice, isn’t it?”

“It is, indeed,” he conceded. Night chewed on the inside of his cheek, refraining from speaking.

“What is it?”

“I understand your frustration with Nature, believe me, but I would not envy mortals. They can be close-minded, self-aggrandizing war mongers. They care nothing for their fellow man and lack sight beyond the point of their own nose.”

Prosperity rocked back and forth on her feet. “You know, you can just say you’re upset that blacksmith’s son turned you down, Night. No need to take your anger out on the lot of them.”

The god’s ashen complexion turned blotchy and flushed. “That is not what I meant in the slightest.”

“Sure.”

“Fare thee well, Prosperity.”

“See you.”

Night disappeared into the shadows, and Prosperity was once more alone. She smiled to herself. He was so easy to fluster.

She fished a pebble out of the mud with her toes and kicked it into the stream absentmindedly. Prosperity didn’t think mortals were all that bad. Sure, they waged war on each other, raped and pillaged, lied and stole, but there were also those that lived honest lives, created art, and helped their neighbors. The gods weren’t so perfect either. No one had mentioned Death’s son Chaos in the last five centuries, and not a decade ago, Night and Time fought so intensely the sun hadn’t risen for three days.

Something tugged inside Prosperity, directly behind her navel. She looked up. Someone was praying to her. At this time of the night? Must be urgent.

Without washing the half-dried mud from her legs, the goddess darted off into the forest to locate the source of the call.

It wasn’t far. She’d run for only a few minutes before she reached a humble farmer kneeling at the ramshackle altar he’d constructed. Prosperity felt a smile tugging at her lips at the thought of Nature seeing her in this state, running barefoot through the woods like some wild mortal woman.

She was still a fair distance from the man, but with the help of the moonlight, she could see him clearly. Crossing the grove of trees between them, Prosperity approached the mortal hunched over the pile of rocks sprinkled with flower petals.

“Oh, how nice. They don’t usually put flowers on the altars,” she commented and the man looked up. He glared at her.

“Who are you? Can’t you see I’m trying to pray, here?”

Prosperity lifted her hand in a small wave. “Yep. I’m here. What do you need, mortal?”

The farmer’s brows knit together and he stared at her like she’d just waltzed through his village without any clothes on. “Have you been in the doctor’s herbs, girl?” he demanded, waving a dismissive hand. “Leave. I’m busy.”

Prosperity took a step back, confused and more than a little offended. Does he not recognize me? I mean, sure, I’m a little dirty, but I’m still a goddess, aren’t I? She remembered Night’s warning and a spark of indignation lit within her. She would prove him wrong. Perhaps this man was simply confused. A perfectly understandable mistake. She hated the formal state of address that she was expected to speak to mortals in. It felt far too much like she was pretending to be Nature, and it made her skin itch with irritation.

“What were you praying about?” she asked as kindly as possible.

The man scowled some more. “The oracle predicted a drought next season, didn’t you hear? If I don’t save this crop, my family will starve.”

Prosperity clasped her hands behind her back, taking a few more steps toward the man and crouching next to him. “Oh, that’s easy. If you dig a hole in the ground, then widen it out into an entire room,” she explained, drawing a little diagram in the dirt, “it will keep them cool and you won’t get as many animals sneaking in and—”

“Be silent, child! You speak nonsense of burying food and rooms beneath the ground. I should take you to the priest,” the farmer rebuked her, shaking his finger in her face.

Now Prosperity was angry. If she wasn’t such a nice person, she would have left the farmer to deal with his own problems, but it would bother her for years and knowing the farmer he’d probably keep pestering her with prayers until she answered.

“Fine,” she grumbled, standing. With a wave of her hand, her appearance shimmered and she was once more in her formal attire—a regal dress flowing with sheaves of gold silk and black embroidery. The mud sheared away from her feet, leaving them clean and slippered.

“Heed the words of Prosperity, mortal, for I have heard thy prayer,” she said, her voice echoing around the forest. The farmer fell back, scrambling away from her, his eyes wide.

