#not really happy with these doodles but they made a heart shape so that must mean they're still filled with love | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

svchengss · 3 years ago

Text

two halves | l.mh

PAIRING. mark lee x reader

GENRE. fluff, heavy angst

WARNINGS. major character death, grief

WORD COUNT. 2.4k

SUMMARY. right after his death, mark watches how you cope with the loss

A/N. i saw this one tiktok and it kinda inspired me to write this

// just to let you guys know, reblogs and feedbacks are appreciated !! thank you for reading :D

white walls, white room.

mark scrunched his face, his eyelashes slowly fluttering open, the dark brown iris adjusting the size of the pupils due to the brightness of the walls reflected upon it. a soft groan vibrating from his throat, he assessed his surroundings where nobody or nothing else is present. he looked down to inspect his clothing, hoping that it would give him any clue of this room or space he’s in - an all white outfit. this scene looks exactly like the one in the movies where the characters realize they are dead. except this time, he really is.

THE REALIZATION.

the muffled sounds of cries and sobs rang through his eardrums, triggering a reflex to wake up from the state that he thought was a slumber. he is lying on the hospital bed with the light blue clothing piece, faint light illuminating the space where people are huddled up around him. he waved his right hand in the air to let them - who he later remembered as his family members and friends, know that his eyes are already open. nobody moved even the slightest, the atmosphere being very much dead, scent of medicine intoxicating his mind.

then he saw someone who he holds very dear to his heart - you, enter the hospital room, dropping onto her knees as soon as she saw his state of condition. in an instant, he shot up from his lying position and ran over towards the crying you, shoulders shaking and all. bringing his hands to hold you in his embrace, not even a glance spared by you brought a hundred and one questions to him. why didn’t anybody acknowledge him when he woke up? why can’t you feel his touch?

“mark lee. time of death, 10:23 pm,” the tall doctor with glasses rested on the bridge of his nose announced before leaving the room, holding the clipboard close to his chest. mark gauged the monitor screen next to the bed, the line indicating his heartbeat is no longer showing spikes going up and down - instead becoming a flat line, deafening beep present with it. then he sees himself still laying on the white sheets, eyes still closed and no signs of breathing evident. a surge of panic rushed through his veins.

this can’t be real.

mark rushed into the bathroom, a surprised gasp leaving his lips. his body is semi-transparent, the shape of the toilet bowl can be seen through his left shoulder. his body shakes with terror, slapping himself in the cheeks multiple times just to make sure that this whole fiasco is just a nightmare.

oh my god. no, this is real.

mark stood in the back of the crowd, witnessing the funeral of someone and that someone being him. of course, he’s never expected to get the sight of his own service. his mother is standing beside you, her hands rubbing circles onto your back in an attempt to calm your mourning state. you’re still looking ever so pretty, a black chiffon dress on your body with white pearl necklace on your collarbones and your wavy black hair hanging down your shoulders. not that anybody else would notice, it’s someone’s death after all.

“stay strong, y/n. he will always be in our hearts,” the same rhythm of sentence in tones full of pity being directed towards you. mark’s sister enveloped you into a warm hug despite the chilly atmosphere, whispering comforting words into your ears before getting into the family’s car. you’re not going back home, not yet when you still feel reluctant to let him go.

“why did you leave me?” the only coherent words from your hoarse voice can be heard. mark, who is crouching next to you, is holding his tears back. instead, he sends a sorrowful smile - not that you can see him anyway. is there any way to let you know of his presence?

“goodbye, love. i’ll see you tomorrow. i promise,” you dusted the back of your dress from any dirt or debris, leaving a rose on his tombstone. the thing is, he doesn’t want to part from you. and that’s why his figure is seated beside you in the cab. he grazed his thumb on your knuckles, making you feel tingles rushing through. you pushed the slight thought away, you must be tired to be feeling things.

you slowly opened the door to your apartment, you and mark’s to be exact. the whole house is making those memories make their presence in the back of your head again. the kitchen where you two baked cookies for christmas last year. the bedroom where you snuggled upon his chest, not wanting to start your day just yet. the piano where he sang those cheesy songs for you. the living room where you slow danced at 3 in the morning. his favourite mug resting on the countertop, probably will not be used again. this whole situation is too overwhelming for you. you feel weak.

with each day passing by, you didn’t even miss one without a visit to his resting lot. you would tell him stories of how your day went or something that you read which would made him ponder. the words carved on it are already etched onto your brain.

mark lee. a son, a brother and a loving partner.

the clock hanging on the grey wall has it’s arms stretched out to display the time - two in the morning. you can’t sleep just yet, not having any for the past few days even. dark circles are appearing around your eyes, not yet recovered from the puffiness from all the crying. mark’s heart aches everytime he takes upon your state. he feels very guilty, not that death was his choice after all. it’s simply fate, a cycle of life, a destiny that every single creature on this planet will end up with.

you’ve taken the whole month off work, still feeling ever so helpless. in fact, you can’t even remember the last time you’ve stepped out of the apartment, the night before his passing perhaps? you’ve completely shut yourself out from any interactions - deactivating your social media, not accepting any calls. you just need time to heal.

as if you’re being controlled by some type of mastermind, you shoot up on the balls of your feet, pulling away from the couch. those images of you slow dancing with mark, hands in each other’s holds, your chin rested in the crook of his neck and being ever so engrossed in love are coming back more often now. you trudged to the vinyls arranged neatly on the shelf, picking one before placing it on the turntable - frank sinatra, one of his all time favourites.

holding your hands up at about his usual height, you start twirling around. you can almost see the outline of his smile, his features right in front of you. except, he is. he’s been observing your moves the whole night. mirroring your current position, as if you can really see him, it’s a miracle for him. overjoyed actually, he doesn’t realize the salty tears streaming down his cheekbones and so are yours.

“thank you for coming, dear. it’s a pleasure seeing you in what, weeks?” a laugh escaped the woman’s lips. you reciprocated her hug before stepping into the living room. it’s been a long time since you’ve been here, was it in january? mrs. lee had invited you over for a simple dinner, checking up on how you’ve been. you can see that the family is still struggling over his passing, the way his sister’s eyes are not twinkling as usual makes it hard to cover up the lie.

“you see, this was on his high school graduation day. he was very happy that day, doing all sorts of dances and stuff. finally escaping from hell as he said,�� she giggled. she’s been displaying all sorts of memoirs to you, photo albums and photographs scattered on the wooden floor. to be honest, you’ve never seen these before. all smiles mark lee, easy to notice among the crowd. not that he’s changed, he’s still that boy now. mark just sat on the couch - his favourite spot, observing the throwback session going on. if he’s still here, his sister for sure is going to tease the hell out of him.

“he told us so much about you, you know? as if everything reminds him of you, that boy is lovestruck. really,” that sudden confession made your tongue dry, unable to find a perfect response. you were really that special to him.

“drive safe honey, you can come over whenever you want. you know you’re always welcome here, right?” mrs. lee handed you the small box filled with some things you’re going to keep. she kissed both of your cheeks, mr. lee standing behind her giving you a small wave. a small smile crept up onto your face before igniting the engine, turning your wheels out of the housing area.

the netflix show is playing on the television, the faint voices of the characters playing in the background. you’re sitting on the floor, flipping through the photo journal you two decorated throughout your one year of relationship. you can see his little scribbles and doodles, often a little dinosaur symbolising your always grumpy personality.

in one photo, a golden birthday hat is nicely placed on your head with him kissing your right cheek. you remember clearly, a surprise party for you last year. in the following ones, they are mostly candid shots - you blowing out the candles while he looks at you full of love, him eating a portion of your dish while you pout your lips. you would say it was the night of your life, spending it with the guy who stole your heart.

the next page of the journal is a shot of mark taking a photo of you in the park. you suppose it was taken by donghyuck? that one picture of you was stuck as his lock screen wallpaper for a while, you remembered getting so embarrassed over it. mark would give you the same excuse every time you questioned him about it, implying that the sight of you would light up his whole day. cheesy really, but that was what remained as memories of the past, tied neatly in your heart.

the rain trickling against your window eventually made you doze off to wonderland, creating the perfect chance for mark to browse through the journal in your hands. carefully lifting it from yours so that you won’t be stirred from your sleep, he settled down in the space beside your sleeping figure. slowly turning the pages, he smiled fondly at each photo holding a thousand moments that can’t be recreated ever again. some of them would make him giggle. he kneeled down slightly to place a soft kiss on your forehead, making you squirm a little due to the faint touch.

“give him a chance. i’m not saying that you should forget mark but it’s been months, you should live up a little,” yerim’s voice sounding concerned from the other end of the line. perhaps she’s right but you just need more time. but how much longer? you’re afraid you yourself have no specific answer for that enquiry.

you’ve been feeling better by now, welcoming people back into your life and carrying out the same daily routine of yours. going to work, buying groceries, going to the drive-thru and whatnot. of course, the void is still obvious - coming back home to an empty atmosphere instead of him waiting for you on the couch, sometimes dozing off, no more weekend cafe runs. but at least you’re trying your best. you bid your goodbyes before tapping the red button, ending the call. plopping the device onto the mattress, you stared at the white ceiling, deep in your own thoughts.

you should give him a chance. live up a little.

yes, you should.

getting hold of the phone and immediately opening the messages app, you searched for jungwoo’s number. he’s been trying to take you out for dinner for a while now. you still remember his exact words, whenever you’re ready he’s always there, waiting for you. you’re not really sure about that particular question but it wouldn't hurt to give it a try, right?

typing in the words ‘okay, sure’ is already a pressure for you but you still proceeded to press the send button. glancing at the clock showing the time, the notification ping redirected your focus onto the screen.

jungwoo: cool, is tomorrow night okay with you? i’ll drive, of course :)

tomorrow night. okay, tomorrow night.

an elegant red gown is wrapping your curves perfectly, a thin necklace with the seashell charm around your neck while your lips is decorated with the dark red tone, highlighting your poise appearance. hearing the doorbell ring, you tidied up the dresser as your eyes landed onto the picture frame holding a photo of you and mark. a sad feeling crept into your heart but you pushed it away, opening the door to reveal jungwoo in a black and white tuxedo.

you would say that the dinner went well, none of his questions or chatters crossing any borderline. he’s just so polite, even you are amused. feeling comfortable with his presence, the small gap in between is eventually closing down since you’ve learned so much about each other during the other few dates. one night completely changed it for you, him offering you a dance at some event he’s bringing you with.

you observed that his moves are slightly similar to mark’s - not completely of course, mark’s is very unique and very…mark-ish. for the first time ever in the recent turn of events, you flashed a genuine smile. one that is not just for show, one that only comes out when you’re truly elated, one that you only manage to give to certain. mark just observed the scene from a distance, admiring how you’ve managed to find the spark of happiness you once lost.

alas, mark saw his other half become full again with another, her eyes twinkling with the same joy but this time, it’s not him in the reflection.

154 notes · View notes

cinnaminsvga · 4 years ago

Text

Sweeter than Strawberries | Jungkook

→ summary: at euphoria bakery, seasonal changes also bring seasonal menu items. when you find out that your favorite strawberry shortcake milkshake was phased out after the end of summer, it takes only one puppy eyed look from you for jeon jungkook to make it for you anyway—just don’t tell his boss about it, alright?

→ genre: bakery!au, s2l, fluff → warnings: none unless you count the fact that i’m writing shy!jungkook again :^D, we love mutual pining in this house ex dee → words: 4.5K → a/n: this was commissioned by @ihatemathanal!! i was super stoked to write this bc it’s really cute and sometimes it’s nice to just write happy fluffy things every once in a while (aka zee is turning into a fluff writer jfc) it got a lil longer than it was supposed to, but that’s bc i got carried away lol anyway i hope you guys enjoy!! (ps: this also works for the bgw bingo so... tyg for s2l fics!! let’s get it!!)

For the most part, the beginning of autumn is usually your favorite time of the year. When the tree leaves begin to yellow and the air gains a significantly colder bite, this signifies the end of pit stains and sweaty thighs and the start of sweater paws and chapped lips. Above all, you are most excited, of course, for an excuse to gorge yourself on steaming mugs of hot chocolate, paired with delicious mountains of warm gooey brownies.

For the most part, these are all things that often get you excited for the coming chill. What you do not think to remember, however, is that while these seasonal changes bring more good than bad, there still remains a little snag: a small oversight, if you will. As businesses all over the world begin the annual transition to the colder months, so does your favorite bakery across the street from your university. After all, summer ingredients grow scarcer as the year nears its end, so it’s understandable for bakeries to switch up their menu to keep up with both the supply and demand.

What does any of this have to do with anything? Well, long story short—

Your favorite strawberry shortcake milkshake is about to get phased out. No, scratch that—it’s already been phased out, right from under your very nose, no less!

You shouldn’t have been surprised, really. You have always known it was a specialty drink; your best friend had even been the one to introduce it to you just near the end of your summer classes:

“This is Euphoria Bakery,” Namjoon had said with a smile, waving cheerily at the two boys manning the till. You heard him chuckle in amusement when your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets, staring longingly at the sweet treats and baked goods lining the display case.

Namjoon had stolen your attention away, however, when he pointed to the chalkboard menu on the wall. As it turned out, the bakery also doubled as a cafe, serving the usual coffees and teas while also making the occasional specialty drink for different seasons or holidays. The chalkboard was decorated beautifully, the menu items written out in neat cursive with tiny little doodles littering its margins. On one of the boards, there was a new drink item being advertised in bold pink letters—a great summer treat!—or so it said.

“Jungkook-ssi, can you get me and Y/N a strawberry shortcake milkshake? Extra whipped cream for me, please!” Namjoon called out to one of the boys, startling the younger of the two. The boy, Jungkook, must have been busy fiddling with the cash register that he hadn’t noticed your arrival.

“N-Namjoon-hyung? Sorry, I was just busy counting the money—” Jungkook stopped short in his speech, his tongue getting caught in his mouth when his eyes landed directly on you. He had made a strangled sound, like he had swallowed his spit too quickly and was struggling to regain his composure. “H-Hello?”

You realized belatedly that he must have been greeting you, as you had been distracted by his fidgetiness. His nervousness was cute, if a little bit contagious; you couldn’t help feeling anxious too, like your heart was missing every other beat, even though you had no reason to be. “Hello! My name is Y/N. It’s my first time coming here, but Namjoon says your new summer menu item is really good? I wanted to try it out for myself.”

Jungkook nodded, still staring wide-eyed at you as if in a trance. You expected him to start... well. You weren’t an expert on how bakeries or cafes are run, but you were pretty sure he should’ve started doing something after you had spoken, perhaps ring up your order on the register, or start working on your drinks. Instead, he’s still frozen in place, like he’d somehow short-circuited within the last two minutes.

It seemed you weren’t the only one who noticed his odd behavior because the man working with him suddenly pushed Jungkook to the side, a brief smirk flashing across his face before it was quickly replaced by a more subdued, professional smile.

“Sorry about him. He’s usually my best baker, but sometimes he can get a little... distracted when he’s confronted with sweet things,” the man said nonchalantly, but it seemed that his innocent-sounding comment had embarrassed Jungkook greatly.

“Jimin-hyung!” Jungkook whined, stomping his foot not unlike a bunny. If you squinted a little bit, you could definitely see the resemblance.

Namjoon, who had been quietly watching everything unfold, chose that moment to pipe up. “Oh, I see. I didn’t know you had a type, but after thinking about it—” Namjoon shot a surreptitious glance at you, before turning back to Jungkook with a teasing grin, “—I can definitely see why.”

At the time, you had no idea what was going on, mostly confused as to why Jungkook had suddenly become so red-faced while Namjoon and Jimin giggled like a couple of high school girls. It seemed like you were somehow the main reason for his embarrassment, so you were quick to poke Namjoon in the stomach, effectively silencing him.

“Hey! Stop teasing the poor boy. He’s just being nice,” you said, pointing a soft smile back at Jungkook. “Sorry about him. I’m sure you’re an excellent baker, judging from how wonderful and cute all these cakes on the display look.” Somehow, your praise had only made Jungkook’s cheeks brighten even further. He cleared his throat as if to say something in response, before changing his mind and scuttling away to the back room instead.

“I’m going to start making your milkshake! D-don’t mind me!” He called out from behind the door, causing Jimin to finally break down into raucous giggles, nearly doubling over from his own mirth.

“Aish, that kid. He never learns, huh…” Jimin sighed, but the smile on his face is kind—the sort of fond look an older brother might have for his kid brother. He turned back to you and Namjoon with that lingering softness as he rang the two of you up, before chatting idly with you as you waited for Jungkook to finish making your drinks.

“I’ve never seen you around, Y/N-ssi. Jungkook—sorry, I meant I definitely would’ve noticed you if I did. You go to the same university as Namjoon-ssi, right?” Jimin asked, flipping a pen between his fingers with incredible dexterity. You were slightly distracted by that, faintly jealous of how his short fingers could somehow manage such a feat.

“I—yeah, I do. I’m assuming you’re also a student?”

“Yep. I actually met Namjoon-ssi when we took that one music theory class together. I was handing out flyers for this bakery after class and he happened to be one of the first people to actually come,” he said, winking at Namjoon. You watched with much interest when your friend turned a faint shade of pink, his hand coming up behind his neck—a signature tick of his whenever he was feeling shy or nervous.

“I-It was nothing… I mean, your seasonal drinks are always so good! I remember your old snowman-shaped donuts with the raspberry filling? I still dream of it sometimes,” Namjoon sighed, eyes going glassy for a moment.

Jimin laughed, his eyes crinkling into cute little crescents. “Oh, stop it! I remember how you’d come here even after we stopped serving that donut and you’d beg us to make them again.”

“And yet you never did, even though I know you have the ingredients to make them,” Namjoon pouted, but there’s endearment dancing in his expression.

You chuckled, shaking your head in disbelief. “I never pegged Namjoon as a sweet-tooth guy, so this is honestly all a very big surprise to me. I should be pumped for this milkshake then, huh? Hopefully, you aren’t just hyping it up and I’ll end up disappointed.”

Before either Namjoon or Jimin could retort, Jungkook had reappeared from the back room with two large cups in hand, almost tripping over his untied apron string but managing to get to the counter in one piece.

“Here you go. I hope you won’t be disappointed when you try it,” he said, gaze averted downwards when he hands you your cup. Your fingers grazed each other for a second, nearly causing both of you to drop the drink like it was on fire.

“S-sorry,” you laughed it off, feeling your ears get a little red from your blunder. You pointedly ignored Namjoon’s arched brow, no doubt enjoying your sudden shyness. Without waiting for him to get his own cup, you casually tear off the straw wrapper and take your first sip of the drink.

“So?” Jungkook asked after a while, watching with bated breath as you take a good gulp of the milkshake. “How is it? Is it worth the hype?” You don’t speak for a moment, further aggravating the two bakers as you carefully chewed on the bits of strawberry in the drink.

“This—” you said, speaking slowly for increased dramatic effect. You could hear Namjoon groan beside you, used to your need for unnecessary anticipation. Even as you paused for a moment longer, you could already feel the smile creeping up your face, unable to completely hide your giddiness. “—is fantastic. Show-stopping. Best thing since sliced bread! I could live on this shit alone.”

Jungkook released a breath he didn’t know he had been holding, chuckling in relief as you began to completely devour the treat in mere minutes. “I’m… really glad you like it,” he said with a wide, toothy grin. You were so immersed in your drink that you missed the way he sighed softly, hand gently cradling his chest where his heart would be.

Namjoon had taken his own sip as well, sighing dreamily as the creamy and sweet flavor overtook his palate. “Truly the best drink in existence. If I was a Twitch streamer or some shit, I’d promote this regularly for free.”

His comment made Jimin giggle softly, but his gaze is trained on something else entirely. “I’m flattered, but maybe don’t promote Y/N’s cup, over here. We don’t typically have strawberries and hearts doodled all over our cups,” he said, smirking slyly.

Lo and behold, your cup did have small doodles littering its sides whereas Namjoon’s was just a plain white paper cup. “Oh,” you said, blushing furiously when you finally noticed. Your flush was nothing compared to the one on Jungkook’s cheeks, however. The two of you refused to make eye contact after that, both of you trying (and failing) to silence the amused snickers of your respective friends.

Despite that slightly embarrassing (and heartwarming) experience, that had marked the start of your love for the tiny bakery and their special strawberry shortcake milkshake. You returned to Euphoria Bakery as often as you could throughout the summer, even going to visit it without Namjoon most of the time. You would even occasionally go out of your way to visit the bakery, even after your summer classes had ended and there was really no reason for you to be around the area.

It also didn’t hurt that the boy behind the counter was especially cute, with his big doe eyes and melodic laughter that always got your heart beating erratically in your chest. It hadn’t taken long for you to admit to yourself that you had a not-so-tiny crush and every visit to the bakery only made you fall deeper for him.

Namjoon has assured you that Jungkook clearly has a crush on you too, but you’re quick to shut him down. It is one thing to be shy and awkward around a girl and another to have a crush on the aforementioned girl. As you visited the bakery more and more, you do notice that Jungkook is more reserved when it comes to other female clientele, although, dare you hope? He does seem a little bit more… nervous, when he talks to you, but that could be your lovesick eyes playing tricks on you.

Never mind the fact that he only ever seems to leave cute doodles on your cups alone, but that could just be a coincidence, right? After all, he can hardly hold a conversation with you when you try to speak with him, always eager to rush to the backroom to make your drink.

Your visits usually consist of making idle chit chat with Jimin after greeting both him and Jungkook. The younger boy often dips the moment he sees you through the glass door, automatically going to prepare your favorite summer treat without even having to ask for your order. He never stays to stick around long enough to make conversation, as he eventually excuses himself to do some chore or another. During one of your trips, you tentatively asked Jimin if Jungkook was avoiding you, to which the blonde boy just laughed heartily at your query.

“Don’t worry about it, Y/N. He’ll come around eventually; he’s just nervous. Don’t tell him I told you this, but…” he trails off, peeking over his shoulder to make sure Jungkook wouldn’t accidentally overhear him. When he turns back to you, the smirk on his face is equal parts amused and mischievous. He looks a little impish, though you aren’t sure if he’d take that too kindly. “Jungkook always stares out the door, waiting for you to arrive. I’ve caught him red-handed far too many times for it to be a coincidence.”

Your cheeks flush warmly at his words but don’t say anything after that. You suppose all you can do is wait for him to start warming up to you eventually, and you hope the day comes sooner as the summer days grow shorter and shorter.

Of course, that day does come eventually, but probably not on the day you wished it would happen.

Like all good things, summer comes to its close and so does the summer menu options offered at Euphoria Bakery. Jimin had already told you a week beforehand that your favorite strawberry shortcake milkshake would get phased out as soon as July hit, but you refused to listen. You had hoped that as his regular customer and friend, perhaps Jimin would make an exception and prolong the milkshake’s lifetime for your sake, but it seems that Jimin has made it clear that friendship and business are two separate entities that he will not allow to coincide.

“Please Jimin? Just one more time? I’ll even settle for a small size,” you beg, your entire body draped over the cashier counter like the pathetic plebeian that you are. Thankfully, since you have made it a habit to pass by the bakery when it’s close to closing time, there aren’t any other patrons left to judge your pitiful display. Unthankfully, that also means Jimin is free to flick you on the forehead with no holds barred, leaving a large red welt where his finger hits.

“I already told you that I won’t budge, not even if you licked my Balenciagas. Besides, we’re out of strawberries anyway.” Jimin huffs, rolling his eyes at your pained whines as you grasp your head in agony. “Oh stop it, will you? I didn’t even hit you that hard.”

“I beg to differ, hyung.” Jungkook pipes up, startling both you and Jimin. Jungkook is usually content to wiping down the glass displays or tables while he passively listens to the two of you bicker, humming occasionally to indicate that he’s still listening, so it comes as a small surprise whenever he does decide to speak up. He must have noticed this too, as his ears quickly begin to redden as he scrambles to finish his sentence. “I-I mean, hyung might have small hands, but his finger flicks are no joke. You could break someone’s skull with that thing.”

“Who are you calling small, huh?” Jimin growls, but the playful smirk on his face tells you that he’s just teasing. He pulls Jungkook in a headlock, who surprisingly doesn’t seem all that bothered by the fact that Jimin is actively trying to block his windpipe with his strong forearms. “Take it back!”

“Never,” Jungkook wheezes, effortlessly removing himself from Jimin’s grip. He dusts himself off, not even breathless. “Also, why’d you lie to Y/N like that? We still have strawberries in the back. How else would we make our strawberry jam tarts?”

Jimin squawks indignantly, folding his arms. “How dare you sell out our company secrets! I could fire you for that!”

Jungkook scoffs, bumping Jimin with his hip. Jungkook must also not know his own strength, because he accidentally causes Jimin to stumble a few steps back, nearly toppling over one of their bread racks. “You’re joking. If you fired me, no one would be able to make the bagels in the morning because you never know how to proof them correctly.”

“Slander!” Jimin hisses, pinching Jungkook’s side in retaliation. You and Jungkook laugh at his childish pouts, but the older boy can’t hide his own mirth for too long. “Fine. You can stay. But you,” he points at you this time, eyes narrowing with suspicion. “You better not seduce my boy over here to make your strawberry shortcake milkshake. I have eyes and ears everywhere.” He drags his finger to the corner of the walls, where there is—

“There’s nothing there?” You follow where he’s pointing, but all you can see is a stray cobweb that Jungkook must have missed while dusting this morning. “Am I supposed to be looking at something?”

“Jimin is thinking of installing surveillance cameras soon. He’s convinced that someone is trying to steal his banana cream pie recipe.” Jungkook shrugs. He slings an arm around Jimin’s shoulder, glaringly delighted when their height difference becomes even more apparent while he stands close to him. “Anyway, I promise I won’t get ‘seduced’ by her, or whatever you want to call it. Why don’t you head home early for tonight? I’ll close up and I’ll try to convince Y/N to try our other pastries as a replacement.”

You open your mouth to try and protest, but Jungkook sends you a cheeky wink, making sure that his boss doesn’t catch him in the act. Bemused but interested to see what he’s up to, you decide to keep quiet and wait for him to continue.

“Don’t try and think you’re being slick here, buddy,” Jimin says, closing in on Jungkook’s personal space by pressing his chest against his. “If I see that you break the bakery code and serve her that drink… There will be consequences.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes, sighing dramatically as he gently pries the smaller man away from him. “Yeah, yeah. I got you. No funny business, I promise. Now get out of here, hyung. Leave the rest to me.”

Jimin gives him one last firm look before squinting warily at you, lips pursed tightly. “No seducing,” he repeats, wagging his finger at you. He unties the apron around his neck, throwing it haphazardly at the coat hanger on the back door where his jacket was hanging. He folds it over his arm and points at the corner of the ceiling with his free hand once more before exiting through the front entrance, the soft bells hanging above the doorway tinkling in his wake.

When he’s gone, you release a breath that you hadn’t realized you had been holding. “Well, that was easier than expected. I didn’t think you’d be able to get him to leave. He must trust you a lot, huh?”

Jungkook shrugs. “Nah. He’s just lazy. He hates closing the bakery and will jump at any opportunity to go home early.”

You nod. “Seems like him.” There’s a beat of silence. “So… How much seducing am I gonna have to do to get my milkshake, huh?”

Like you guessed, Jungkook immediately turns red at your words, spluttering and stammering over his spit for a few seconds before managing to come up with a reply. “O-oh, there’s no need for that. I was gonna make the drink for you anyway.”

“But what about the quote-unquote consequences?” you ask, still worried that you might be getting Jungkook in trouble. You’d rather have your arm cut off than have him get punished, no matter how small it might be.

“No need to worry about that. Jimin might pretend to be a prickly old man sometimes, but he’s mostly just full of hot air,” Jungkook snorts, shaking his head in amusement. “He’ll just make me treat him to some skewers or something. He’s just teasing.”

“If… If you say so? I just really don’t want him to get angry with you…” you say, voice turning small as you tried to reign your embarrassment in. “I know I made a fool of myself just moments ago and begged like a baby for the milkshake, but I was just exaggerating…”

“Something tells me that you aren’t, but let’s pretend for your sake that you are,” Jungkook says. You huff indignantly at his teasing, but you’re more overjoyed by the sight of his cute bunny smile. You had only seen it in passing a few times in the past, but seeing it directed at you is an entirely different experience. Because of you, your mind helpfully supplies.

He heads over to the backroom to begin preparing your drink, but he keeps the door open this time so you can see him even from behind the counter. You can mostly only see the large industrial ovens and bread racks filled to the brim with all sorts of pastries proofing for the night, but you do catch a glimpse of the sole blender near the back. Jungkook grabs the glass jar first and then walks over to the fridge just out of your sight, most likely to grab the ingredients needed for your milkshake.

The bakery is mostly silent, save for the sound of Jungkook moving and assembling everything. You rack your brain for some sort of conversation starter, as the atmosphere between the two of you has begun to return to its usual awkward state as you skirt around each other, unsure of where either of you stands. You might have known him for a while now, but today is the most you’ve ever spoken to him and the tension is palpable.

“So.” You clear your throat, heart beating a mile a minute in your chest. “I… guess this is going to be the last time I have this drink, huh?”

The sound of Jungkook chopping on the cutting board pauses for a second. You can only see his left shoulder from where you’re standing, but you can see it tense even then. “I… I mean, will you stop coming over to the bakery if it is the last time?”

There are so many things you want to say all at once, but the words somehow get caught in your throat. You want to say that you love coming to the bakery to see them (though it’s mostly Jungkook if you’re being honest) and that the strawberry shortcake milkshake had just been an excuse to visit for a while now. You want to keep visiting for as long as they’ll have you—but you don’t know how to say it without hot humiliation running down your spine. You don’t want to weird him out by confessing to him all of a sudden. And so, you clam up, not knowing how to respond.

When Jungkook throws in all the ingredients in the blender, he doesn’t turn it on immediately. He tilts his head to the side, not fully looking at you but giving you a view of his beautiful side profile. You see his Adam’s apple bob for a moment, his tongue poking out to wet his lips before he speaks. “Because… If that’s how it’s going to be, then maybe… buying a couple of skewers for Jimin won’t be so bad.”

You freeze. “What? Are you saying that...”

“I’ll keep making the drink for you, even if it’s not on the menu anymore?” Jungkook finishes, turning fully to face you. There’s a shy grin on his face, coupled with the ever-present pink flush high on his cheekbones. “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying. We’ll have to be sneaky about it, though. You’ll have to come to the bakery only when I’m closing so that he doesn’t catch us but otherwise…” He scratches the tip of his nose, looking embarrassed. “If… If you’re fine doing that, I mean.”

It feels like an eternity before you can remember how to function like a regular human being again. Your insides feel like molten lava and you’re certain that your internal organs have begun to self-destruct right after that super-effective hit from Jeon Jungkook, super baker boy extraordinaire. It’s mind-blowing how effortlessly cute he can be, making you realize belatedly that his quiet demeanor over the past few weeks had been a blessing and not a curse. If he had been this sweet with you from the get-go, you’d surely be melted butter on a sidewalk by now.

“I would love you—I mean, I would love it if you did that for me, actually.” You stammer, resisting the urge to punch yourself in the tit. You’re thankful for the lack of mirrors at the bakery, for you are positive that you must look like the devil’s blazing red testicles at this point.

“Great,” Jungkook smiles softly. He turns the blender off, pouring your drink into a paper cup. “Oh, before I forget…” He grabs a marker from the small tin can near the cash register, and you watch as he quickly scribbles a few hearts around the circumference of the cup. “There we go. Now it’s done.”

As Jungkook hands your drink to you, you’re hit with a moment of déjà vu when your fingers brush just like the first time you had met. You sense the same familiar shock of electricity when you touch, but instead of pulling away like before, Jungkook surprises you for the third time that day.

When he’s sure that you have a secure grip on your cup, he grabs your free hand with his, unfurling your fingers until he can get a hold of your pinky. He curls his pinky into yours, linking them together with a bashful smile on his lips. “There. Now we pinky promised to each other.”

“Y-yes. Of course,” you mumble, giggling lightly when he still refuses to let go. “I pinky promise.”

Five minutes away from Euphoria Bakery, Jimin sits quietly in his parked car, his figure hunched over the small screen of his phone as he chuckles loudly to himself. There is a tiny video of two people, a boy and a girl, with their hands held together. Despite the quality being grainy and warped, Jimin needs no confirmation as to who those people are; he’s always known, after all.

“All according to keikaku.” He whistles happily, already salivating at the thought of all the skewers Jungkook will have to buy for him.

1K notes · View notes

2manyfandoms2count · 3 years ago

Text

Dearest Family

So, the title of episode 21, huh? My mind went straight to angst, even if I'm doing my best to rationalise it.

Non angsty theory: It's around New Year's (because of this Insta post's caption), the family comes to visit, you've got Gina, Rolland and Wang Cheng visiting together, tensions arise, perfect fodder for Shadowmoth's akumas.

Angstier theory: mini fic under the cut

“Tom, come quickly!”

Sabine’s panicked voice had her husband run up the stairs to Marinette’s room. She turned towards him with dewy eyes as he emerged through the trap door, and simply handed him a sheet of paper.

Sabine hadn’t meant to read the letter. She obviously hadn’t been meant to, either. She’d inadvertently knocked over Marinette’s paper basket when she’d wanted to empty it, and caught sight of a little doodle of her family at the bottom of one of the paper balls: Tom, Marinette and her, all smiling, surrounded by little hearts.

She should have resisted her curiosity, but her daughter’s art had always been her weakness. She couldn’t help it: even if Marinette deemed it wasn’t good enough, Sabine's motherly instinct told her to gather all the scraps of creativity she could find. She knew her (not so) little girl would appreciate it someday. She’d been so happy when she’d found her knitting fairy sketches again.

Tom held the drafted letter low enough that she could read it again.

"Maman chérie, mon Papa adoré, Chère Famille,

If you're reading this, then it’s already too late. then I must already be gone. then I'm sorry. I'm sorry I lied to you for so long, and I'm sorry to have let you down. I'm sorry I couldn't tell you what I was preparing I had no other choice. I really wish I could’ve stayed

I love you.”

She finished taking in the contents of the crumpled, tear-stained sheet of paper just as it fell out of Tom's hands, and she felt her legs buckle under her. Tom caught her in his strong arms, but when she looked up, she saw the tears in his eyes.

She looked around her, and noticed that all of Marinette’s pictures of her friends, of Adrien, were gone. That everything was neatly tidied up, with no trace of her usual bustling activity. Sabine felt her heart tighten in her chest as she saw a single envelope stick out of one of the books on her shelf.

Her gaze lingered on it, attracting Tom’s attention to it as well. He reached over to pull it out, keeping a secure hand on her back.

♡ Maman & Papa ♡, they both read. The envelope was sealed with a heart-shaped sticker. Neither dared open it.

“Where’s Marinette?” Tom’s voice was hoarse as he voiced the question she didn’t know if she wanted the answer to.

“She said she was going to spend the afternoon at Alya’s, before dinner with the family,” she replied with a flat voice.

“I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about, then.” Tom stood straighter and wiped his eyes. “It must all be a misunderstanding.”

“Yes, there must be some kind of explanation,” she said quietly, her mind racing. Marinette often had creative writing assignments; surely this must have been one of them. “I’ll just call her to make sure she made it safely. There have been quite a few Akuma attacks lately, you never know.”

“Thank you.” Tom let out a relieved sigh as she pulled out from his embrace and dialled their daughter’s number, putting the call on speaker.

“You’ve reached Marinette! Leave a message. BEEP!”

Sabine shook her head and looked up to Tom.

“She’s probably just having fun. She doesn’t spend a lot of time on her phone.” He rubbed her back soothingly, although worry still filled his eyes.

“Should we try calling Alya?”

“Well, it can’t hurt…” He scratched the back of his head.

She scrolled through her contacts until she found the relevant number, which she'd had since Marinette's surprise birthday party. She'd been so happy, then.

“Hello?” Alya’s voice sounded after three excruciating tones.

“Hello Alya? It’s Sabine, Marinette’s mother.”

“Mrs Cheng! What a nice surprise, how are you?” The young girl’s voice was warm and joyful as always, making her friend’s parents relax a little.

“Good, thank you! I was just wondering if I could speak to Marinette, about, um, her grandparents coming over.” Sabine tried to keep her voice as level as possible.

“Oh, er, I’d love to help you with that, but she’s not with me.”

“Weren’t you two spending time together today?” Sabine insisted.

“Oh no, we’re hanging out tomorrow! She said she had a family thing today. Are you sure everything’s alright?”

Sabine’s phone slipped out of her hand and she felt a single tear roll down her cheek.

She knew Marinette had her secrets, and she respected them. She’d been a teenager before her, she could understand.

I really wish I could have stayed. The words in her letter came back in full strength, knocking the wind out of her.

She fell to her knees, bringing Tom down with her.

Then the world went dark, but for a purple butterfly.

Meanwhile, I imagine Marinette skipping around the Tuileries, organising a surprise picnic for her family (who is also visiting in the angstier version). That letter was a draft for the Fu-like letter she wants to leave out for her parents, but it was too painful and she abandoned her project to write it. The envelope holds a letter with a handmade voucher for, like, a game of UMS with her parents.

#this was supposed to be a quick warm up blurb HELP #anyway hope you enjoy #miraculous ladybug #the miraculous tales of ladybug and chat noir #ml #mlb #miraculous spoilers #ml spoilers #miraculous season 4 spoilers #dearest family #chère famille #miraculous fanfiction #miraculous fanfic #marinette dupain-cheng #sabine cheng #tom dupain #alya cesaire #elle writes #miraculous season 4 speculation

34 notes · View notes

moonctzeny · 4 years ago

Text

The Bet

au+trope+prompt game: coffee shop!au Mark + enemies to lovers + is that the best you can do?

pairing: mark lee + fem!reader

other members as background characters: lucas

genre: fluff (only some suggestive stuff)

word count: 3,796

warnings: slight objectification of reader, suggestive stuff, heavy making out, a boner, i guess a stockings kink

summary: “When you took that part time job as a barista at your local café, you only cared about grabbing your check while doing the least work possible. But when your supervisor, Mark Lee, keeps getting praised and winning ‘Employee Of The Month’, you offer a bet, to prove him that he’s no better than you. The outcome? Your relationship changing forever.”

a/n: hbd baby <3

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

It started off as just a little part time job.