“I have seen thy plight and will grant unto thee these wisdoms: build unto me a temple of stone beneath the skin of the Earth. Hide thy food from the piercing eye of Nature and Death, sealing it away with stone and mortar. And behold, when the drought doest ravage the land and hunger claws at the bellies of thy wife and children, enter into mine temple and feast.”

Prosperity let her arms drop to her sides unceremoniously. “There. Was that better?”

The farmer nodded quickly, uttering a frantic, “Praise the gods,” before scampering back through the trees to his village. She barely restrained herself from rolling her eyes. Mortals might not be all bad, but they were definitely all stupid.

#immortals #gods #harvest #prayer #short story #short fiction #flash fiction #story #writing #creative writing #creative #original

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drrjsb · 5 years ago

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Happy Holidays! Body and Soul: The Endgame Fix "Part 16: Tea and Empathy"

Summary: Bruce and Natasha return home to find a friend waiting on the porch. They tap into Bruce’s supply of Girl Scout cookies, make a call across the galaxy, and later they answer one from closer to home. Yes, we earn our mature rating.

Notes: Happy Holidays to those who celebrate! Here’s nice big chapter for those who’ve waited. It’s still the evening of Monday, October 30, 2023.

AO3 Fanfiction.net WattPad

Excerpt . . .

The last thing they'd expected to find was Dr. Stephen Strange waiting for them on the porch, but the Sorcerer Supreme was relaxing on the carved wooden swing with a gray cat on his lap as Bruce pulled up and parked the HX in its usual spot.

"Dr. Strange," Bruce said as he got out of the vehicle. Natasha didn't hesitate to hop out of the passenger's side door. She'd never met him, yet he looked exactly like the pictures she'd found when she researched him after Tony and Nebula had arrived back from Titan. She guessed the large gray cat that jumped out of the tall man's lap must be Gertie.

"Dr. Banner . . . and Ms. Romanoff, I presume," the magic-user returned in his deep baritone voice as he stood up.

"You presume correctly," she said as she joined Bruce. It was nice not to have her identity questioned from the get-go. The cat darted inside through the pet door, and Natasha caught Bruce huffing out a rather flummoxed breath through his nose.

"Stephen, good to see you. I assume you've already met, Gertrude. May I introduce you to Natasha Romanoff," Bruce said, extending his right hand. "Nat, this is Stephen Strange, Earth's Sorcerer Supreme," he explained and mirrored the same open-handed gesture of introduction with his left hand.

"A pleasure," the dark-haired physician said with a slightly amused smile. Natasha came forward and shook the hand he offered her as she stepped onto the porch with Bruce right behind her. "It's a pleasure to meet you," she said. Nat noticed his hand was every bit as scarred as Bruce's was and almost as warm, too. She'd read about the auto accident that ended his surgical career in his file.

"It's good to finally meet you, Ms. Romanoff." He held onto her hand a moment longer than necessary, and Nat knew he was scanning and scrutinizing her, so she stared steadily back into his intense blue eyes and matched his firm grip.

"She's the real one," Bruce assured the sorcerer as he used the tile pad to let them into the house. "Please come in and have some tea, Doctor."

"I can't stay for long, but tea sounds good," the physician admitted and followed the couple through the mudroom and into the kitchen where Sirius greeted them with a low "Whoof!" as Bruce assured the dog the guest was welcome. Strange held out the back of his hand, and the overgrown pup gave it a brief sniff before backing off and circling Natasha protectively.

"Have a seat," Bruce said and filled a copper kettle with water and placed it on the stove before reaching into the cabinet for cups and saucers. Natasha collected Bruce's jacket and hung it up with hers on a peg near the door. She offered to hang up Strange's cloak but he kept it draped over his shoulders as if he were still warding off a chill from the evening air.

"Darjeeling, oolong, green, herbal, some other kind of herbal, or Earl Grey?" Bruce asked as he checked through the containers on the cabinet where the loose-leaf teas had congregated.

With a mischievous smile, the sorcerer suggested, "Surprise me."

"All right, but I doubt you came here for the tea, Stephen."

Strange looked at both Bruce and Natasha, moving around each other with the ease of an experienced pit crew. "No, but I did come for the company and to compare a few notes on certain loose ends, which have turned out to be something more like an unraveling than a tying up of threads."

Bruce sighed. "No neat dénouement for the Time Heist?"

"No, apparently not." Strange studied Natasha who had found Bruce's oversupply of Girl Scout Cookies in the pantry. Without missing a beat, Bruce handed her three small plates to go with the teacups and saucers he'd just set on the counter. The sorcerer was still marveling at how well they coordinated and in-tune they seemed, despite being separated for so long. "Please tell me you have the peanut butter ones dipped in chocolate," he requested. Those had always been a weakness of his.

Natasha dispensed with formality and handed the physician an unopened box of his apparent favorites. She stacked half a box of Thin Mints on a plate for Bruce and pulled out a few butter cookies with chocolate backing for herself. She placed the opened boxes in the middle of the table since it might take the remainder to get through the conversation even if it was brief. Bruce passed her some spoons and napkins to lay out, too. The honey and sugar were already in the table's center. None of them took cream with their tea.

Natasha sat down across the table from Strange whose back was to the mudroom door while Bruce stayed leaning against the higher section of counter, waiting for the kettle to boil. She'd missed seeing what type of tea he'd put into the stainless mesh ball, so it was going to be a surprise for her, too.

Strange cleared his throat as he slid the remainder of his box of cookies into the middle of the table with the others. "First, Ms. Romanoff . . ."

"Natasha, please."

"Natasha, I'm very happy to see you are among the living. I spoke to Wanda earlier, and she passed along the good news. I've since communicated with Fury and Captain Danvers, so I have some information about your captor to pass along if you'd care to hear it."

"Of course," Natasha affirmed.

"Please do," Bruce said with his burly arms folded across his chest.

"As you've already surmised, your impersonator was indeed a Skrull, Natasha. The assumption was the Skrull was either from a different group that Earth hadn't encountered before, one which split off during their diaspora, or perhaps he was some kind of a rogue agent. However, once Fury's allies, the Skrulls under Talos' leadership, compared cell samples collected from the craft in the lake to their database, it became evident that there was a connection."

"So, Nat's fake is related to some of Talos' people?" Bruce asked.

Strange nodded, "Four of them to be exact."

"I hope we're talking siblings or cousins," Bruce said with a frown.

Natasha cut to the other possibility, "Would they be grandparents?"

Strange nodded toward Natasha in acknowledgment, "In a manner of speaking, you were dealing with a being who doesn't exist yet."

The kettle's whistle gradually crescendoed to its full-throated high note as the implications sunk in. Bruce removed the kettle from the burner and turned the gas off. "Something tells me there's a common thread between this issue and what's been happening since the Time Heist. Clint told us there have been more paradoxes turning up."

"Yes, more than just the ones we've been dealing with concerning the Sousa family. In that case, it does seem to come back to a certain individual."

"Speaking of him, have you had a chance to sit down with Steve?" Bruce asked.

"We spoke about a week ago at a coffee shop in the Village, the day after he arrived (or reappeared?), but I can't say that he was extremely helpful. We went over what he'd done and where he said he was for all that time he was absent from our reality, but there were discrepancies almost from the beginning. Before I came here, I stopped by his apartment in Brooklyn, but he doesn't appear to have been there in some time if at all since Tony's funeral."

Bruce continued to frown. "I was hardly able to speak with him the day our Steve left and the old man arrived before that version left the Compound grounds. I asked if he understood the implications his little side junket might have for our timeline, and he clammed up tight. Sam and Bucky got in my face when I asked him again, so I thought it was better to back off before heavier things than words were flying. Do you think he's skipped?"