College life was not easy to cope with financially, and eating instant noodles for a week straight could only save you so much money. So when you saw the ‘Barista Wanted’ sign at the cafe that was just a block away from your house, you didn’t miss your chance for a few extra bucks. And that’s all that job would be for you. Doing the least work possible for the minimum wage you were given, if it wasn’t for him. Mark Lee.

Mark was sweet, honestly. He greeted you with a smile when you first came in and showed you around. He was a bit shy when he awkwardly stated that he was kind of like a supervisor there. But the way that the boss would go on and on about how great he was, every Monday morning, was starting to get annoying. So was his ability to always save your ass whenever you made a mess in front of your boss. So was his picture hanging in the “Employee Of The Month” frame right from across the bar. That kid won that title every.single.month. And no overtimes, sweeping or mopping from your part seemed to change your boss’s mind.

It all began when you and Lucas, another part-time worker whose shift started right after yours, were talking about whether you would make rent this month. Mark was sitting next to you, occupied with organizing some cups by size, but decided to chip in.

“Well”, he sighed “guess we’re just gonna have to eat the rich. Or take that pole dancing class you mentioned, Lucas.”

The taller boy found it funny, letting out his signature giggle and you would too, if Mark’s damn “Employee of the Month” picture wasn’t staring right into your soul, mocking you.

You rolled your eyes. “Not all of us are lucky enough to get that sweet I-love-kissing-the-boss’s-ass bonus every month, Lee”. Lucas whistled at your comment, used to your bickering but still very entertained.

“Careful how you speak to your supervisor, y/n or you’ll never get to be employee of the month”.

“Oh please”, you scoff “having extra keys to the back exit and cleaning the coffee machine twice a week? That’s wayyy too much responsibility”.

Sarcasm was dripping from your voice, but you were only half lying. You didn’t give a flying fuck for the position. You just wanted it because he had it. And that certain “he” was starting to get a little tired from your constant degradation. Mark smirked at you, but anger was evident on his expression.

“You should be thanking me, you know. At least you get to mooch off of my tips”.

Lucas yelled a drawn out “ooohhh” but you could barely hear him. Your eyes were piercing Mark’s, too busy keeping yourself from blurting out every profanity that came to your head in that moment. Instead, you took a deep breath.

“You think you make more tips than me?”, you asked calmly. Cockier than ever, the boy instantly replies with a “I know I do”, never breaking eye contact. This was your chance, you thought. The chance to prove yourself and shut him up for good.

“How about we make a little bet?”

Mark raised his bow-shaped brows, focusing his attention solely on you.

“Let’s put separate tip jars next to the cashing machine for the rest of the week. If I make more, you’ll convince the boss to remove that horrible frame for good”. He followed your eyes to his picture on the wall, and nodded.

“And when I win?”, he asked curiously and you chose to ignore his little play on words. You furrowed your brows, trying to think of a good motivation for him, as if his competitive nature wasn’t enough.

“OH! OH!” Lucas interrupted, “she can go on a date with that creepy friend of yours that always comes to the cafe to see her!”

Mark’s eyes instantly lit up at the idea. He handed out his pinky, looking to seal the deal with you.

“Bet’s on”, he said, with a seriousness that looked foreign on his cute features, and motioned to his pinky with his eyes, urging you to intertwine it with yours.

You sighed and walked away, muttering a “God, you are so lame”, but the next morning you came to work with a jar with your name written all pretty on it.

You didn’t really have a strategy per se. In fact, you had completely forgotten about the bet, too busy preparing orders and running around. You were cleaning up for Lucas to take your place in the shift, when you felt Mark looking down at you from the other side of the counter that usually separated you from the costumers. “May I be of help, sir?”, you asked him mockingly, not bothering to spare him a glance.

“You should wear those white thigh highs. You look cute in them.”

“Huh? What?”, you ask in confusion, still cleaning the surface carefully.

“In your date with Jason”, he explained with a teasing tone in his voice, Jason being his ‘creepy friend’ as Lucas calls him. Why did he have to piss you off right when you were ready to go home?

You continued to ignore him, only muttering a “I’m not going on that date”, when you hear a clinging sound and finally look up at Mark.

“You sure?”

He was holding the two tip jars, swinging them around. To your horror, Mark’s had more than twice the money than yours.

“WHAT??” you let out and immediately regretted it when some costumers looked at you like you were crazy. You continued with a whispered yell, “How the fuck did that happen??”

Mark grinned at you and lifted his shoulders innocently, before walking away. He must have cheated by slipping in coins when you weren’t looking, that sly motherfucker.

That’s it, you decided, on Wednesday you were going to spy on his every move.

After watching him intently for the whole morning, you came to the conclusion that Mark had a way of making everybody like him. Whether it was him memorizing the regulars and their orders, or asking them if they knew some random Will Smith song about Miami, he was always the textbook example of an eager, smiley and pleasant barista. Even you smiled at the sight of him fumbling with the pen when two pretty girls gave him their names to write on the coffee cups. He flashed them a smile and mumbled an apology, and you watched as they cooed at him and left a very generous tip. You were almost convinced by his adorable act, when he turned around and winked your way.

Ugh, you hated Mark Lee.

You decided that making a better connection with the customers was the way to go. You weren’t the type to start a conversation about the weather out of the blue, nor did you know any Will Smith songs, so you decided on drawing a little doodle on the cup next to their names with every order. The younger ones thought it was a nice addition to their snapchat story, the older ones found you cute. And as they came back for a coffee refill, your jar started filling up as well. It wasn’t much but you were getting closer to reaching the 3/4 of Mark’s tips, so you were pretty happy with yourself.

You were drawing a little heart for a latte when you smelled his cologne. You felt his breath pushing away at the hairs that were sticking out from your ponytail at the nape of your neck. You hated how it sent a shiver to your spine, how it made your hands a little shaky and how the heart drawing turned out a little wonky.

Mark was your “enemy” and your supervisor and Mr. Annoyingly Perfect but Mark was also hot. You would never admit it, but you even had a little crush on him when you started working there. You might pull a disgusted face every time Lucas tells you that the solution to your constant bickering was to “just fuck already”, but you wondered whether it was his oblivion to your crush that made your little hatred towards him grow. And you’d be lying if you said that you never stared at his cute ass sticking out of his apron a second too long, or that it didn’t turn you on when he got pissed at the ice getting stuck in the blender.

So now that he was almost pressing against you from behind, closer than ever, you wouldn’t mind at all. That is if he didn’t open his god damn mouth.

“Really?”, he scoffed “Is that the best you can do?”

His tone was so condescending that it made you furious, pressing your nails in the paper cup, and you were surprised that the liquid didn’t spill everywhere. He gave you a victorious smirk from getting that reaction out of you, and you wanted to punch it right off of his face.

Oh, that meant war.

On Thursday morning, you walked in looking the best you’ve ever looked for a morning shift. You had your hair in pigtails, hair bands matching the color of your lowcut dress. Your lengthened the straps of your apron, your cleavage not leaving much to the imagination.

It was ridiculous, you thought, how many tips a push up bra can get you. It only took a couple customers for the word to spread and the horny men to line up at the cafe. You batted your eyelashes at them, the “Good morning, I’m here to serve you, how can I help you sir?”driving them nuts. You had to say it every time, shop’s policy, but now it sounded more suggestive than ever. You were disgusted by their gawking eyes and terrible attempts at flirting, but you had a goal.

And hell were you winning. You weren’t sure if it was your jar that was filling up at an amazing rate or your outfit, but that was the first time you ever saw Mark make a mistake in his orders. You swore you felt his gaze following you around all day, murmuring something to himself every time a customer asked him if the pretty girl could serve them instead.

It was the end of the shift, and you were happily chatting with Lucas as you were cleaning up the counter. He was doing a terrible job at keeping his eyes away from your chest, but when it came to someone as good looking as him, you really didn’t mind the attention. You took your apron off and started folding it neatly when Mark took your wrist and dragged you into the storage room.

He held a bunch of wrinkly paper towels in his hands. You noticed something was written with a pen messily on each of them.

“This is the seventh phone number that a dude has given me today”, he told you as he stared into your eyes, careful not to move his gaze any more south. It was your turn to mess with him.

“Well good for you”, you said with a smile, “Didn’t know you were so popular with men, Mark”

He closed his eyes, trying to control his temper, and shoved the towels towards you.

“They’re for you. They asked me to pass them to you. After the third guy I forgot what their names were but you can figure them out yourself”. You took them from him with a quiet “oh, thanks” and he sighed.

“You can’t come in here looking like that. This is a workplace.”

You looked at him with wide eyes and fake innocence. “Like what? What’s wrong with my outfit?”. His patience was running short.

“Why don’t you ask Lucas” he replied, with a tone that started to piss you off.

“If you can’t control your hormones like you’re some teenage boys, that’s not my prob-“ you start but he cuts you off. You had never seen him act so stern.

“We have a dress code. Maybe the boss can remind you, if you want”.

It was the first time Mark had actually pulled the supervisor card on you and you felt a little hurt by the coldness of his voice. You swear you saw a bit of instant regret in his eyes but you decided to leave the matter alone, and left the storage room after ostentatiously throwing the phone numbers in the bin next to the door.

Friday was the last day of the bet. You didn’t show up with a flashy outfit, because 1) you didn’t want to risk losing your job for a stupid bet and 2) because straight men were annoying and so were their pickup lines that you didn’t want to deal with. You did wear the white thigh highs Mark mentioned though, with a skirt whose length followed the dress code, just to tease him a little bit. You had never worn them in work before, but when you ran across Mark one day on your way home from a girls’ night out, both a little drunk and disoriented, he didn’t hide his admiration towards them.

He noticed right away when you walked in the café this afternoon. Fridays were the only days when you took the later shift instead of the morning one. You hated it because that meant having to work with Mark until closing, and due to his perfectionism you’d always be staying with him overtime, cleaning every inch of the place, and never participating in any Friday parties that your friends hosted.

You were a little worried that things would be awkward between you after your little argument yesterday, but when he pointed at your stockings and asked if you were “dressed up for the date already”, you knew he didn’t keep any hard feelings and neither did you. What you didn’t expect was his jar to be as full as yours, if not more.

You panicked, and took Lucas to the side, making him promise that he would tell you if he had cheated while you were gone or not. He shrugged.

“Sorry, pretty, no cheating. A high school visited the park across the street as a field trip. The girls went crazy over him. Pretty sure they spent all their allowance here”.

At that you dropped your shoulders in defeat and worked your shift with a pout on your face. You wouldn’t take the humiliation of losing the bet, especially after the little stunt you pulled on Thursday. The hours went by agonizingly slow, and the moment you were dreading finally came.

You turned the “Sorry, we’re closed” sign at the glass entrance door, as you were mopping the floor. All the costumers were gone, and your boss had left the keys to you and Mark, asking you to lock up instead as he had ‘an errand to run’. You wished that your coworker would somehow forget about your bet and spare you the embarrassment, but instead, he gave you a devilish side smirk and motioned you to come closer.

He emptied his jar first, and started counting out loud in front of you, insisting that you do it out together so as not to pull any “funny business”.

40 bucks. It wasn’t bad, it was good actually, and you groaned, now feeling more nervous than ever.

Mark on the other hand, relaxed his shoulders and happily started counting your tips this time. His smile started to wear off, though, as you did much better that he thought. You were neck-to-neck, figuratively and almost literally, as your heads nearly bumped together in deep concentration.

“37,38,39,40…41,42,43” he whispered out and you couldn’t believe your eyes.

You won. You actually won. You never had to see that stupid “Employee Of The Month” frame ever again and most importantly, you were finally better than Mark at something.

You let out a high-pitched squeal, jumping up and down excitedly on your spot, strikingly different that the boy next to you, who was frozen in place.

“I woooon” you teased him with a sing-song voice “and you looooost, loserrr”

It was an understatement to say that Mark was fuming.

“It’s not fair!” he yelled and pointed an accusing finger towards you. You rolled your eyes and walked further back, next to the counter with the coffee machines, happily swinging your hips.

“Don’t be a sore loser Mark, I won fair and square”

“I’m not a sore loser!”, he whines, “I was at a disadvantage!”

You raise an eyebrow and turn towards him, to see that he had taken a few steps at your direction. “Oh yeah? And what is that?”

“You’re hot!”, he groans and rubs his hands over his face. “Hell, I would die from a caffeine overdose if it meant seeing you with your little pigtails and that top and that smile, ready to ‘serve me, sir’”

You could feel your ears and cheeks turning on fire and you’d blame it on the flattery, but his horrible high-pitched impression of your voice was what made you too angry to fully process what he said.

You grabbed a syrup bottle from the counter behind you and pointed it towards his face.

“Ugh, Mark! You’re so annoying! Why do you always need to be the best at everything!”

You barged into him, squeezing the bottle over his face. With his quick reflexes he swiftly grabbed your hand, successfully immobilizing you, but you had already managed to get a big, fat line of syrup right across his lips.

In a moment of clarity, you stopped resisting and became aware of the position you and Mark were in. You had moved backwards as a result of your fight, the countertop digging in your lower back. His one hand was grabbing at your lifted arm by the wrist, the other resting on the marbled surface behind you in an effort to detain you. To top it all off, you stared at the mess you made on his lips, coupled by the unreadable look on his eyes.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, you thought. This is your supervisory/n! You know, the guy in charge when the boss is gone? The guy that you basically jumped because of a stupid bet? That you actually won? But will still get you fired?

You were getting ready to move away and profusely apologize to Mark, your eyes frantically moving from his eyes, to his lips, to his “Employee Of The Month” picture from across the room. He, however, stayed still, only releasing your wrist to now place his hand under your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“Clean this mess”, he demanded, in a tone you would have never expected from Mark, “immediately”

In the seconds that followed his demand, the tension between you two was thicker than the drizzle that still decorated his mouth. He came even closer, your noses only a centimeter apart, his fingers pressing on your face lightly.

You were worried whether you read the room wrong or not, because if you did, your next move would most certainly get you fired.

He could barely hear your whispered “here to serve you” before you finally closed the distance between you.

You pulled his bottom lip between your lips, your tongue shyly sweeping across it, collecting the syrup that was starting to dry into a sugary paste. He was soft like a cloud and tasted like caramel. You repeated the motion for his top lip when you felt him melt into your kiss. The moment was sweet like the taste in your mouth, but it changed as soon as you felt him grab the back of your thighs, lifting you on the top of the counter.

You matched his hunger by sucking on his bottom lip this time, determined to clean him up as best as you could. He moaned your name into the kiss, his fingertips digging in the inside of his favorite thigh highs. Your skirt had well ridden up, allowing him to pinch the fabric of one of them.

“These” he started, his lips now sucking on your neck, “almost cost me my supervisor’s position with all the messing up they made me do”

He let the elastic snap against your thigh, earning a small gasp from you and you decided to tease him a little.

“Is that so huh? Because I’m so hot? With my boobs and my pigtails and my willingness to serve?” you ask with a laugh, and you feel him smile against his deep kiss over your pulse, grabbing your legs to scoot your ass and pull you closer.

“Because you’ve been driving me crazy ever since you got this job. And because you look so fucking sexy when you’re mad”

His boldness made you desperate as you tangled your fingers in his hair and pulled him back up into a passionate kiss. It was sticky and hot and full of tongue, and you felt something poking on the inside of your thigh before a loud noise made you snap and pull away from each other in shock.

You looked at the floor to see a, thankfully not broken, but dismantled blender, that you must have pushed off the counter in the heat of the moment. You stare down at Mark as you both laugh at the situation, his hair messy and lips swollen and you know you definitely mirrored his look.

He cleared his throat. “Uhh, not that I don’t enjoy this, cause I really do, but if we keep at it Lucas is going to be the next Employee Of The Month, and not only is that ridiculous, but we would both basically lose our little bet”

You laughed at his comment and let your feet dangle awkwardly, your cheeks heating at the thought of what might have happened if you two had kept going.

“I’m sorry for being such a bitch about your framed picture” you said with a small voice, avoiding his gaze “you don’t have to take it down”

He smiled at your attempt at peace as he picked up the blender pieces and skillfully riveted them in place. Your eyes suddenly widened before adding, “I will NOT go on a date with your creepy friend though”

Mark giggled at that and shook his head before returning his eyes back at you. His cheeks were flushed a crimson red, deep in thought.

“How about me?” he blurted, “I mean, how about going on a date with me instead?”

You nodded your head, reaching a hand out to fix the messy locks out of his eyes.

“Yes. I think I’d love that”

#mark lee scenarios #nct scenarios #mark lee #mark lee fluff #nct fluff #mark lee birthday #nct au #nct 127 #superm

511 notes · View notes

dxmmymxmmywrites · 4 years ago

Text

Caught Your Fancy

Maito Gai x F! Reader Smut

Warnings: swearing, suggestive themes, unprotected sex, oral sex, pwp

There is not nearly enough Might Guy smut, so I’m here to fill the void! Personally I think this dude would absolutely fawn over a sassy lady, so this was a real treat to write.

Enjoy it ya filthy animals 🖤

...

It was leaner than your other leg, but it looked somewhat normal. You could move mostly on your own with some aid, which often came in the form of your staff. Despite having your dreams of following a nindo crushed, you still had dreams for your life you wanted to make a reality.

And there were many bumps in the road. You would trudge along during your day to day life, trying to be generous to the community while also building up your reputation as a creative. You dabbled in a bit of everything— writing, sculpture, painting— whatever could keep your hands and mind busy. It did wonders to stave off your boredom, and it gave you your own personal haven when the day was done. You could retreat inside yourself for rest.

It was where you were immersed now, sketching along in ink to quiet your mind. Your thoughts had been raging since earlier in the day, happy as it had been. Your hands seemed to move on their own as you doodle with an anatomy textbook open for reference. Some strokes collected into refined nudes, others were simplistic doodles of hands or feet or what have you.

Critters scuttling outside your window finally brought you out of your reverie. When they quieted down, you finally took in your last sketch that had taken up most of your parchment.

You’d drawn a man with strong features just from the image of him that constantly plagued your brain. His bright smile, his sweet dimples— that stupid bowl cut.

You scooted your supplies and paper to the side of your workbench so you had enough space to groan into your hands.

...

You’ve been companions for what seems like ages. Calling Gai a friend sounded odd due to the nature of your... everything, but it was the closest word you had to describe him.

He made you laugh, and you teased him. He walked you home when you ran into each other at markets, and you had stopped in on a practice or two to watch him with his genin.

Most of the time, he would attempt to woo you and you would play hard to get. Gai most likely enjoyed it— the thrill of the chase in the springtime of youth or whatever— but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy it too.

Spending time with him on little adventures always left you giddy, feeling like you could actually run a mile without falling on your face. He would send an unapologetic but weirdly sincere compliment your way, and you wouldn’t show how it affected you until you were parting ways once more.

You’re expecting it to repeat as he walks with you to your home on the outskirts of the village now. You had managed to run into him when you’d run out for a last minute ingredient for your dinner. It was like he always managed to find you in a sour mood and make you feel at least a little bit better— you had been exhausted beforehand, but you were happily content listening to him describe his most recent training session with his students.