Natasha was imagining Sam's over-protective reaction and the possible outcome of a three-on-one fight with Bruce and the control it had taken on his part to avoid one. Even with those odds, a damaged arm, and a reluctance to harm the others, she'd have still put her money on Bruce. Nevertheless, the whole thing bothered her. She'd been at Peggy's funeral, and Natasha knew just how much Peggy had meant to him. Natasha also remembered seeing Peggy's husband Daniel there, not an older version of Steve. Selfishly throwing the rest of the universe into chaos and creating multiple splinters of the timeline—multiple conflicting realities—didn't match up with Steve's character or ethos at all.

The sorcerer shook his head. "I believe you were right not to press the matter, under those circumstances, Bruce." Strange thought a moment before answering the physicist's question, "If he's still in our reality, it seems likely he's gone underground. I've not been able to track him, and I suspect that's because he's not who he claims to be."

"Or he's found a way to cloak himself from a magical search since I imagine that's what you've already done," Natasha suggested. Strange nodded his confirmation. He'd used a hair from Steve's apartment to weave a tracking spell, and the magic had completely failed. "Do you have any idea exactly what he did to affect the timeline?" she asked.

Strange tried to keep from rolling his eyes with frustration before he dove into his explanation. "It appears he created a parallel timeline in which he lived out his life with Peggy Carter and then renounced that reality after her death to return to our own long enough to drop off the older version of his shield to Colonel Wilson. I'm not completely certain why he felt so compelled to return it, except that he seems to have wanted to pass along his mantel to Sam."

Bruce shook his head, feeling just as frustrated as the magic user. "Why would he want us to think he'd lived his past out in our timeline? Are you sure this really was our Steve?" the physicist asked.

"Those are good questions," the sorcerer stated.

"Was he human?" Natasha asked.

Strange shrugged the slightest bit. "That's also a good question."

"So, we really don't know if this was our Steve, another version of Steve, or a Skrull or something else?" Bruce posited. He'd warmed up a large ceramic teapot and steeped the tea, so now he poured their three cups full and settled them on the saucers for the other two.

"Correct, and that also leaves us with the anomalies involving the Souzas' background shifts and other exchanges or apparent 'edits' of digital footprints," the physician noted and blew on the steaming tea in his cup. "Mmm, white tea, ginger, and . . . bergamot?"

"You're good," Bruce said and placed his larger-sized cup and saucer at the head of the table and sat down in his extra-sturdy seat between the other two. "Whether this was our Steve or not, I'd seriously like to know where he acquired the Pym particles necessary to do the extra hop back to our reality," Bruce groused.

"Although I couldn't get him to say as much, I imagine he stole an extra vial or two when he returned the Space Stone," Strange surmised.

Bruce nodded, "That's the most likely explanation, but I'm amazed that didn't sabotage the whole Time Heist. Damn, it likely created at least one more splinter." The physicist clenched his jaws and then his right fist tightened. Now, he wished he'd thought faster, swallowed his pride, and called in Carol as soon as the old man had appeared on the lakeside bench. Things might have gotten messy, but they also might have had definitive answers to some of their questions. He felt Natasha's hand on his left forearm and realized his frustrations were getting the better of him. Bruce relaxed his jaw muscles and quit grinding his teeth as he loosened his clenched fist, flexing his damaged hand.

"Is Carol the only one who can detect a Skrull?" Natasha asked as she reached for a jar of honey in the middle of the table. Strange flicked his finger to levitate the jar gently into her grasp and unscrewed the lid. She raised an eyebrow and smiled her thanks.

"Please tell us you've figured out some method of detection, Stephen," Bruce said a bit forlornly.

Strange chuckled. "That actually brings me to another interesting piece of news," he said and unfastened his cloak to expose a familiar artifact resting on his chest.

The scar behind Bruce's right thumb heated up even before he realized what was once again housed in the amulet. A green light flared behind the metal housing, making the connection unmistakable. "How did you get it back?"

"As you might know, Stark returned the broken amulet that housed the Time Stone to Master Wong who had it repaired and returned to the place it had previously been kept. Two days ago, the Time Stone reappeared in its housing. I and several others have been investigating this phenomenon since then."

"How is this possible?" the scientist asked in disbelief. "Did Steve pocket it and bring it back?"