“—That reminds me!” He perks up like a puppy. “A friend of mine recently said you were once enrolled at the academy! You never told me you pursued ninjutsu!”

It wasn’t meant to be a harsh comment, but you felt yourself wince internally. Somehow, you felt more painfully aware of your leg than ever.

“Yeah... that was a long time ago. Yknow,” you tapped your limp foot with your staff. “Before this happened.”

The panic in Gai’s expression rises quickly, but fades just as suddenly. “I wouldn’t want it to hurt you— but if you ever have an interest in revisiting the basics, let me know!”

You laugh a bit. At least he was trying to make you feel better, pity from others could get tiring.

“You trying to make me one of your genin?” You playfully jabbed.

“Only if you’d like to! Though I wouldn’t mind a one-on-one practice. However you are most comfortable.”

His voice calms towards the end, to a casual but gentle tone you don’t often hear him use. Gai took you by surprise often as well.

And it really was touching. You never thought you could get back to how you were, or that you could ever be an adequate ninja. It didn’t stop you from yearning for it— something you had hinted to Gai before. He had paid attention.

It made a sort of heat rise to your face. Very few could get that reaction out of you, and Gai’s accomplished smile confirmed he knew just as much.

“It’s a kind offer... thanks.” You finally spoke as the two of you approached your humble abode.

His mouth opened to leap into a grandiose plan of action for your training— but you shifted to plant a kiss on his cheek and he stopped in his tracks.

“I’ll think about it, Gai.”

...

Since the time you had shared your vulnerabilities to him, Gai became even more of a common occurrence in your life.

He would nearly bust down your door at some ungodly hour of the morning and start making you a healthy, youthful breakfast. If he ran across a book you’d been dying to read, he would find you wherever to deliver it himself. And whenever you had some opportunities to work within the village, he would make a point to stop by and insist on you filling him in on your day.

It took you off guard. How could someone be so... purely good? How could he be such a bright light to you, and not want a thing in return?

You swore that even if you tried to run from him, he would always manage to get to you. Like running from a ray of sunshine at lunchtime.

So as he reached out to you more and more, you became more available. Parts of you that had been walled up for years came crumbling down with every act of kindness he gave you. Whatever he did, you practically melted for him. And it often scared the shit out of you.

But still, good things continued to happen. You made time to visit Gai and his team when you were invited to the training grounds. You dragged him by the ear to your home several times to feed him a purely indulgent meal, saying he couldn’t just eat superfoods for the rest of his life. You start writing down little poems that make you think of him, and go out of your way to stick them in his pockets when you think he doesn’t notice.

He does. He reads each one, marvels over your calligraphy, and keeps them tucked away in an old jumpsuit.

Around the time your poems became a habit, you start inviting Gai and the genin to your home for dinner every weekend. You come to know each of his students individually, and you grow to love each of them so much.

Lee marvels you with his spirit, and his willingness to scarf down whatever you cook is flattering. Tenten makes you laugh every time you see her with her quick wit, and Neji becomes intrigued with your interests in the arts, and admires whatever project you’ve attached yourself to at the moment.

You don’t catch him in the act, but Gai steals more looks at you in these calm moments with his students more than ever. There’s a moment when you poke fun at Neji with a genuine laugh that he feels his heart skip a beat.

How did he find such a beautiful, youthful spirit like yours? He never wants to let you go.

...

After you had really come out of your shell, you finally agreed to meet Gai for a private session on the sparring grounds. It made you a little nervous, but the excitement in your chest pushed you further and further until you were rushing out the door in whatever workout gear you could find.

You arrive a little early, willing to wait for him if need be. Yet as you approach the encirclement of combat dummies in the field, you can hear the familiar smacks of someone putting the dummies to good use.

The sun finally moves out of your eyes, and your greeted with the sight of an unabashedly shirtless Gai landing hit after hit with no margin for error.

It’s... a religious experience to watch him move. Sweat glistens over his battle hardened muscles with each punch, and you carefully watch a trail of sweat glide down the center of his abs down to the prominent “V” shape of his hipbones.

You try not to drool.

He notices your presence and turns to give you one of his glorious smiles.

“You made it! Glad to see it wasn’t too early for you.”

“I was... motivated,” you manage, watching him step closer to you.

If he noticed your bothered state, he didn’t pay it any mind.

“I have a plan to get you used to the movement of combat. You’re certainly in shape, you only need to learn to follow the flow of combat to start.”

It vaguely makes sense to you, but he takes your hand and leads you to a larger training pit void of combat dummies. You almost don’t want to let go of his hand, but then he lets go and begins to circle you.

“Throw a punch, or hit me with your staff. Let’s begin slowly, and then I can follow your movements.”

It’s nerve wracking, but you can feel the butterflies going insane within you. You slowly go to swing your staff at him, but he slowly counters you and explains his reasonings as he does so. With each movement you make, his process becomes more calculated— and he gives you enough time to consider his words and apply them to your next move.

Like a game of chess, you work in tandem and simultaneously against each other. To be so in sync with him becomes almost intoxicating, especially zoning into his voice and following the grace of his marble-like body. He becomes the epitome of temptation.

Was this his plan all along?

In your single moment to falter, he is able to catch you from behind with a strong arm held around your throat. Your eyes bulge. But your ovaries do a summersault.

“And because of this, you must stay grounded in combat. And not in your head.”

You can feel a shiver convulse throughout your body at his voice being so close, so hot and breathe against your skin. This time, he does notice— and goes stiff.

He goes to say your name, but you painfully grip his wrist and then shove him to the ground.

He jumps when the end of your staff stamps itself inches from his ear, but he feels himself reddening at how tightly your straddling his waist. And those eyes— they sear him to the bone.

“Are you having fun?”

Your words are loaded, coated with either honey or venom and he can’t tell which. Does he care for the difference?

“Are you feeling inspired by my lesson? Do you already feel yourself improving?” He manages that picturesque smile again, though it’s certainly strained.

You lean closer to him, and he gulps. Your stare never wavers.

“I think I could teach you a few things, Maito Gai.”

The deadly desire in your voice makes him feel like he’s floating but falling at the same time. What are your plans? What would you have him do to you?

What would you do... to him?

His determined grin grows, and you feel your heart rate quicken.

“I’m at your mercy.”

You can’t take it anymore. Your freehand shoots to grab the back of his neck and your lips crash against his. He frees his hands then, and they heatedly run up your sides and cup your back until he cups your face with the most tenderness possible.

His kiss, however, is not so tender. Your tongues passionately intertwine with a ferocity that riles the both of you up with each passing second. You moan deliciously into his mouth, and he seems to melt into you.

It leaves him open to you pulling the back of his hair so you can shove your tongue farther into his throat. He continued to groan such sexy noises into your kiss until you begin to fervently grind on his lap.

When you break for air, you slowly grind your core over the outline of his growing hard-on.

“A-ah! Oh, darling—“ he heatedly moans again, making you wetter than ever, and pulls you in for another kiss.

His grip on your pelvis tightens as he sits up, and with you perched on top of him, he takes advantage of your exposed neck. His flushed lips trail lovely open-mouthed kisses all over your pulse-point, and you feel yourself wrap your legs around him as hard as you can.

You grind continually onto him, and keen lowly when he sucks a hickie into your neck just as he times a roll of his hips expertly between your legs.

“Hooooly fuuuck, Gai,” you say as your head rolls back. “Can we do this?”

“Absolutely,” he groans into your neck, pulling at your back so your sweaty torsos rub together.

How did you get so lucky to find him? You look down at him, breathing heavily, into his equally lust-blown pupils. You cup his chin to give him one more passionate kiss, where you lick over his lips and revel in how weak he is for your touch.

And then, you knock him down into the ground with a thump to his chest. Leaning over him so he has a face full of your tits, you instruct.

“I’m gonna ride you. But first, I’m going to sit on your face and blow you into next week.”

The blush across his face is prominent, from the joyful mixture of heat and hormones. But he excitedly smiles.

“Yes ma’am...” he says contentedly, freeing his dick from his pants while you readjust to kick yours off.

In no time at all, you reverse and lean your ass onto his face. He enthusiastically grips your thighs, and pulls your underwear to the side to place a long stripe to your soaked cunt.

You inhaled, but then he quickly pulled you into him and plunged his tongue into your sopping pussy. You shriek.

“Oh fuck! Holy fuck, Gai!” You whine as he hums into your cunt, and you feel your legs quiver as your eyes roll into the back of your head.

Hearing you rendered so helpless on top of him spurred him on, and his grip tightens. You can’t submit to him just yet— no, you’ve been dreaming of this for too long to back down now.

You stretch forward as much as you can manage and encircle the head of his cock with your lips. At that moment you knew Kakashi was full of shit when he mentioned Gai had an acorn of a cock— he was clearly a grower, and fisting his girth made your mouth water.

You begin to bob your head on his length, and you feel his pace weaken. It spurs you on, and you try to open your mouth as far as you can to suck him with all your worth.

Gai continues to eat you out to his heart’s content, and you feel him shake as you drool over his immense cock. You feel your determination building again despite the tremors of pleasure overcoming you— and you take him to the back of your throat. You hum as you arch your back, and run your nails tightly down his muscular thighs to hold him in place.

He sputters against your cunt, and you hold his legs to the ground while you render him undone, swirling your tongue around every detail of his thick cock.

As he begins to tremor again, you take a hold of his cock and run the flat of your thumb over his head, teasing his slit.

“Are you ready for me?” You breathe onto his cock, and flatly lick the precum dribbling from his slit.

He exhales as you rise from his face, legs shaking. He leans onto his elbows for a moment, smiling as he wipes your juices from his mouth to lick off his fingers.

“I’m always ready! But especially for you, my love” Gai says in a deeper, more loving voice then you’ve ever heard him use before.

It makes you ache in the best possible way.

You jostle your weaker leg over his lap, and he puts a hand out to hold you as you adjust. Sitting down, you intentionally adjust the lips of your pussy to glide over his shaft, and slowly grind along his length as you kiss under his jaw. Gai moans deep in his chest, running his hands over your back, trying to ground himself through the pleasure.

“D-don’t tease,” he manages, and leans into your touch as you lick up his jugular.

His voice is a symphony to you, while he squirms under your touch. You know you’re both ready then— so you angle his cock to finally sink onto his length.

Both of your mouths open in ecstasy we you ease onto his length, marveling at how your wetness lets his girth take you. It takes a moment to adjust, but eventually you settle into his lap fully speared on his erection. The two of you are breathing heavily, and you’ve only just begun.

You settle your foreheads against the the other’s.

“When you’re ready,” he lightly comforts, and you nod.

You feel yourself grip him harder, and you use your legs to pull him closer to you. Your lips interlock once more, and you groan at the taste of your pussy on his tongue. It encourages you to sway your hips forward, while Gai slowly moves your ass to relish your pull.

You slide deliciously around his cock. The more he relishes in the moment, the more of a slave he becomes to the passion between you. Your bodies begin to move in a glorious rhythm, composing a beautiful dance while your gasps of pleasure begin to harmonize.

Gai takes the liberty to gentle buck into you, feeding off your pretty moans while he hits your g-spot repetitively.

You loving pull you name from his tongue, while you pant and try to see straight. You could get high off of how sweet his touches were— how deeply he looked into you.

“Ahh, fuck, Gai—“ you purr into his ear, holding onto his shoulders for dear life. “Harder!”

His quiet laugh is so deviant and sexy as he picks up his pace, to where he’s rutting into you with his balls slapping your skin. You can’t help but keep bouncing and bouncing on his merciless cock, thighs screaming, crying out as the noise of slapping flesh and wet squelching echos into the air.

“Take me, fucking take me!” You growl into his ear, clawing at his back to try to stay in place. “Ooooh, fucking ruin me Gai!”

“You have a filthy mouth, my love!” He exclaims, still fucking you like a damn race horse.

“And you like it, don’t you baby? You like me being a greedy for your cock?”

Your words run him through with so much shock and absolute list all at once. You punctuate the filthy whispers by biting down hard onto his shoulder— and he cries out as you set a brutal pace to milk the remainder of his stamina.

“AHHHhhh! Darling—! I’m— aAAAaag— closing in!”

You purr like a devil into his shoulder, liking the bruise you’ve left. You’re shaking like an addict, and I you know you’re close too.

“I’m gonna cum all over your cock, Green Beast! Cum for me, cum for your slut!” You pant out, and Gai nearly screams as he fucks into your pussy more furiously than ever.

In the heat of it all, you shove him to the ground again. You grab his chest and put all your weight onto him as you ride out your orgasm, moaning like a bitch in heat as you chase your highs to oblivion.

Gain holds your hips enough to mark them, forcing you down into his cock— but then he looks at you in all your glory on top of him. Sweating rivulets down your reddening skin, singing for him as you take his cock like it was made just for you. He pulls you we close as he can and lets out a strangled scream as he orgasms hard.

Tears stream down your face as you feel your pussy clamp down onto him afterwards, whining with glee we his cock throbs within you. You exhale hard, and you can feel your heart jump over the moon.

All before you collapse off of him, and lay down beside him in the grass. Both of you are dirty, exhausted, and covered in sweat— and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Somehow, you manage the strength to plant a kiss on his cheek.

“You’re amazing.”

He grins, surprised he has enough energy to laugh. “And you are the most beautiful creature to exist.”

You laugh through a blush, and snuggle into his strong arms as he pulls you into his chest.

“I think I should train you more often!”

224 notes · View notes

melancholic-pigeon · 4 years ago

Text

Too Short For Ao3 Fic #3? 4?

SO this is the extended edition of the bonus wip I did with Sally's birthday. The overall fic it belongs to is Extremely Smutty, so I went in and revised out the brief references and I'm posting the family-centric g-rated stuff for anyone who wants that but not the smut! Cough.

Also, I felt bad about missing WIP Wednesday again. Lolsob.

Percy rouses at around eleven PM to a sketch of himself on Jason's pillow. There's a note on the other side.

I wanted to wake you up to say goodbye, but you looked so comfy I didn't have the heart to. your mom's presents are in the bag by my desk. say hi to everyone for me. I'll call tomorrow anyway.

love you to the moon and back.

-J. ❤

Complete with a little red heart. He doesn't even care that the doodle of him next to it, burritoed in a pile of blankets, includes a little spot of drool— he can tell by the rest of his cartoony, ballpoint features that Jason put it in because he thinks it's cute.

(And by the fact that he's said so, several times.)

Percy gathers up his junk. The cornflower blue sweatshirt he steals goes halfway down his fingers. He's come to accept that at six foot three and counting, Jason is the taller of them and always will be— barring some sort of horrible wood-chipper accident or curse from a grumpy deity.

Fortunately, there's something about looking up to meet someone's eyes that Percy finds incredibly attractive. He has since Annabeth outgrew him for the first time in eighth grade.

He heads out in his own jeans and the boxers he packed and the sweatshirt that smells like cinnamon. Once he boards the train, he stands with his arm around a pole and the other holding the bag against his chest, and tries to stay casual and keep the grin off his face.

It's almost midnight when he gets home. His mom, of course, is still awake, so he heads into the living room to greet her.

"My other half says hello."

There's a pile of presents on the coffee table. He puts the bag with the rest of them and sits down, kissing her cheek.

"He didn't have to get me anything." She closes her book and eyes the bag with a fond sigh. "How is he?"

Percy's the same way she is, always happy to do favors and give gifts, but feeling pretty awkward about receiving them. Jason's even worse, the three of them in an ongoing and circular competition to never let any of it go reciprocated.

"Working too hard, as always. Pulling As and winning games and barely sleeping to do it. His stepmother's up his ass and his father's a bully, so, you know, news at eleven." He leans his head onto her shoulder. "That's why he gives you stuff. He's trying to show you how much he appreciates you."

She sighs, and Percy knows it's because she's just as frustrated by the whole thing as he is.

"He knows I appreciate him too, I hope."

"Without a doubt." Percy smiles at her, watching as she goes a little pink and smiles back. "You have a talent for making him feel appreciated."

"He treats my baby like a prince," she says softly. "That's why I appreciate him so much in the first place. How could I do anything else?"

Percy turns his face into her shirt collar, another futile attempt to hide his goofy expression,

"He really does, doesn't he?"

Holding doors, pulling out chairs, offering an arm on unsteady streets. Jason's never laid his coat over a puddle, but Percy's pretty sure he would, if the option presented itself.

His mom starts playing with his hair, her fingers light and familiar.

"I'm just happy you're happy, sweetheart."

He knows that feeling too.

Half asleep from the petting, Percy lets himself be a little babyish. It's after midnight now, which means it's her birthday, and he knows that sometimes she misses when he was Estelle's age and little enough to curl up in her lap. He's way too big for that now, obviously, but he can still slide down the couch and rest his head there.

"You too, Mama."

She looks at him, her eyes misty with emotion and almost green in the light.

She's smiling, too.

She smiles a lot, these days.

—

In the morning, Paul makes coffee while Estelle helps unwrap the avalanche of presents. She's at the age where ripping paper makes her squeal with hysterical laughter, which worms its way into Percy's heart and melts it into pudding.

Several of them are from Percy's friends, including a handbound book of original recipes from Leo, a lovely silver bracelet inset with mother-of-pearl that Beckendorf made himself, and a huge sheathed knife with a matching decorative handle from Clarisse. The last one makes his mom snort as she gets up to put it on the bookshelf, out of reach of curious toddler hands.

"Decorative. Sure."

"I bet she'd teach you how to use it if you asked."

"I know how to use a bowie knife, dear. Your father and I used to catch and cook our own fish when we went camping."

"Which reminds me, he still hasn't taken me out," Paul cuts in, frowning. "I've been saving up dad jokes and embarrassing stories for four years."

"I'll bug him about it the next time we talk," Percy promises. "It's probably the ADHD."

"Do you want me to bug you about bugging him?"

"If you haven't set something up by blueback season, yeah."

Percy and Paul went in on a pound of jasmine tea, which his mom reaches for next. She immediately asks for a cup— it's one of two days out of the entire year where she lets other people wait on her, for a change, and even that took a lot of cajoling.

Paul makes the tea, since Percy usually scalds the leaves and it turns out tasting like grass. She probably wouldn't complain anyway, but it's her birthday, and she deserves to have the best tea that can be made in their kitchen.

"Is the last bag from Jason?" Paul sets the mug on a coaster in the middle of the coffee table, and Percy scoops the baby into his lap so she doesn't try to grab it. She mashes her tiny hand against his cheek.

"And Thalia. I'm not sure if they went in on stuff or he just packed them both in one bag to make it easy."

Either is a possibility. He watches as his mom reaches in and pulls out a large wrapped frame, Thalia's spiky handwriting answering the question.

Whatever's inside, it makes her shut her eyes and exhale deeply through her nose.

"Please pass on that I am absolutely furious."

She turns the frame around. An autographed vinyl EP of Sign O' the Times by Prince— one of the albums Percy grew up on, though she skipped a number of the songs when he was little. Thalia must have spent a fortune on it.

"That woman is incredible," Paul breathes, lightly touching the glass. "How does she get this stuff?"

"See!"

"She has friends in high places." Percy grins as Estelle reaches for the album, and holds her over the glass so she can touch it too. "She's also really good at barter chains."