"I don't think so. Our surveillance cameras would have detected that" the sorcerer noted. The couple both gave him slightly incredulous looks. "What? We're not allowed to use both magic and technology?"

"You're right. That makes perfect sense," Natasha said. People were only human even if they were powerful magic users.

"What was on the recording?" Bruce asked, moving on with his inquiry.

"There was a green flash and the Stone manifested, once again whole and seated in the amulet just as it had been before."

"You wouldn't happen to have had a spectrometer nearby?" Bruce asked ruefully, wishing there had been more solid data collected.

Strange sighed, "No, but we can talk about adding one if you think that would be useful in the future."

"I'll start the paperwork for you myself," Bruce offered.

Natasha had grown quiet, her mind racing through possible scenarios and ramifications. "Is there any way to check for the presence of the other stones? If the Time Stone has returned, it must be possible for the others to do the same, right?"

The men looked at each other before Bruce spoke. "That's why I wish we'd gotten an energy signature and a reading on the Time Stone's manifestation; then, we might know what we need to look for with more specificity."

"Don't you have some of the data from the testing you and Tony and later Shuri did on the Space and Mind Stones?" she asked.

"You're right. We have data on those two energy signatures, which leaves . . ."

"The Power, Reality, and Soul Stones," Nat finished for him.

Strange held up his hand. "Perhaps another angle of inquiry that would help narrow a search would be to focus on the most likely places each Stone might manifest." The couple looked at each other and nodded. Strange gave a little snort as he watched them telegraphing and ending each other's thoughts. "Are you two sure you've been apart?"

Bruce went a little pale and then flushed beneath his verdant complexion as he looked at her with adoration. Natasha simply smiled back at the sorcerer and patted Bruce's muscular thigh beneath the table. "Now, Doctor, you're sounding like Tony Stark, except he'd have said something more embarrassing, and Bruce would be blushing less."

Bruce started to object but stopped himself. "True," he admitted with a thoughtful nod. "Anyway, as you were saying, Stephen?"

"I think it would help facilitate our search if we looked in the other Stones' last known locations," Strange suggested.

"You mean before Thanos 'acquired' them," Nat clarified.

"And using them and destroying them," Bruce added.

The sorcerer stroked his beard in thought. "Yes, and I believe I may know whom to ask for help with some of that. Bruce, can you still contact the Benatar?"

"That depends upon where they are and whether or not they're using a jump port," Bruce said. "Have you spoken to Fury about this? He may have better equipment and more contacts."

"Fury already knows and is checking through his channels, but I suspect the Guardians and Thor might be closer to Nowhere, Morag, or the remains of Xandar and Asgard than Fury's contacts."

"I have the prototype communication linkup that Rocket and I first put together if you'll give me a few minutes to set it up," Bruce said.

"I can spare it, especially if it gives us some answers," the physician responded.

"Back in a minute," he said and stood up from the table. Sirius watched as his master disappeared out the back door and headed to the warehouse, but he stayed at Natasha's feet.

"How about the Mind Stone?" Natasha asked. "Would Wanda be able to sense if it reappeared?"

"So far nothing," Strange admitted. "She was the first person I contacted after returning from the Kamar-Taj."

"And the next?"

"Wakanda."

"To check on Vision?"

"Yes, but nothing new, no manifestation. His body is still an empty shell."

"But Bruce, Shuri, and Helen are all working on it now," Natasha said.

"That's my understanding," Strange said. "The last time I spoke with Bruce they were working on integrating the programming and data from different sources, but still searching for a power source to replace the Stone."

"That's my understanding, too," she said, not wanting to get ahead of what Bruce may or may not have shared.

Sirius stirred and Bruce entered the kitchen with a reinforced metal case in hand, which he laid out on a clear spot in the middle of the kitchen floor and opened. "Give me a minute. This wasn't designed for hands my size. Friday, bring the array online and prepare the reactor for a higher power demand."

"Already on it, Doctor Banner," the Interface intoned brightly.

The physicist tapped a tile in the wall next to the counter to expose a variety of ports and outlets. He'd looped a coil of cables over his shoulder, which he unrolled and attached to the outlets first before connecting it to the device.

As Natasha rose from her seat, she looked at the open case that was unfolding onto the floor around itself to create a circular pad. She recognized some similarities to the diagnostic device at the medical facility from earlier in the day and the holographic communication array Bruce had designed for the Avengers Compound. She'd used it for almost a week to communicate with Okoye, Rocket, Rhodey, and Carol before the Skrull replaced her, but that device had been larger and less portable. Nat was certain this was the beta version of the machine, on which Bruce had kept tinkering after Rocket and he had designed it. Luckily, he kept it because the larger one was probably destroyed. "Do you need some help with the controls?" she asked.

"If you could flip the input lens up and handle the keypad, I'd appreciate it," he said as he handed her a modified Stark-pad and pointed to a manual set of switches on the base that stood out from the sleeker parts of the design. "That should give control of the contact calculations over to Friday." Nat did as he'd requested and adjusted the lens when it flipped into position. "Friday, engage please," Bruce said.

"Aye, initiating. Doctor, whom would you like me to contact?"

Strange caught himself before answering and Bruce grinned back. Having another degree holder in the kitchen was only slightly unusual. "Whoever is on the Benatar—Rocket, Nebula, or Thor will do. I imagine we'll be talking to all of them if this goes through."

"Please, not Drax or Quill," Strange said half under his breath.

The device hummed slightly and they waited a few moments. "Where is your antenna set up?" Natasha asked.

"The warehouse roof. It's the one place flat enough and big enough to hold the communication array, the telescopes, and some other equipment. The local Historical Society would have thrown a fit if I'd stuck anything on top of the house."

"And the reactor?" she asked as the pad in her hands began to display a map that looked like a detailed, three-dimensional star chart.

"It has a lab to itself. Why? Are you worried we'll need more juice?"

"Just thinking ahead to the Christmas lights," she teased back. "Can I display this with the holographic projector in the device?"

"There should be an option for that in the dropdown menu at the upper left," Bruce explained. She quickly had the images flashing into life in a gold column of light, and Strange moved around the table to get a closer look.

"I've found them," Friday said. "Do you want me to hail the Benatar?"

"Please," Bruce said.

In a moment, they heard a crackling that quickly resolved as the channel cleared. "Awwww . . . Did ya miss me, Big Green?" Rocket Racoon's voice asked as the golden image of the stars broke up and reformed into a life-size image of their friend that almost looked solid.

"Just the person I wanted to talk to," Bruce said.

The Guardian tilted his head and squinted. "Holy shhhh... .? Natasha?" Rocket sputtered as he recognized her. His fists went to his eyes and he wiped at them with disbelief before staring back again. "Nice haircut. What's going on? This better not be a joke!"

"No joke. Long story," she said, stepping further forward. "I lost about five years, but I did get to work with you for about a month and a half on the policing council we were setting up before I was grabbed."

"Sweet sushi! Then who was I working with? Who died? Who said she wouldn't let me in the kitchen anymore if I ate something out of the garbage can again?"

Natasha looked at Bruce for direction, and he raised his eyebrows and gave her a small shrug. Strange nodded briefly when she looked at him. "It was a doppelganger, a double who was also a very talented spy," she said.

"A Face Dancer or a Skrull?" Rocket asked.

"A Skrull. So, you've heard of them before?" she asked.

"Well, there aren't a lot of them around since the Kree went all empire on them, but they are known for their shape-shifting talents. I've never heard of one doing it for a whole five Earth years though. That's a hell of a commitment."

"Natasha! I knew I heard your voice!" Thor rumbled as he came into the column's projection field, pushing Rocket a bit to the side as the little technician protested and held his nose.

"Thor?" Natasha asked, sounding quite puzzled by his shaggy and fleshy appearance in exercise shorts and a tank top.

"Damn, I meant to tell you about him," Bruce whispered apologetically. "He got very depressed."