His mother shakes her head, but he can tell how delighted she is— the two of them have spent hours animatedly talking about music, Thalia hanging on every word and groaning with jealousy over the concerts his mom went to in the eighties.

"I know exactly where I'm going to put it."

Thalia got her a turntable for her fortieth birthday last year, as well as a full set of replacements for every worn-out record in their collection— and had the originals framed too, since they had sentimental value. They're currently occupying the better part of two walls of his mom's study.

There's a blank spot by her bookshelf, right underneath the first copy, that the autographed album will fit into perfectly. Percy grins.

"I'll hang it up for you later."

She doesn't argue. There's only Jason's left, his careful print written out across the same paper Thalia used. The crinkling draws Estelle's attention, and she gleefully reaches over to help tear it off.

Their mom gasps at what's inside and puts a hand to her mouth, her eyes going bright.

It's a watercolor portrait of Percy and Estelle, laughing by the shoreline. She's dressed in a little bucket hat, a ruffled swimsuit patterned to look like a clownfish and the coolest shades in the world— sparkly blue frames shaped like seashells that he kind of wishes he could get in his size. He's in a wetsuit, having spent the morning surfing, and he's holding onto her hands so she can jump at the waves. In the distant background is the Montauk lighthouse.

It's beautifully done, like everything else Jason's ever put to paper, but Percy's never choked up like this over one of them.

"You remember that, Beluga? That was on my birthday, when you came and visited me and Jason at the beach."

"Beach?" she asks, expectant. Paul bursts into laughter, sounding as rough-voiced as Percy feels.

"You're your mother's daughter, sweet pea."

"Beach!" Estelle insists. Percy noses her pudgy cheek.

"It's too cold to swim, baby." His mom's eyes are sparkling, still a little teary. He can see Estelle in the smile on her face. "But we could go for a walk and visit."

"Brunch first." Paul kisses her— Percy averts his eyes, wrinkling his nose at his sister to make her giggle again— and gets up, heading back into the kitchen.

It's a lovely way to spend a late morning. Pale blue araucana eggs courtesy of Grover's new hens, a blueberry coffee cake from Nico by a fantastic hole in the wall in Hell's Kitchen, Paul's signature home fries made with blue potatoes and seasoned to perfection; all of it delicious.

Jason calls while Percy's doing the dishes. After his deep, resonant performance of the happy birthday song, the five of them chat on speakerphone for a little while, though he has to excuse himself pretty quickly to keep banging through his reading.

"Maybe next year," Percy sighs. His mom puts her hand on his hip, then crouches down to help Estelle with her light-up sneakers.

"He's always welcome for a rain check."

"He's always welcome, period," Paul adds. For the second time, Percy gets dangerously close to sniffling.

Montauk is a little far for a day trip, so they head to Brighton Beach instead. Estelle's shrimpy legs get tuckered out more quickly than the grownups' do, so Percy ends up carrying her on his hip, snuggled into his jacket to block the chilly breeze. She points at seagulls, shouting triumphantly every time.

"More bird!"

"That's right. A whole flock of 'em."

They watch for a while as the gulls fight over a discarded pizza crust. Then Percy feels an arm around his back and a head against his shoulder.

"I don't know how I got so lucky," his mother murmurs, barely audible over the rushing of the waves.

Percy's eyes sting.

For most of his life, her birthdays had been spent without fanfare. He was rarely actually there for them anyway, and Gabe complained so much it was easier to just ignore the day and focus on survival instead.

She'd been triaging like that since before she even met his dad, keeping herself afloat when nobody seemed to care if she drowned. It would have been easy to lie down and give up. Percy's pretty sure he would have, in her place.

He turns to hug her with the obligatory proclamation of a Stella Sandwich. He catches Paul's eye over her shoulder, and gets a wide, sentimental grin in response.

"Luck's got nothing to do with it," Percy tells her, leaning his cheek against the top of her head while his sister wriggles with delight between them.

"Listen to our son," Paul adds. "He's very wise, as you raised him to be. This is all on you, honey."

Within moments, she's surrounded by her whole family on all sides, and Percy has another arm around his back, and he's getting a little choked up over it all.

When she first started dating Paul, back when Percy was still in middle school, she'd spent weeks all aflutter. It was the happiest he'd ever seen her at the time. They'd sit outside and work on her car together, and she'd slip into song like a grease-stained fairytale princess without even thinking about it.

Seeing them interact is like cool water on a burn, Paul's devoted kindness soothing a lifetime of sitting back and watching people treat her like dirt. He worships her, just like she deserves and long overdue.

"I love you," she says, tearful and muffled in someone's shoulder. "All of you, more than anything."

"Love Mama," Estelle replies, and that's it— Percy's blubbering.

It'll never undo the damage, but it's about time she got a chance to heal and thrive.

-here in our bed, chapter 7, ~6200 words

#wip wednesday #yes I know don't look at me like that #i wrote this #sally jackson #paul blofis #estelle blofis #family fic #oh lord the cheese

17 notes · View notes

wonder-womans-ex · 4 years ago

Text

Curtain Call

Act One, Scene Five

Sirius knows he’s petty. Extremely so. Petty enough to send the elevator all the way down to the ground floor so that Remus has to either take the stairs or wait, at least.

What Remus said is still wheeling in his mind. Remus kissed someone else. It hurts, yeah, but he’ll put on his brave face. He’ll move on.

The thing that hurts most—the thing he can’t ignore or get over—is that he’s not sure whether he’s more upset that Remus cheated, more upset that Remus dumped him, or more upset that Remus didn’t give him the chance to break it off. Remus should have owned up to it, and he should have given Sirius that choice. It’s like he said when before he left the staff room—maybe he would have ended things, maybe he wouldn’t have.

He should have at least had the option to break Remus’s heart like Remus broke his, but instead Remus just broke his twice.

Sure enough, Remus is five minutes late to the seminar, and Sirius knows that Lily’s pissed. What he doesn’t know is whether she’s pissed at Remus, or if she’s figured out that Sirius is the reason behind the delay and is pissed at him. She seems the type to just know these things.

He’s pretty sure he’s not imagining her glare in his direction when she says, “We’ll start in a minute or two; John will be back by then with the papers we need for today’s lecture,” but he decides to ignore it. After all, if there’s one thing he’s good at, it’s ignoring his problems.

Well, and running away from them. It depends on the day and what mood he’s in.

He also doesn’t miss the fact that when Remus does return, he pulls the classic ‘take one and pass it on’ instead of handing out the papers one by one. It’s probably so that he doesn’t have to look Sirius in the face.

When the stack reaches him, Sirius has to reach back a whole row of seats to get to the next person. He almost tips over in his chair, but manages to save himself a sore tailbone—and a whole lot of embarrassment—at the last minute.

The page is split into five sections: theme, topic, setting, characters, and story objective. He remembers, vaguely, learning some of this in grade seven, but that’s where his memory blanks. (What the everloving fuck is a story objective?)

Apparently he’s about to find out.

Lily claps her hands together in an incredibly teacher-like way. If he didn’t know better, he would have a hard time believing this is the same woman who so aggressively played matchmaker (or maybe she was actually trying to drive them further away from each other; thinking back on it, Sirius can’t actually tell) only a few minutes before. “Well,” she says, addressing the room at large, “who can tell me what a theme is?”

There are a few raised hands, and she calls on the boy just behind Sirius, with chocolate-brown hair and more freckles than he can count. “It’s what the story is about. But like, in an abstract way.”

“Very good.” Lily takes a whiteboard marker out of her jeans pocket. Turning to the board, she draws a T-table, labeling one side theme and the other topic. Under the first heading, she writes abstract, and, across from it, concrete.

“Theme and topic are often confused, because they’re both what a story is about. But—what’s your name?”

“Benjy. Benjy Fenwick,” says the freckled boy.

“But Benjy here has hit the nail on the head. The difference between theme and topic is that a theme is abstract—a concept, or an idea, or a feeling—while a topic is concrete—such as a person, place, thing, or event….”

Sirius begins to zone out. Absentmindedly, he grabs a pencil and begins sketching on the smooth, polished wood of his desk. A circle, an oval, a line here and there, some shading—slowly, his doodle begins to take shape. By the time Lily says, “Now, who can give me some examples of a good story theme?” and people start calling out their answers, he’s perfected the glint in his anime-style eye.

“One last one. How about you, by the back, with the Blue Jays shirt?”

(Of course she’s pretending she doesn’t know his name. Lucky him—he’s always wanted to be demoted back to ‘hey, you.’)

His head jerks up. “Uh, relationships,” he says, because he’s a walking cliche and, yes, of course that’s the only thing on his mind. Why wouldn’t it be?

“There’s an interesting one.” She adds it to the board, right underneath hardship, pressing hard enough that the nib of the pen squeaks. “It could technically be counted as a topic, too, but it works well as a theme.”

There’s a pause as she looks around, seemingly searching for a suitable place to put her pen. Finally, she gives up, tucking it behind her ear.

“What I want everyone to do now is think carefully about what theme they want to write about. You can pick as many as you want, and you can add more later, but it’s easiest to focus on just two or three. You can pick one of the ones we came up with here, or it can be something totally different, but make sure it’s something that speaks to you.”

Her words resonate in Sirius’s mind. Something that speaks to him? He starts to write, his large printing cramped in the tiny box, and he gets halfway through the second C before he erases it again. He has to think for a minute. He doesn’t want to write about success, not when there’s so little of it in his life right now, but he doesn’t want to write about something dark, like suffering, either.

Loss, he puts down with finality. On second thought, he adds healing. And then, just because he feels like it, friendship.

The clock on the wall says they have twelve more minutes before they’re finished; he wonders what else they’ll do before the class ends. Right now, the only sound in the room is the quiet scratching of pencils—soothing, he must admit, even though he personally prefers the excitement of applause—and it seems as though he’s the only one who’s finished.

He lets himself look around, his eyes flickering from the clock to the whiteboard to the person sitting to his left. They dart to the door at the other side of the hall, and forward to where Remus is... staring right back at him.

The two lock eyes for a good fifteen seconds before Remus lowers his gaze to the floor. It’s not much of a victory, Sirius knows, but it’s a victory nonetheless.

So why doesn’t it feel like one?

There’s not time to burrow any deeper into his own thoughts, however, because Lily is writing once more on the board. Unfortunately for him, he can’t see what she’s written—even when she turns around—because her head is in the way.

“I assume most of you have your themes, and even if you don’t, you can always come back to it. Right now, we’re going to move onto topic—surprise surprise, also what the story is about, but this time on a more concrete scale. Let’s take Romeo and Juliet, for instance, because I’m fairly sure it’s a story we all know. Does anyone have any idea what the topic is?”

Silence.

Sirius, usually the self-aware one in any situation (but apparently not this one), knows there are two possible reasons as to why he raises his hand. Unfortunately, he does not know which of them it is. The first is simple—he’s confident has the answer, and he wants to share it. The second is both a little more complex and a little more likely, and that is that he doesn’t know what the answer is and maybe, just maybe, he wants to prove to Remus he’s not afraid to take risks.

Either way, his tentative “Love?” is declared—spoiler alert—incorrect.

“Wrong,” Lily says. “Love is a theme, not a topic. Try again.”

Well, he wasn’t expecting a second chance. (It seems he only ever gets them when he’s unprepared.) (Maybe there’s a lesson in that.)

“Um… people in love?” If the first answer wasn’t right, this one won’t be either. He knows that. But it is, frankly, all he can come up with.

“Ding-a-ling-a-ling,” Lily deadpans, which actually sounds a little funny in that accent of hers. He’s not going to mention that, though, because he’s on pretty thin ice already where she’s concerned. “Correct. Yes, maybe they sound like basically the same thing, but they’re not. The way I like to put it is this: if you can draw a picture of it, chances are it’s the topic. If you can’t, chances are it’s the theme.” After a moment, she adds, “I probably should have said that at the beginning. Whatever.”

This causes Remus’s lips to twitch up into a smile. In fact, it’s only just now that Sirius realizes he’s watching Remus at all—he could have sworn he stopped—and he forces himself to look away.

But he really can’t deny it any longer. He really can’t deny that that little smile, happy and pure with just a hint of mischief, still makes his heart pound and his brain turn to mush. He really can’t deny that despite everything—despite the breakup, and the recent confession, and the promises made late at night that he’s getting over this, he really is…

He’s still in desperate, painful, middle-grade YA novel love with Remus/John/does-it-really-matter-what-his-name-is Lupin.

#wolfstar #sirius black #remus lupin #lily evans #remus x sirius #muggle au #university au #I really hate this chapter but whatever #it needed to be published

28 notes · View notes

notveryglittery · 5 years ago

Text

birthday prince (5)

summary: happy birthday, roman!!! words: 2,900 / ship: dlampts (deceit/logan/virgil/patton/roman/thomas/remy) author’s note: this is part five of my Giving The Gay Anything He Wants series for roman’s birthday (june 4)! all ships are written implied romantic but i’m not stopping you from interpreting it otherwise. check the end notes on ao3 for credit on these gifts (bc i don’t know where to put them in this post)! i hope you enjoy!!

part 1 (roceit) | part 2 (logince) | part 3 (prinxiety) part 4 (royality) | part 5 (dlampts) | read on ao3

— — —

“Rise and shine, buttercup!”

Roman swatted at the air, as if that would send away the voice trying to wake him. “Five more minutes,” he grumbled, burying his face back into a pillow.

“You said that ten minutes ago, sugar,” drawled another.

If Roman really thought about it, he’d remember that, yes, he was guilty of this charge. That didn’t mean that he would admit to it, of course! Besides, even if he did, today was his day so he should have been able to do whatever he liked.

Oh.

Oh!

Energy shot through him as he jolted up. “It’s my birthday!”

Patton’s laugh was musical, the most beautiful sound Roman could ever ask to start his morning with. “I knew we’d get there eventually.”

“I dunno, I was sure it’d take him at least another half hour,” Remy teased, standing in the doorway.

"Good morning!" Roman exclaimed, swooping in for a kiss from Patton. He happily obliged, taking it also as an opportunity to comb a hand through Roman's tangled hair.

Were it not for Remy clearing his throat a moment later, the two might have lost track of time entirely. They pulled apart, only a little sheepish about it. Patton took Roman's hands in his and gave him a tug, urging him out of bed. Thankfully, now that Roman knew what was being celebrated, he followed easily, lips curled into a grin that seemed it'd never go away.

"What's on the agenda?" He asked eagerly, curious how early it actually was and how long it'd be before his first gift.

"Get yourself dolled up first, hon," Remy told him, tilting his tumbler in the direction of the closet.

"Remy!" Patton hissed, a hint of a scolding reminder in his tone, if Roman was hearing right.

Apparently, this was all it took for Remy to remember whatever Patton was trying to say. They swapped places faster than Roman thought possible, especially with his sleep addled brain not quite keeping up. Remy looped an arm through Roman's and began leading the way to the bathroom.

Patton waved at them as he left, "see you in a bit!"

"You're up to something," Roman accused without hesitation.

"Why I never," Remy said, pouting. "When have I ever been up to anything in my whole life?"

It was, again, thanks to Roman's still half-asleep state that he could level Remy with his best unimpressed look.

"Here I am, just trying to help you look your absolute best, and you're claiming me a criminal. That's just plain unfair."

Roman couldn't deny how wonderful that sounded, actually. Doing his own makeup and hair was a regular occasion, so much so that it almost got boring to do anymore. Remy, without a doubt, could be trusted to make sure Roman's winged eyeliner would be sharp enough to kill a man. Not that Roman would ever admit it, but Remy might have been even a better makeup artist than he was.

"Alright, alright," Roman yielded, "I supposed I'd be lucky to have someone of your talent dress me up today."

Remy looked equally smug and delighted at this. He shooed Roman along to take a shower, ducking back out of the bathroom to, presumably, pick an outfit for Roman for the day. The prince used the hair and body care products that he liked to save for special occasions, singing (of course) various Disney love songs as he did. With what must've been some sort of sixth sense, Remy was on him again as soon as he was wrapped up in a bathrobe and towling his hair dry. He got to work without wasting a moment, making sure that Roman's luxurious locks were fluffy and styled just right. The swoop to his bangs had never been so perfect, if he was being honest! The makeup look was bold, reds and golds and glitter; thankfully, Remy reassured him he'd used all waterproof brands so that Roman could cry all he liked without issue.

They returned back to the bedroom, where Remy had the outfit displayed on a mannequin. It shouldn't have been a shock that he'd picked some of Roman's favorite pieces but he was pleasantly surprised all the same.

"I really do just know you that well, I guess," Remy said, nonchalantly.

Roman, lightning quick, pressed a kiss to his cheek, leaving behind a lipstick print. "You do and I love you so much for it!"

While Remy blushed and stammered at the sudden affection, Roman darted ahead and began to get dressed. Remy didn't need to turn away to give Roman his privacy, all things considered, but he did anyway, fiddling with the jewelry on Roman's vanity. It took some deliberating, but he decided finally that, above all else, the rainbow jewel encrusted crown was a must for today's ensemble.

"How do I look?"

"Babe, I don't even need to—" Remy's words died on his tongue as he faced Roman. Sure, there had been no doubt that Roman would look handsome as hell, but the beaming smile and light in his eyes and bouncy excited posture… He looked so happy and radiant and— "Wow."

"Stop," Roman said, giggling.

Remy took the crown and approached. He gave Roman a half-bow, smirking up at him. "May I have the honor, your majesty?"

“Stop!" Roman repeated, squeaking.

"Never," Remy promised, standing and reaching up to nestle the accessory on Roman's head. Each strand of hair still fell perfectly into place. "Now then," he said, taking Roman's arm in his, "shall we begin the festivities?"

Getting downstairs took no time at all, though Remy did dart ahead and down the steps first, so that he could loudly announce Roman proper. Patton and Thomas cheered for him as he descended, which added only more to the warm blush that he had a feeling might be a permanent addition today to his makeup. The pair ooh'd and ahh'd over Roman's look, showering him in compliments and praise. If this was just the beginning, then he sincerely was unsure whether he'd make it out of the celebrations alive.

They gathered at the dining room table, where Virgil and Deceit were laying the finishing touches on breakfast. The spread looked delectable, every one of Roman's favorite foods, and all of it hot and freshly cooked. Logan joined them last, carrying a plate with a single biscuit on it. There was a lit candle, too, and they'd all started singing before Roman could even catch up. He blew the little fire out and made a wish - though they'd nearly all already come true at this point, anyway.

"We're breaking a record today of how many times we can sing happy birthday," Thomas said with a wink, "fair warning."

Breakfast was full of fun and light chatter. They talked about the rest of their plans (at least, the ones they weren't keeping secret) and reminisced on old milestones. Roman felt full and happy, content to just sit and listen to his loved ones talk and joke around him. He was never left out of the conversation, though, always pulled back into a topic or started one anew with. He was listened to, unequivocally, and the attention was pleasant.

Soon, the food was finished, and the group moved to the kitchen. Patton and Deceit worked together on dishes while Logan presented what would be the first of birthday treats. They were muffins with Crofter's jelly in the middle, a flavor that Roman didn't recognize.

"Roman's Razzleberry," Logan explained, looking mixed on his feelings regarding the name. "It took some experimenting, but this combination of raspberry, strawberry, and dragonfruit came out the metaphorical winner."

"It's delicious!" Roman exclaimed, taking another from the tray. "My own jam! Thank you, dearest."

They gathered in the living room next, where the furniture had been rearranged to give them space for various activities. They did start with a movie, to let their meal settle, all huddled together on the couches. Roman was squished between Virgil and Thomas, the former playing absentmindedly with Roman's fingers while Thomas trailed his hand up and down Roman's arm, leaving tingles along the way. He might have dozed off a little, warm and cozy as he was.

The short nap energized him for their next game. Charades was one of his favorites as it gave him an opportunity to really practice his acting skills. What better way to hone one's craft than by not being able to use all the normal necessary components? Playing a part without any speaking lines and having to hope he'd do well enough that his companions could guess… It was a challenge he always looked forward to!

Virgil popped out and back in shortly with snacks for them all, the apparent second birthday treat: popcorn and candies and chips and soda, all easy and quick but not any less appreciated. They split into teams of two, leaving one to be their referee, and then each round, swapping out so that they all could have a turn to play. Roman ended up the winner, to absolutely no one’s surprise, though Deceit did come in a close second.

Lunchtime had rolled around and this time, they took to each making sandwiches for themselves. Patton and Remy surprised them (well, surprised Roman) with the third and fourth birthday treats: heart shaped cookies with exquisite frosting doodles and red velvet cake pops, respectively. They were sweet and delicious and baked perfectly and Roman only resisted eating more than he could count because he knew he had to save room still for whatever Thomas and Deceit had made. After they were finished and the dishes were washed, Patton led the way back upstairs. They stopped in front of his room.

“Would it be okay if we took a trip down Memory Lane?” He asked, holding Roman’s hands. “I was thinking we could visit some birthdays past!”

Roman looked to the others, nearly overwhelmed with how much affection and love he had for them all. “Whatever you have planned, I’m all in.”

“Nap time,” Remy and Virgil chorused.

Deceit rolled his eyes while Logan stifled a laugh.

“Shh,” Thomas hushed, giving them pats on the head. It was an amusing sight, to say the least, as Remy had a couple of inches on him and Virgil’s hunched over form was shorter than them both.

Memory Lane was as warm and fuzzy as Roman remembered it. He didn’t come through here often, usually only when he and Remy needed something for a Dream, but the consistent feeling it carried of being embraced by Mom or Dad was nice. The memories they visited were nice, too: old visions of time spent with friends, trips to amusement parks, parties that ran late into the night. While they all had their moments, Roman couldn’t help but feel that his birthday today was the absolute very best of them all. By the time they exited, he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt quite so relaxed. Logan and Virgil, on the other hand, looked like they were a little tired from the adventure. He took to their sides, planting himself between them, and grabbing each of their hands. Their quiet, grateful smiles were enough to give him pleasant shivers down his spine.

“Kitchen’s off limits,” Deceit announced as they all arrived back downstairs. “None may enter.”

“Except me!” Thomas piped up.

“Except you,” Deceit agreed, giving him a not-so-secret smitten smile.

Before Roman could ask why, they’d both disappeared. His attention was quickly stolen by Remy anyway, who was dragging him down onto the couch for his and Virgil’s aforementioned nap time. Patton giggled, making sure that they had enough blankets and pillows to be comfy.

“You sleep well, okay? We’ll wake you up in a little bit!” Patton said, taking Roman’s crown for him so that it wouldn’t get in the way, and setting it carefully on the coffee table.

If Roman wanted to ask Logan and Patton to join their cuddling, he didn’t get a chance to. Remy was carding a hand through his hair, draining him of his energy with each gentle scrape of nails against his scalp. He would have declared Remy a cheater for using his powers like this, but Virgil was falling victim to it as well and having his emo nightmare curled up with him was too pleasant to allow any upset feelings, regardless of how joking or serious they were.

Roman did, in fact, nap well, especially thanks to Remy’s presence.

When he woke, his limbs were only a little stiff, but he was overall very warm and relaxed. Virgil was gone but Remy had his face tucked into the crook of Roman’s neck. His sunglasses had been removed and Roman decided it might be worth dealing with the possible attitude of rousing Remy before he was well and ready if it meant getting to see his pretty eyes.

“Pstt,” he whispered, cupping Remy’s hand in his cheek. “My sweet dreamcatcher, it’s time to wake up.”

Remy grumbled, leaning into Roman’s hold. “Sweetie, I know you aren’t trying to coax me out of slumber right now.”

“Why I never,” he teased, echoing Remy’s earlier faux offended tone.

It took a moment longer, but Roman was blessed with getting to watch Remy blink away the lingering sleep. He thought this might be the best present of them all, seeing the swirling and shimmering shades of brown in Remy’s eyes, never one color at a time. It didn’t last long, what with Remy letting his eyelids slip back closed, but that was because he was leaning in to kiss Roman, and that sort of made it worth it.

“I should’ve known better than to leave you two alone,” Virgil groused suddenly, startling them apart.

“You’re just jealous I got to kiss the most handsome prince in the world before you did,” Remy said cheekily, reaching over to grab his sunglasses from the table and sliding them back on.

Roman couldn’t have prepared even if he wanted to. Virgil moved so quickly, thanks largely in part to those flight reflexes, swooping in and capturing Roman’s lips with his own. The kiss was fierce and passionate and even as Virgil pulled away, Roman followed after him. He sighed, disappointed for it to have ended so quickly. Virgil stuck his tongue out at Remy and then shot away as Remy lunged for him. They chased each other around the living room, laughing and throwing playful insults back and forth. Roman watched fondly from the couch, warm still in their nest of blankets.

Hands pressed down on his shoulders, massaging the post-nap aches away. Roman looked up, finding Logan above him. Logan smiled, bending slightly to give him a kiss on the forehead.

“Troublemakers, the both of them,” he said, only pretending to be disappointed.

“You’re one to talk,” Roman pointed out. “I’ve seen what you and Deceit get up to.”

“Shh,” Logan hurried to interrupt. “I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.”

“Dinner’s ready!” Patton called suddenly from the kitchen.

Roman’s stomach growled, surprising him; he wondered how long they’d slept for. Logan came around to the front of the couch and helped Roman up. Virgil and Remy had already darted away to try and steal bits of food.

“Has your birthday been so far satisfactory?” Logan asked, taking a moment to return Roman’s crown to his head. It was a testament to Remy’s hard work that his hair still looked flawless.

“It’s been perfect,” Roman answered enthusiastically.

Dinner consisted, once more, of Roman’s favorite foods. The cupcakes were courtesy of Thomas, another birthday treat, and while he seemed embarrassed about the messy frosting, Roman thought it overwhelmingly endearing; he especially liked the edible glitter and fondant stars. As they were nearing the end of their meal, Deceit procured the final birthday treat: champagne glasses for them all, filled with bubbly cider. There was another happy birthday song as Patton brought the cake out to the dining room. Roman had definitely started crying by now, as it all came together just how much they’d done for him today.

“A toast,” Deceit began, holding up his glass. The others followed. “To our favorite author, poet, artist, actor.”

“To the prince of our dreams,” Remy chimed in.

“And our hearts!” Patton added.

“To the best Creativity I could ask for,” Thomas continued.

“To the greatest hero,” Virgil suggested.

“To a wise and clever leader, one whom we can always trust to take care of us,” Logan rounded out.

Roman wiped frantically at his eyes, uncertain whether his makeup was smudge proof as well, but not caring one bit. “Thank you,” he said, voice wobbly and thick with tears. “I love you guys more than I can say.”

Deceit, from his seat beside him, used his free hand to take one of Roman’s. He pressed a kiss to his knuckles and then held that hand to his cheek. “How unfortunate for your wellbeing,” he threatened sweetly, “because I think that we can say plenty.”

And they did, praising him on anything to everything: from his appearance to his creations, his traits and what made him tick, and the cute faces he made without realizing, and every tiny simple little thing they adored about him. It was, to say the least, the best way to end what had been the best day.

#sanders sides fan fiction #roman's birthday #roman sanders #sanders sides #dlampts #ts deceit #dani writes #gifts for roman's bday #it's basically dlamp + thomas + remy but focused on the roman ships #IT'S PUBLISHED BEFORE MIDNIGHT PST HALLELUJAH

218 notes · View notes

anxiously-unsatisfied-world · 5 years ago

Text

A Coffee For Here (So I Don’t Have to Leave Yet)

Pairing: Sleepxiety w/ background Roloceit Word Count: 6,292 Warnings: Vague mentions of pain (not too descriptive), lemme know if there's anything else.

A/N: So if anyone remembers the Sleepxiety coffee shop/tattoo shop au I was working on, this is it! I’m really happy with how this came out (I’m not used to writing fics over 2k long ^^) I hope you all enjoy :D

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

Remy sighs softly as he steps into the café, shutting his eyes for a moment as the comforting scent of coffee washing over him. When he opens his eyes, he gives the place a once-over, liking the warm and cozy layout of the place. This café is shaping up to be one that he frequents regularly, but first, he must check the most important part. Sure, the atmosphere may be great, but if the coffee sucks? There's not much of a chance he'll be returning to this one.

He strolls up to the counter, barely glancing at the menu. There's no point when he already knows what he wants. "Hey, babes. Could I get a cappuccino with hazelnut and two extra shots of espresso?" The words are already out of his mouth before his eyes settle on the person in front of him. His eyes widen behind his sunglasses, a smirk spreading across his face.

Okay, so the barista is cute. That's a bonus. Remy eyes the way their black hair falls in front of their eyes, similar but not quite the 'emo fringe.' Their eyes look up from the notepad they'd been doodling on and Remy's heart stutters at how pretty their silver eyes are. He glances at their nametag, which is accompanied by a small purple pin reading they/them, and smirks. Virgil. It's a nice-sounding name, definitely suiting the emo aesthetic.

"Yeah, that'll be $4.50. For here or to go?" Virgil says, sighing internally that they managed to say that right without stuttering. Social anxiety's a struggle especially when the customer is unexpectedly cute. And 'babes?' That kind of nickname nearly made Virgil swoon on the spot, only stopped because doing so would be too embarrassing and way too much like something Roman would do.

"For here." Remy finds himself saying. He had been planning on taking his coffee and going home now that his shift is over but maybe he'll stick around for a little bit if he can. Not that there's any particular reason behind his decision. Of course not.

Virgil takes Remy's money and counts out the change before looking back up. "Okay. Take one of these." Virgil hands him a buzzer, "It'll go off when your order is ready."

Remy nods, used to this whole exchange, going to find a seat while Virgil busies themselves with making Remy's coffee. Remy pulls out his phone and makes a show of scrolling through it, though he keeps glancing up to look at the pretty barista.

It isn't long before the buzzer vibrates and Remy stands, sliding his phone back in his pocket as he approaches the counter. He sets the buzzer down, picking up the mug and strolling back to the booth he had chosen but not before saying, "Thank you, babes."

Virgil's face flushes slightly at the nickname and Remy smirks when he catches it, bringing the mug to his lips. He lets out a soft sigh at the flavor and leans back in his seat. The coffee's delicious and the barista is cute? Yup, Remy's definitely coming back here soon.

While drinking his coffee, he alternates between looking at his phone and glancing over at Virgil, watching them wipe down the counter just long enough to get caught. Virgil raises an eyebrow and leans on their elbow, "Y'know, if you're going to keep watching me, maybe you should actually come talk to me."

Remy's eyes widen and he snickers at that, "You have a point, darling." Remy rises from his seat and perches on one of the barstools lining the counter, taking another sip of his coffee. "Uh, you okay there?"

Virgil had frozen, internally panicking at how smooth that was and why did they call Remy over here? Now they actually have to talk to him and oh, shit, he just asked them a question. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Okay…" Remy says, dragging out the word for a moment before shrugging and electing to ignore it. "So, lemme guess, your favorite band is MCR?"

Virgil's eyes widen and they tilt their head just barely, "What? I mean, I like their music, but no?"

Remy chuckles at how confused they sound and smirks at them over the rim of his mug. "No offense, babes, but you look like the epitome of emo right now."

Virgil groans and Remy snickers, taking the last sip of the coffee and setting the mug down, pushing it slightly towards Virgil. Virgil takes the mug and goes over to the sink to wash it, Remy watching as they do.

"So, if your favorite band isn't MCR, then what is it?" Remy asks, leaning forward on both his elbows.

"Uh… Panic at the Disco…" Virgil admits and groans softly when Remy starts laughing. "Okay, fine! I'm still emo. Happy?"

"Sure am, darling," Remy says in between laughs. Virgil just rolls their eyes, but it's hard to be annoyed too much when someone's laughing that genuinely, even if it's at his expense.

The two of them talk for a little while longer before Remy realizes that he's the only customer in the café. "Babes? Am I keeping you from locking up?" Remy asks, feeling bad if he has. He didn't mean to stay so long.

"I mean, kinda?" Virgil shrugs, "But I don't really mind. You're not like the other customers who stay too late, you're actually fun to be around."

"Oh am I?" Remy says, perking up a bit.

Virgil groans at the smug tone to Remy's voice, knowing that they accidentally just inflated Remy's ego. "Don't let it go to your head. You know what I meant."

"Too late~ and yeah, I do," Remy says with a shrug. "Either way, doll, I should probably get going. Don't wanna keep you here too late." Remy stands, smiling a little softer, not quite his usual smirk, when he sees Virgil deflate slightly. "Don't worry, babes. I'll definitely be back. But before I go?"

"Yes?" Virgil cringes a bit at how quickly they responded but Remy just laughs.

"It was nice meeting you, Virgil," Remy says with a grin, blowing a kiss in Virgil's direction and wiggling his fingers a bit before ducking out of the café.

Virgil hides their face in their hands, blushing hard from such a simple gesture. Damn… That certainly wasn't what they expected when they came into work this morning. But if only they'd gotten his name. It never properly came up in the conversation and know they're kicking themselves for not asking. At least, he said he'd come back so they have that to look forward to.

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

The next day, through his various appointments, Remy cannot get Virgil out of his head. It's been a good bit since he's laughed that genuinely. And thus, he finds himself once again at the café after work, hoping that Virgil will be there.

Virgil perks up when they see Remy come through the door, causing Remy to laugh softly. "Did ya miss me that much, hun?" Remy asks and Virgil blushes a bit, smirking at him.

"Wasn't expecting to see you back quite so soon," Virgil says. Remy shrugs and goes through the process of ordering his coffee, staying up at the counter this time.

"You'll be seeing a lot more of me from now on, I can promise that." Remy leans against the counter, watching Virgil prepare the cappuccino, a little distracted by how gracefully Virgil is moving.

"Oh, joy," Virgil says with heavy sarcasm, both of them snickering afterward. Virgil walks over to where Remy's sitting and slides him his coffee. "Oh, by the way, I don't think I got your name yesterday?"

Remy chuckles as he sips his coffee. "The name's Remy. It's a pleasure to meet you." Remy says with a hint of sarcasm, even going so far as to mock-bow, the effect lessened a bit since he's sitting down. Still, it causes Virgil to laugh and so that's a win in his book.

"Charmed, I'm sure," Virgil says, causing Remy to snicker. It's not often that he finds someone who's willing to and able to put up with his sass, especially not one who's able to sass him back like this.

"Of course, I'm the most charming one around," Remy says mock-seriously, grinning as soon as Virgil snorts.

"Sure, you are," Virgil says sarcastically, but there's a hint of truth to their words. Well, Remy may not be charming in the traditional sense, but there's something to him that's managed to charm Virgil. Otherwise, they wouldn't be so comfortable talking to him right now.

They talk once again, getting interrupted by the occasional customer, until it's about time for Virgil to close up. "I'll be seeing you, darling," Remy says, going out a limb to take Virgil's hand and squeeze it softly.

"I'll be holding you to that." Virgil says with a soft laugh, "You make the last bit before closing a lot more bearable."

Remy snickers softly and lets go of Virgil's hand, taking a step back. "Thank you, hun. I'll see you soon."

"Bye, Remy." Virgil waves as Remy leaves, unable keep a soft smile off their face while they close up the café.

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

Remy starts coming back to the café often, most of the times after his shift as it's a reliable way to tell when Virgil will be there. Sure, there are some days where an appointment of his will go longer than expected and he misses those nights, but he's at the café more nights than he's not.

One day, he leaves the tattoo parlor and heads to the café, growing more excited to see Virgil with each step. He all but throws the door open, knowing that the dramatic gesture would be something Virgil would laugh at, but freezes when he sees the barista.

Instead of Virgil in their usual purple and black attire, there's someone else in yellow and black. Someone who happens to be giving him a sly smirk, their hands steepled in front of them.

"Looking for Virgil?" The barista asks, chuckling when Remy's eyes widen at the question. "Surprised? Well, he's not here. It's his day off, you'll have to deal with me."

Remy strolls up to the counter, already too intrigued by this encounter to consider leaving. "Sure. I'll have a…"

"Hazelnut cappuccino with two shots of espresso?" The barista asks, raising a single eyebrow.

"How did you?" Remy asks, nearly wanting to take a step back from the guy, already unsettled by him but now he knows his order? He glances at the barista's nametag like it would answer his question, the sight of a cartoonish snake doodled by the name confusing him even more. How can someone this cryptic have something so cute on their nametag?

Declan snickers at Remy's expression and waves his hand, "I'll drop the whole 'villain' facade. Virge says I do it too much." Declan shrugs, ringing up Remy's order while he explains, "Virgil told me your order and that you might be in today."

"Uh-huh," Remy says slowly, reeling from Declan dropping the persona like it was all an act. Maybe it was. Remy's no stranger to friends who put on acts like that. After all, Roman does it all the time. "And you know Virgil how?"

"I'm their brother," Declan says simply, starting to make Remy's coffee to go, figuring he's not going to stick around since Virgil's not here. "Honestly, I couldn't wait to meet the customer they talk so highly of." It's clear Declan's teasing him, but Remy can't help but feel touched that Virgil talked about him.

Declan glances at Remy and sees the softer expression, his own softening a bit to match. "It's been nice seeing them so happy, so I guess I have you to thank for that."

Remy shrugs at that, "It's no trouble, really. I enjoy spending time with them." Remy blinks when Declan hands him his coffee, curling his fingers around it absentmindedly.

"Good." Declan says, looking at Remy for a moment in a way that reminds him of a snake eyeing its prey, "Now, I shouldn't have to say this, but if you hurt him? I'll end you." Declan's voice goes quiet and serious, sounding brutally honest.

Remy gives a nervous smile and holds his hands up in a placating gesture. "Don’t worry, if that happened, Virgil would probably end me first." Remy says with a small laugh, "But I won't let that happen. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I hurt them."

Declan watches him for a moment more before his expression softens, clearly finding what he wanted. "Good. And you're right. You'd have both of us to worry about, but I can tell you'll do your best to avoid that." Declan gives a small, approving smile. "Well, I'll see you around, Remy."

"Yeah, see you." Remy says, giving a two-fingered salute and ducking out of the café, slightly rattled by that whole experience.

Declan simply smirks, assured that his sibling will be safe in Remy's hands if it ever gets to that. He's good at reading people and it's clear that Remy will do everything to prevent Virgil from getting hurt. That's always a good sign.