"Sorcerer Strange, do we have you to thank for her resurrection?" the Asgardian asked.

Bruce and Stephen looked at each other, and the sorcerer cleared his throat and stepped closer to the communication device's input lens. "No, I believe Natasha managed to free herself."

"Then you escaped Vormir on your own? That is truly auspicious!" the thunder god assumed.

"No, Thor, I was held in stasis for about five years."

"Five years? Baldur's ghost," he stammered and looked away, calculating how long she'd been a prisoner. "I . . . I'm so sorry. Then who did we work with? How did it happen?"

"A Skrull spy, you smelly dope," Rocket growled and slapped Thor's belly to back him up a bit.

"Is that who died?" Thor asked.

"Yes," Natasha said with a nod.

"I guess that explains some of her behavior and the shabby way she treated Bruce. You've told Clint, right?"

"He knows. He was here earlier," she explained.

"Ah, good," Thor said with a nod. "I'm glad you called me."

"You weren't the only one they called," Rocket said irritably as he elbowed in front of the gigantic blonde again. "Why don't you go back to helping Quill put that Bo-Flexier thing together?!"

"Looks like you've lost some weight," Bruce noted.

"Only because we're outta beer," Rocket snapped.

"Thank you for noticing," Thor said with a pleased smile.

"Actually," Strange spoke up, "there is another matter we wanted to discuss. If Nebula is there, we'd like to include her in the conversation." It took about ten minutes of discussion to get everyone up to speed between interruptions as the rest of the Guardians joined the conversation, except for Groot who mostly rolled his eyes as he worked a newer handheld game in the background before leaving the cabin. No, they'd not heard any news of the Infinity Stones manifesting, but they'd been mostly focused on following Gamora's trail and looking for Asgardian survivors. There was confusion, but also a lot of joy after Bruce's Snap returned people.

The Guardians had good news on that front. The spaceport where the heavily damaged hulk of the Ambassador had been hauled after its destruction at Thanos' hands had doubled its population of 1,200 as unsnapped Asgardians and even some resurrected ones rejoined the living along with a few Sakaaran gladiators as well. Thor teared up as he thanked Bruce for including so many of his people in the Hulk-Snap.

"It was the least I could do. I really wasn't sure if it had worked. Were Loki or Heimdall returned?" Bruce asked.

"No news of them yet, but we've not given up hope," Thor said with a shrug. "Most of the survivors will be immigrating to New Asgard to join the rest as ships become available," he explained.

Rocket chuckled, "It's not like we could get them an Uber Lift, but the locals seemed pretty motivated to get them all off the station and resettled."

"Before they eat them out of lauder and breathe them out of oxygen," Nebula added. "We're headed toward Nowhere next as we search for my sister. Perhaps we'll hear something about the Power or the Reality Stone there."

"Hope so," Quill added. "We've heard stories that don't match up. Some reports say there's nothing left of Xandar, but others say only the capital was damaged and it's slowly and quietly being rebuilt. When we get closer, the information should get more reliable."

"If there's something to see, we won't know till we see it with our own eyes or not," Draxx said stoically.

"I hate to break up this love fest," Rocket intoned, "but we are nearing the jump port. Has everyone made their requests, kissed their moms, and said their good-byes?"

"Please let us know as quickly as you're able if there's news of a Stone manifesting," Strange entreated.

"We certainly will," Nebula replied in her husky all-business tone. Bruce had a good rapport with Rocket and an abiding friendship with Thor, but he placed most of his confidence in the tall blue cyborg.

"Just a moment," Thor said and got close to the device as the others receded from view. "Let me know when the wedding is, okay? I'd like to be there." Before Bruce or Natasha could respond, he'd winked and signed off.

"Well," Strange asked impishly, "when is it?"

#DrRJSB #Brutasha #Bruce Banner #Natasha Romanoff #Hulk #Black Widow #Endgame Fix #EndLame #MCU Fail #HulkWidow #BruceNat #Dr. Strange #Guardians of the Galaxy #Pepper Potts #Happy Hogan

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