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

The next time Remy goes to the café, he can't help but feel slightly on edge, knowing now that there's a chance that Declan will be there instead of Virgil. Sure, he doubts that Declan would pull the whole foreboding and creepy act a second time, but he can't help the uneasy feeling.

Virgil looks up with bright eyes when Remy opens the door, only for their expression to turn annoyed and a bit downcast when they see how nervous Remy looks, though he's trying his best to hide it.

"Dee did the thing, didn't he? The whole Disney villain act?" Virgil says, tapping their fingers together mimicking the way Declan held his when Remy met him. Remy nods and Virgil huffs, turning to make Remy's coffee to give them something to do with their hands. "Ugh, I told him not to. He likes doing it anytime I make a new friend, says it's a test of sorts to weed out anyone undeserving. His words not mine."

"I can see how." Remy says with a wry smile. "It would be effective for anyone who's easily intimidated."

Virgil snorts, shaking their head lightly, "You don't have to tell me that. Patton wouldn't come by our house for weeks after he first spoke with Dee." Virgil says, sounding both fond and exasperated. "But you're still here, so it clearly didn't work on you."

"Of course, it didn't." Remy says, smiling when Virgil passes him his coffee, wrapping his fingers around it. "I've definitely had weirder encounters."

"Oh, yeah?" Virgil asks, looking curious enough to prompt Remy into storytelling mode. There's no shortage of stories for him to tell, not with his friend group.

After enough of these stories, Virgil laughs softly, "Yeah, I can see now that Dee is hardly the weirdest person you've dealt with."

Remy blinks, awed by the sound of Virgil's laugh. No matter how many times he hears it, it sounds like the prettiest sound in the world to him. "Exactly, babes." Remy smirks when Virgil's face goes red at the nickname, "So you don't have to worry about me, it takes way more than an overprotective brother to scare me off."

Virgil just smiles then, a soft genuine one that takes Remy's breath away. "That's good." Virgil glances around and gives a sheepish smile at the realization they've been listening to Remy's stories all the way until closing time. "I guess it's time for me to lock up."

"All right, sugar. I'll see you later, then." Remy says, once again blowing a kiss in Virgil's direction, laughing in delight when Virgil mimes catching it and holding it close. Remy ducks out of the café with a small wave, unable to keep from smiling on his way home. It really is unfair how cute Virgil is sometimes.

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

Remy continues his pattern of regularly going to the café to talk with Virgil until closing time. As the days go by, it's hard to deny how much of a crush he has on Virgil. Even the smallest smile directed at him will make his heart skip a beat and when Virgil laughs? Remy's gone, unable to focus on anything but that sound.

Because of this, he has managed to become even more flirtatious than how he usually acts, greeting Virgil most of the time with some kind of pun or pick-up line and leaving the café with blown kisses, winks, and cheeky grins. For the most part, Virgil responds in kind or just smirks fondly at him.

Honestly? It has Remy absolutely elated.

"Hey, babes. How's my favorite barista doing?" Remy asks as he enters the café one night, grinning when Virgil snorts softly, looking pleased to see him.

"I swear you only like me for the coffee." Virgil says teasingly and Remy plays off of that, gasping over-dramatically and throwing the back of his hand up to his forehead in a way Roman's done several times.

"Oh, my poor heart! How could you say such a thing?" Remy leans against the counter and sighs dramatically. He squeaks when something flicks his shoulder, but the sound of Virgil's laughter halts any complaints he might have.

"Oh, shush. I know you're not just here for the coffee." Virgil says with a grin once they stop laughing. "You're here for my dazzling personality." The words are said with an air of confidence similar to how Roman would say such a line, but also with sarcasm in a way that's uniquely Virgil.

"Obviously, babes," Remy says, leaning forward on his elbows and resting his chin on his hands. "Now, about that coffee?"

Virgil laughs at that, shaking their head with fond exasperation. They turn to make Remy's usual order while Remy fishes the money out of his wallet.

The night continues as it usually would, with them talking and enjoying each other's company during the breaks in between customers. At closing time, Remy gets a burst of confidence to take Virgil's hand again, this time bringing it up to his lips and brushing a soft kiss against their knuckles.

Virgil's eyes widen and their face goes red, but an amused smile spreads across their face. Remy winks at them, chuckling at the darkening of their blush.

"Until next time, babes." Remy says, squeezing their hand once before letting go of it, relishing in the way Virgil's breath hitches at the pet name.

"Remy!" Virgil calls out right as Remy gets to the door, causing him to pause and turn to look at them. Virgil gives a shy grin before blowing a kiss at Remy, who mimes catching it on pure instinct. "See ya later, Rem." Remy nods with a grin before leaving the café, already unable to wait until the next time he sees them again.

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

Over the course of them getting to know each other, Virgil's slowly realizing that they want to get a tattoo of some kind, even sketching up some rough designs for one should they decide to go for it.

"Virgil, are you alright?" Logan asks, looking at Virgil with concern. "You've been a bit distracted." Roman nods, a similar concerned expression on his face.

"Yeah, I've just been thinking about something." Virgil says, giving an apologetic look that they've been spacey today. "I think I want to get a tattoo." They admit, causing Roman to brighten and Logan to look at them with mild surprise.

"And you're sure about this, Virgil?" Logan asks, looking at them in that way he does when he's trying to analyze someone.

"Yup." Virgil says, popping the p. "I've been thinking about it for a few weeks now and I have a vague idea of what I'd want and where, so I'm pretty sure."

Logan seems to find what he's looking for since he nods and lets Roman take over the conversation. "If you're looking for recommendations on tattoo artists, I could hook you up," Roman says with a grin. He's got several beautifully-made tattoos himself so Virgil has no reason not to trust his judgment in this instance.

"Sure, that'd be great." Virgil says and Roman grins at them.

"Okay, so, most of my tattoos were done by the same person and I think you'd really get on well with him! See this one?" Roman raises the sleeve of his shirt up to show a rendition of the rose from Beauty and the Beast. "He did this one and look how great it turned out!"

Virgil leans forward a bit to look at it, a bit awed by how smooth the lines are and how well it's been inked. "Yeah, it does look great, Ro. So, should I get my tattoo done by him? You seem to trust him a lot."

"I think you should, but it's up to you. It's your tattoo after all. However, I can give you the number of his tattoo parlor so you can call and make an appointment." Roman pulls out his phone and looks quizzically at Virgil, who just nods. Roman grins and starts typing something before Virgil's phone buzzes in their pocket.

"There. Trust me. He's a really good artist and don't worry about being nervous. I definitely was for my first tattoo but he's also really great at easing any fears you might have." Roman says and Virgil gives a small smile at that.

"Alright. Thank you, Ro." Virgil leans back in their seat, feeling relieved that they at least have a tattoo artist to look into now, without having to do hours of research into it like they'd been planning. Sure, they're still going to be cautious about the whole thing but since Roman's had several tattoos from the guy that turned out well, it seems like it might not be a bad idea to go to this one.

"Anytime, my dear compatriot! Now, let me tell you about the surprise I've got planned for Dee…" Roman starts talking and Virgil's content to sit back and listen to Roman's idea, Logan already knowing about the date as he's in on it.

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

Virgil does end up calling and making an appointment with the guy Roman recommended, just a basic consultation to see if it really is a good idea getting their tattoo done there. So, on their next day off from the café, they find themselves outside a tattoo parlor that's actually rather close to the café now that they think about it. Virgil just shrugs and goes inside the building, feeling a bit antsy about the idea of getting a tattoo now that they're actually here.

The receptionist smiles at them brightly. "Please, have a seat. He's almost done with his current appointment."

Virgil nods and pulls out their phone, scrolling idly through Tumblr until they hear an excited gasp, causing them to look up in confusion. Their eyes widen at the sight of the person in front of them, their mind going back to realize that they never did find out what Remy did for a job.

"Virgil, babes! What are you doing in my neck of the woods?" Remy asks with a bright smile, figuring that Roman had something to do with it. Roman did tell him that he'd recommended him to a new customer, after all.

Virgil chuckles a bit sheepishly, "I decided I wanted to get a tattoo. I didn't know you worked here…" Virgil says and Remy smiles softly at them, understanding that they're feeling a bit nervous about this.

"Well, come on in, sugar, and we can discuss what kind of tattoo you want." Remy says, his voice going a bit more professional. "Clearly, I'm the best around or you wouldn't have come to me." Remy winks, hoping to make Virgil relax a bit.

It seems to work as Virgil snorts and rises from their seat, following Remy to a room set aside especially for consultations. The walls are covered in examples of tattoos that Remy's done, ranging from simple outlines to large sleeves full of color and detail.

Remy sits down and gestures for Virgil to do the same, giving them a soft smile. "So, darling, do you have an idea of what kind of tattoo you'd like?" Remy asks, curious since Virgil's never mentioned having nor wanting to have a tattoo to him before.

Virgil nods and pulls out a notebook. "Yeah, I've actually sketched a few ideas out." Virgil gives a sheepish look, causing Remy to shake his head barely.

"Don't be nervous, hun. You're not the first one who's brought in sketches before. Now let me see them. Is there one in particular you feel like you're wanting?" Remy says in a soft, calm tone, smiling reassuringly at them.

Virgil's shoulders relax and they open the notebook, flicking through a few pages before stopping and holding out the notebook for Remy to take. Remy looks down at the page, a smirk spreading across his face at the purple thundercloud design. Actually, now that he looks closer, the main part of the purple is actually a galaxy pattern, but it still doesn't look like it's out of his range.

"Ooh, this is real pretty, doll." Remy says, looking back up at Virgil. "So, is this the one you want?" Virgil nods, looking faintly nervous still. "Don't worry, darling. This is hardly a challenge for me. Listen to me for a moment." Remy starts to explain what Virgil needs to know about the actual appointment, figuring that Virgil's too keyed up for it be today. He goes over how long the session would be, how much it would cost, etc. All the important things.

"So, you still sure about this, doll?" Remy asks, giving Virgil the opportunity to back out if they're too anxious about it. He would not want his Virgil to regret anything like this if he could be the one to prevent it from happening.

"I am. I want the tattoo." Virgil says, their voice a lot more certain now that Remy's explained everything.

Remy smiles and shuts the notebook. "Alright, babes. Mind if I hold onto this so I can get a stencil ready for you?" Virgil shakes their head and Remy sets the notebook on his desk, standing up and helping Virgil to their feet, squeezing their hand softly.

"Make an appointment with the receptionist before you go, alright, darling?" Remy brings Virgil's hands to his lips, brushing a kiss across their knuckles. "And I'll likely be seeing you tomorrow night, you do work then, right?"

Virgil nods, a smile on their face at the gesture. "Yeah. I'll see you then, Rem." Virgil says, getting a strangely confident look on their face before they lean up and peck Remy's cheek softly. "Bye, Remy." Virgil leaves the room and Remy laughs softly once they're gone, his heart fluttering in his chest.

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

Virgil makes an appointment with the receptionist for the following week before going out and sitting in their car, pulling their phone out of their pocket. 'I'm coming over.' They text Declan, quickly receiving an okay that has them pulling out of the parking lot and heading over to their brother's house.

Once they arrive, they head up and go inside, strolling into the living room where Declan is curled up on the couch with Roman on one side and Logan on the other, an arm around them both. Which is exactly what Virgil had expected when they'd sent their brother the text.

Virgil playfully narrows their eyes at Roman, who just grins at them, feeling like he knows why they're there. "Hey there, emo nightmare. How was the appointment?" Roman says, entirely too cheekily for Virgil's liking.

"You knew, didn't you? That the Remy from the café was the same tattoo artist you were recommending to me?" Virgil says, crossing their arms and mock-glaring at Roman, no heat in the expression at all. After all, it's not like they mind spending more time with Remy. They just want to tease Roman a bit.

"Sure did, storm cloud!" Roman says with a grin, "Or at least, I was pretty sure I did." Roman looks like he would shrug if he weren't pressed so close up against Declan. "Why? Afraid that your crush is the one that'd be giving you a tattoo?"

Virgil scowls slightly at the teasing tone, "Of course not. But what have we said about you playing matchmaker?"

Roman just chuckles. "You'll be thanking me later."

Virgil huffs at how sure Roman is at that, but… He's not exactly wrong is he? Though they didn't really need his help to get closer to Remy, it would've happened eventually.

"Wait, what is this about a tattoo?" Declan asks, looking a bit confused but mostly curious. He knows that Virgil's wanted a tattoo for a long while but they've always been too anxious to actually go through with it.

"I decided I wanted to get one." Virgil says with a shrug. They pull out their phone and open up a picture they'd taken of the sketch they gave Remy. "This is the one I'm getting."

Declan looks at it and Roman leans closer to get a peek at the screen. "It looks good. And you're sure that Remy's a proficient tattoo artist?" Declan says, sounding a bit worried.

Virgil just smiles and is about to answer when Roman speaks up, "Most of my tattoos were done by him, Dee." Declan thinks that over for a second before nodding slowly.

"So, yes. He can be trusted to do a good job." Virgil adds.

"Okay. But V?" Declan asks, looking curious at them, a teasing glint in his eye. Virgil just tilts their head and Declan smirks. "When are you actually going to ask the guy out?"

Virgil groans, flopping onto the couch beside Roman. "I dunno. Soon, I guess?" Virgil shrugs and Roman gasps excitedly.

"Ooh, I know! You should ask him out after he does your tattoo!" Roman suggests, looking far-too-excited to help Virgil with their love life.

"Maybe." Virgil shrugs, thinking it over. That doesn't actually sound like a bad idea if they can go through with it. Roman looks appeased at the maybe, snuggling further into Declan's side. The conversation shifts to something else, leaving Virgil mulling over their decision.

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

Virgil swears that time slowed down on purpose between the consultation and the actual appointment just to mess with them. But once the week is over, it feels like it flew by in a flash.

Shortly after lunch, they're once again at the tattoo parlor, ready for the long hours ahead. They pull out their phone while they wait for Remy to finish up the appointment before them, which has the benefit of distracting them from their nerves a bit.

All too soon, they're following Remy into the main room of the tattoo parlor, feeling both nervous and excited, which Remy seems to sense as he gives them a soft smile.

"If you decide it's too much, we can just do the outline today and do the coloring another night, alright, babes?" Remy asks, setting a hand on Virgil's shoulder.

The warmth of his hand comforts Virgil and they nod. "Yeah. I'll let you know if that happens, but for now, I want to get it over with."

Remy laughs and heads over to their tools. "A good mindset to have! Mind taking your jacket off and having a seat for me?" Remy says as he double-checks that everything's ready to go.

Virgil nods and shrugs out of his jacket, sitting down in the chair and watching Remy for a moment. Remy pulls on a fresh pair of gloves and turns around, freezing for a moment at the sight of Virgil in a black tank top. Damn… Virgil's more muscled than their hoodie gives them credit for…

Remy shakes his head, snapping into a more professional attitude. There's time to be gay for Virgil later when he doesn't have to worry about doing his actual job. Virgil smirks slightly at the look and watches as Remy sterilizes the area and puts an initial outline on their upper arm. Remy double-checks that it looks the way Virgil wants it to before beginning to ink the tattoo.

It hurts. Virgil had expected that, of course, but it's a bit different from being mentally prepared for it and actually feeling it. Remy winces sympathetically as Virgil hisses at the pain. "So, what's the inspiration behind this design?" Remy asks.

"So, when Ro and I were kids, he would rope me into playing princes with him and we came up with these designs as the emblems of our two kingdoms and the main inspiration of one of his nicknames for me. We'd go on all sorts of adventures together." Virgil says with a fond smile, "One time…" They start telling a story of one of these adventures, getting so lost in telling the story that they're not thinking about the pain anymore, letting it become something they can easily ignore.

Remy smiles once he realizes this and at how cute the story is. It's exactly how he would have pictured Roman acting as a kid.

The outline takes about an hour to complete, but with Virgil's storytelling, it feels like it flew by. "Okay. Outline's finished." Remy says once Virgil wraps up a story, snickering at the surprised expression on their face. "Want to take a small break before we start the coloring?"

Virgil nods and Remy sits back, grinning at them. "So I'm assuming Roman told you to come here?"

"He did. He was super excited that I'm getting a tattoo and suggested I come here almost immediately."

Remy chuckles softly. "Yeah, he told me he'd recommended me to someone. Didn't think for a second it'd be you, but it clicked when I saw you and from how smug he'd been on the phone."

Virgil rolls their eyes, a faint smile on their face. They talk for a little while longer before Remy sits up and tilts his head at Virgil. "So, you ready to get the color started?" Virgil nods and Remy stands up, going to get the coloring set up before getting into position. "Once again, if you need a break, don’t hesitate to ask."

"Okay," Virgil says and Remy starts working, causing Virgil to wince at the pain, but it's not as bad as before. They'd read that for some the coloring is the worst part, but they're glad that it's not for them at least this time.

Remy starts asking Virgil questions, some having short answers, like what their favorite hot drink is, and some requiring a full story to answer properly. It has Virgil so distracted that when Remy pulls back, saying that they're done, Virgil can't quite believe it. How did all that time pass by like it was nothing?

Remy chuckles at their expression and goes to put the tool away, coming back over and cleaning the tattoo gently. "You want to see it before I wrap it up, babes?" Remy asks and Virgil nods quickly. Remy smiles at their enthusiasm and takes their hand, helping them to their feet and over to a mirror on the wall.

The tattoo looks perfect. There's a pretty galaxy effect ranging from pink to purple to indigo in the center bit of the thundercloud but the rest is a softer purple. It's exactly what Virgil wanted. "Woah… This is beautiful, Remy." Virgil says, their voice awed and soft.

Remy smiles, feeling a swirl of warmth at seeing Virgil so pleased with his work. "Thank you, babes. Now, let me wrap it up and tell you a few things."

Virgil lets Remy lead them away from the mirror and back to the chair. Remy makes sure that the tattoo's cleaned before putting a bandage over it and wrapping it up, explaining what Virgil will need to do to take care of the tattoo until it's fully healed.

"And then you'll be good to go, darling," Remy says and Virgil smiles shyly at him, Roman's suggestion coming back to them.

"Thank you, Remy," Virgil says earnestly. "I was hoping to ask you something once the tattoo was done…" They trail off, a bit anxious, looking away from Remy.

"Which is, sweetness?" Remy asks, setting his hand on theirs, giving them the time they need to regain whatever confidence this question needs.

"Would you go on a date with me?" Virgil blurts out. It's like a bandaid, you gotta rip it off.

Remy chuckles softly and brushes his fingers against Virgil's cheek. "You beat me to it, babes. I was going to ask you if you'd like to come to dinner with me tonight." Remy says, his voice soft and affectionate. Enough so that it makes Virgil melt where they're standing.

Virgil smiles softly at Remy, causing his breath to catch at how pretty that expression is. "Darling, tell me if this is too soon, but I kinda want to kiss you…"

"Please…" Virgil whispers and Remy exhales softly, brushing a bit of Virgil's bangs out of their eyes before leaning forward and kissing them softly.

The kiss is short but sweet and full of promise. As he pulls back, Remy slides a hand down Virgil's arm and takes their hand, entangling their fingers together.

"Come on, Virgil. Let's go get that dinner." Remy says. "You told me so many stories today, I think it's only fair that I tell you some of my own."

"I'd love that," Virgil says and they leave the tattoo parlor, hand-in-hand.

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

Tagging @sleepless-in-starbucks since it’s Remy-centric ^^

Sanders Sides Taglist (lemme know if you want to be added/removed!): @anuninspiredpoet, @echomist13, @theresneverenoughfandoms @fiive-second-cookies @sevencrashing, @virgil-is-verge @fandermom @evilmuffin @fairytailtwists

Non-Sides Fics Taglist from the Fanders Taglist:

@starlightlogan @katesattic @potterlover394 @imaflashcard @anonymouseandkeyboard @k9cat @patpots-blog @ocotopushugs @justmyshitandmoreshit @patchworkofstars @blaikleethepanagender @thats-so-crash @maximum-fander @evilmuffin @trashypansexual @runyou-cleverboy-andremember @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2 @beetlequail @angered-turtle @lemonyellowlogic @analogical-mess @max-is-tired

#sanders sides #sleepxiety #sleep sanders #virgil sanders #roloceit #roman sanders #logan sanders #janus sanders #nb!virgil #my posts #coffee shop au #tattoo shop au #i've had this done since the sixteenth but couldn't come up with a title #but i like this one so yeah #^^

264 notes · View notes

silvia7272 · 5 years ago

Text

ML Salt Songfic ~ 1 Good For You

I actually forgot about this, but I think I can put it out now considering you’ve all read about/seen my OC Rosina, if you haven’t it’s on my page. Anyway, I hope you enjoy and like the song.

Also, this is an AU of my AU? I guess that’s what I’m calling it yeah. So, it’s not canon and it never was going to be canon, when I heard this song it just inspired me to write this and I could’ve done it without my OC, but I wanted to include her. Well anyway, I hope you like it.

Word Count: 2553

Tags: @queenmj10, @fangirl39, @animegirlweeb, @northernbluetongue, @daminett4life, @raisuke06, @indecisive-mess-named-me, @luleck, @themamaravenclaw, @emmathedestroyer, (I know you wanted it) if you wish to be tagged all you have to do is say. Sorry, it’s different but this was the reason I started posting in the first place.

***

Akuma Alert! Akuma Alert!

The alarms were blaring in the park, and yet no one could move from their place.

Because the Akuma was right in front of them.

It was Marinette, she had been Akumatized. But it seemed somewhat unusual, she didn’t look any different, but they had seen the purple mist cover her, maybe she was like Chameleon?

So then why did it feel like it had changed?

Adrien couldn’t tell, and he needed to transform into Chat Noir, but he couldn’t just leave his friends to deal with the Akuma alone? Right?

Lila didn’t think that, she tried to make her escape, but a musical note blocked her way. She really was Akumatized!

Her face was contorted with pain as the pink mask covered her face, she was trying to break free!

“C’mon Marinette, you can do it,” He shouted, He tried to reach out, but someone pulled him back.

“Are you crazy, she’s been Akumatized she’ll hurt you, it’s what she’s always done to us. She’s already gotten her other friends hurt because of that transformation!?” Lila spoke, gripping his arm like a lifeline. But it was true, Rosina, Kagami, Chloé and Luka all tried to reach out to her mid-transformation, but they all fell to the ground and no one was brave enough to check on them.

“Shut up!” It was the first time Marinette had spoken since she had been Akumatized, tears were raining down her face, but the blond couldn’t tell if she was talking to the class or Hawkmoth.

“Just shut up, stop lying already, just stop hurting me” She had to be talking about Hawkmoth, she must still be fighting it.

But not everyone thought that.

“Come on Marinette, for once just admit you were wrong already. It’s getting really tiring.” Alya rolled her eyes while reciting how that was the only reason, she got Akumatized in the first place, the piece of paper she was holding had been a music draft of Lila’s that she was going to throw away in the first place.

Everyone knew Marinette didn’t write songs, she only made clothes and baked treats, that the class wasn’t provided with the past few days, and Adrien did think it was strange that she had a music draft, she probably found it and would’ve returned it to its rightful owner.

Why was she so upset about it anyway?

But she stopped, she lifted her head up, her face full of shock.

“You… Really still think I’m lying?” She sounded so disheartened, and Adrien would’ve sent her a ‘don’t rock the boat anymore’ look but she didn’t even spare him a glance.

Weren’t they friends?

“Of course, Lila’s so talented at making song lyrics so she had someone write them down for her. And now you’re holding onto a draft claiming it to be your own, that’s pathetic, even for someone like Chloé never mind you. Just stop being so pathetic and admit it. You’re jealous of Lila and everything she could do for us while you did nothing but whine like a child!” Adrien thought that the last line was a bit overkill, but he wasn’t about to say anything.

But all of that struggling, all of that resistance had completely vanished from Marinette. Why had she given up? Why hadn’t she continued fighting?

“I’ll show you my Melody” It was a whisper that only Adrien was able to pick up. Melody? What did she mean by that?

But he didn’t have time to think of that before everything in his vision turned white. He couldn’t feel his body. He couldn’t move… He couldn’t…

***

“Adrien? Yo Adrien, wake up man” He groaned as he opened his eyes.

“Nino? Is everyone alright? Where are we? What happened? Where’s Marinette?” Nino put his hands up startled.

“Whoa easy there one at a time dude. Anyway, yeah, we’re fine, we don’t know it looks like a white void, Marinette happened and we don’t know”

He couldn’t believe it. When he took in the view, it was devoid of life, it was devoid of colour.

It was just white all around him, he didn’t understand it. It reminded him of Pixelator.

“Oh Adrien I’m so scared, what are we going to do?” He couldn’t shake her arm off so had to relent, everyone around him tried to console the girl.

“Stick together, there should be an exit around here, but I’ll post it on the Ladyblog, that way Ladybug and Chat Noir will come.” He sighed, knowing that his Lady would be all alone for this one.

“Hey, my phones not working!” The others then tried to get their phones. No result.

“Oh no we’re trapped in here and no one is going to save us! What do we do!?” Everyone was panicking, but what could he do, if Chat Noir were to show up now, they would all get suspicious.

Nathaniel wasn’t doing great either. But he stepped back and heard a crunch.

“Huh?” He looked down and found a note.

“What’s that?” Max noticed the discovery and went over to Nath to see what it was.

“It says [The Song Of Truth Is Your Only Escape In This Labyrinth] What does that mean?”

“And why is it on a music sheet?” A simple question they all couldn’t process.

♫I’ll never know why I ever wanted to restore my friendship with you!?♫ The voice seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at the same time. But he knew who it was.

“Marinette stop this please, we can get through this together” He shouted, he had to get her to stop being so angry.

♫Silence. I am Marilody, Marinette is no more. And you will all be punished for your lies and harassment towards your students! My friends!♫ It was there that she revealed herself.

If it wasn’t for her hair and dress, she would’ve been camouflaged with the background. But she didn’t look like a regular Akuma, no.

Her skin was pure white, along with the white flowing dress she wore. It was embroidered with musical notes, similar doodles he had seen previously on her sketchbook. It was shoulderless with the same pattern, and her hair was the same colour but in a small ponytail to the side. Her eyes were hidden by a giant accessory in the shape of a musical note resembling a hat.

If Ladybug didn’t already occupy his heart, Adrien might be thinking Marinette was more than a friend.

“Marinette please, you’re stronger than this! Don’t let Hawkmoth-”

♫Hawkmoth isn’t controlling me! The one who made me become Marilody is myself. And I will show you the truth of what I can and have done for you selfish people, my Melody will be performed before you and you will see the truth!♫

They heard the sound of a guitar being played. And notes in the air with a red dot flowing through it.

“What’s going on?” Rose and Juleka huddled together along with Ivan, Mylène, Nino and Alya scared. He was scared. He had the power to protect them but couldn’t use it. You could sense the irony looming over the boy’s head.

♫So you found a place where the grass is greener And you jumped the fence to the other side♫

The class was treated to a front-row seat of a scene that had just happened mere moments ago. When they were at the park.

Just what was Marinette’s power?

♫Is it good? Are they giving you a world I could never provide?♫

The scene cut to Lila being crowded around by everyone while Marinette was alone.

But she was still smiling. Even if it seemed fake.

♫Well I hope you’re proud of your big decision Yeah, I hope it’s all that you want and more♫

They saw the past of when Marinette was always handing out free pastries to them, wearing that happy and bright smile on her face, they had forgotten what it had looked like.

Because it was never directed towards them anymore.

They had forgotten.

Everything she had done for them.

♫Now you’re free, from the agonizing life you were living before~♫

Then it changed to everyone leaving her for Lila, she was telling a tale of her time in Achu, Rose couldn’t stop gushing about Prince Ali. He thought the lies wouldn’t hurt anyone.

♫And you say what you need to say So that you get to walk away It would kill you to have to stay trapped when you’ve got something new♫

They couldn’t move.

♫Well I’m sorry you had it rough And I’m sorry I’m not enough♫

Everything single thing Marinette had done for them had flashed in front of them.

♫Thank God ‘they rescued’ you♫

But then Lila appeared, and everything she said was almost out of a fairy-tale, it was amazing, they wanted to hear more. They needed to hear more of her adventures.

♫So you got what you always wanted? So you got your dream come true? Good for you Good for you, you, you!♫

They were addictive. They couldn’t get enough.

♫Got a taste of a life so perfect So you did what you had to do Good for you Good for you!♫

Marinette had vanished from view but the scenes were still playing. The blond needed to find a way to free himself. He needed to get Plagg to cause a mini-explosion, to cause a distraction maybe. Anything! But he couldn’t get to him in time. Because he saw someone who he hadn’t seen since at the park.

“Rosina?” They all turned their heads to their new red-haired friend. But Adrien was able to notice, the Cat Miraculous had certain side effects he was giddy to have but that’s not the point. Instead of a black pupil, it was a musical note.

“She’s under Marinette’s control” They all gasped, horrified at what had happened to their friend. They believed her being near Marinette was bad, never mind this!

♪Does it cross your mind to be slightly sorry?♪

She really was under her spell! Adrien desperately wanted to shake her awake and free her, but now his arms couldn’t move.

♬Do you even care that you might be wrong?♬

Kagami!? Oh god, his two friends were under Marinette’s friends. He watched as they circled each and every one of his friends.

♬Was it fun?♬

They flinched.

♪Well, I hope you had a blast while you dragged me along~♪

They started to walk away when there was a whine from Lila, they were still able to turn their heads and saw Chloé, she kept prodding Lila as she cried, he wasn’t able to tell if they were even fake tears anymore.

♩And you say what you need to say! And you play who you need to play! And if somebody’s in your way! Crush them and leave them behind!♩

Even if they wanted to help Lila they couldn’t. Their legs wouldn’t let them. It was like they were in quicksand, only they weren’t sinking into the ground, they were sinking into their sorrow and sadness they were feeling. If Marinette wasn’t already Akumatized Hawkmoth would be having a field day.

♮Well I guess if I’m not of use Go ahead, you can cut me loose♮

And then they saw it.

A scene that shocked them.

♮Go ahead now, I won’t mind♮

If her power was to sing the truth.

And all of the scenes had been of the truth.

They felt sick to their stomach.

Then the scene of Lila cornering Marinette in the bathroom must’ve been true as well.

If Lila had been so kind to everyone why were the words [Soon you won’t have any friends left at all. Trust me. You will lose your friends and wind up all alone] written underneath, they couldn’t think anymore, just look.

♫I’ll shut my mouth and I’ll let you go Is that good for you? Would that be good for you, you, you?♫

Some couldn’t believe, they kept screaming how it had to be wrong, how it might just be Marinette’s doing. But the more it came on, the more they started to believe.

♭I’ll just sit back while you run the show Is that good for you? Would that be good for you, you, you?♭

Just like how they should’ve believed Marinette, and they had only just realised their mistake.

♯All I need is some time to think♯ Max. He never needed time to think, he was the smartest one in the class.

♭(I’ll shut my mouth and I’ll let you go)♭

♯But the boat is about to sink♯ Rose. Wasn’t she meant to be the kindest one out of everyone? Why didn’t she give Marinette a chance?

♭(Is that good for you?)♭

♯Can’t erase what I wrote in ink♯ Alix. She had written some things on her desk once… Twice… She had lost count.

♭(Would that be good for you, you, you?)♭

♯Tell me how could I change the story?♯ Lila. She had been caught, and she needed to spin her story. Fast!

♯All the words that I can’t take back♯ Alya. All those mean comments claiming Marinette was a bully. She was the bully. Weren’t they friends? Besties? She didn’t deserve to be called anything like that.

♭(I’ll just sit back while you run the show)♭

♯Like a train coming off the track♯ Kim. He wanted this pain to end, he should’ve trusted her, she had been the one to console everyone before an Akuma had gotten to them. And they treat her like this?

♭(Is that good for you?)♭

♯‘Cause the rails and my bones all crack♯ Nino. They had been childhood friends! How could he think she was lying!?

♭(For You!)♭

♯I’ve got to find a way to♯

♯Stop it, stop it! Just let me out!♯ Adrien. If only she had told him Lila had threatened her, if only he had done more, taking more of the brunt, if only- no he had to stop, he had to accept it was all his fault. He could’ve stopped it, but he was afraid he’d never get to see his friends again. He had to accept that he had hurt Marinette so much she had been Akumatized. He had to accept that- maybe he couldn’t save her, after all, you could never really trust someone who had betrayed you… Right?

♭So you got what you always wanted So you got your dream come true Good for you Good for you, you, you♭

They were sorry.

But images of Marinette gone from their life terrified them.

♭Got a taste of a life so perfect Now you say that you’re someone new Good for you Good for you Good for you Good! For! You!♭

But what would it matter? She probably would never want to speak to them ever again.

♭So you got what you always wanted!♭

What had they done?

They had seen the truth.

All of it.

But they didn’t have time to dwell on that, because as they continued to watch the scenes in front of them, they couldn’t help but feel slightly tired. Only a bit… Maybe if they had a small nap it would… Help.

♫The truth will come out… There will be no more lies for anyone… Anymore♫

***

End. I changed a word for Lila because I thought it would fit better. They, in the song, are Lila and a bit of Adrien. Originally, I wasn’t going to make a two-parter, however, if anyone has an idea I could use, and then a song as well, I will consider continuing this to become a two-shot. Or even if someone wants to continue this? Feel free to do so, just tag me, please.

Well, I hope you enjoyed it and I hope you have a nice day.

youtube

Edit 1: This is how Marilody looks like, I thought she’d look a bit more fashionable since you know, Marinette. and since she has more control hawkmoth didn't design her.

452 notes · View notes

harrisonstories · 5 years ago

Photo

NOTE: This a beautiful article by Paul Theroux which I thought was apt for today. There aren’t many writers who I feel “get” George, but Theroux is an exception.

George Harrison - Something in the way he moved us

As Martin Scorsese's portrait of George Harrison is released, celebrated novelist Paul Theroux looks at the man who went from mop-top to mystic

It is a happy thought that the sweetest music arises from an untroubled heart. As though from the sky, here is this strong and contented virtuoso – George Harrison, say – whom we envy for being strong, someone supremely contented. What a lucky man to be able to create such harmony and to penetrate our soul; to make us feel better, to help heal us and ease our minds. Isn't it pretty to think so?

The truth is usually the opposite of this. The art that is indestructible and always fresh never comes easy. Its source is typically uncertain or bleak, sometimes harrowing, the pure notes quavering over an abyss of shadows between life and death, that mournful place from which the most passionate yearnings take shape in the form of a song, a poem, a story, a harmonious vision. But even as I write this, speaking of the complex process of creation, words and music made of doubt and the divided self, the conflicts that help us to be sane, and the paradox of opposites, I seem to hear someone mutter over my shoulder, "Rock music is about as metaphysical as my Aunt Fanny..."

And yet it seems to me impossible to overestimate the resonant clarity of George Harrison's music – his songs of innocence and experience; or the subtle wisdom of his lyrics. Even as a relative youngster, more than 30 years before his untimely death, in his All Things Must Pass album, he was singing powerfully of transformation, in the title track, and "Art of Dying," and "Beware of Darkness," and "What is Life." He could be as jolly as his ukulele-strumming hero and namesake, George Formby, but as soon as he seizes our attention with his humour and his teasing, he is reminding us – and himself – that we are mortal and all things end.

George at his best was a man dedicated to whittling down his ego; he was not one being but many and he remains an enduring figure of fascination to those of us for whom his music runs through our head, reminding us of better times. It is no wonder he was so passionate: he was himself his own wicked twin. He made no bones about this and, a hater of pomposity in all forms, he expressed it with characteristic downright-ness:

"I have this kind of strange thing," he said, "and I put it down to being a Pisces. Pisces is the sign of two fish. The way I see it is that one half is going where the other half has just been. I was in the West and I was into rock'n'roll, getting crazy, staying up all night and doing whatever was supposed to be the wrong things. That's in conflict with all the right things, which is what I learned through India – like getting up early, going to bed early, taking care of yourself and having some sort of spiritual quality to your life. I've always had this conflict."

He was at odds with himself, but who isn't? In that respect "living proof of all life's contradictions," as he put it, he resembles most of us. We recognise him as a kindred soul in his contradictions – and though his life was lived on a vast scale, he was unusually truthful, and in his songs much more explicit than we dare to be. He made it his mission to explore his contradictions in his own way, through his music. So, to say that he was one of the great musicians of his time – one of the most innovative guitarists ever, most imaginative songwriters – is to give only part of the story. "The quiet one," is the stereotypical description of the man – but he was on fire within. To make music that mattered over the years, to bring renewal with each work, he seemed determined to burn out one self after another.

"He had karma to work out," his widow, Olivia, is on the record as saying. "He wasn't going come back and be bad. He was going to be good and bad and loving and angry and everything all at once. You know, if someone said to you, 'okay, you can go through your life and you can have everything in five lifetimes, or you can have a really intense one and have it in one, and then you can go and be liberated,' he would have said, 'give me the one, I'm not coming back here.'"

I also think there's a stark difference between "contradiction" and "confusion". He wasn't confused; had he been he would have found it impossible to search and learn with such clear-sightedness. His friend and mentor Ravi Shankar said that George exhibited tyagi, a Sanskrit term for a feeling of non-attachment or renunciation. Shankar wondered how this aspect of enlightenment could have come so clearly to a worldly lad from Liverpool. It doesn't seem odd to me that this thoughtful man came to feel the sense of freedom bordering on exaltation that mendicants experience in non-attachment. But it is a notable, and noble, quality in a rock star to practice it, as George did.

We all feel that we could do a bit better in our lives; in the secret history of this imaginative soul, George was active in pursuing this path. Surely it arose in large part from his having had everything while still young. At 19 or 20 he was on top of the world – inspiring the world to sing and dance. Performing with The Beatles gave him joy – gave us all joy. But he did not see this exuberance as a final fulfilment; the very fact of The Beatles as a musical and financial phenomenon made him doubtful enough to begin to look for a higher meaning, and – after The Beatles – to go on looking. He knew he was living in the material world, but had he been so attached to it he would not have been able to look deeper into it.

Early in his life as a musician, towards the end of the explosive new sound of The Beatles (and much more than music, it was a seismic shift in popular culture), George found his way to India. Through music and meditation, and the mantras that he chanted until the very end of his life, he was drawn to an unselfish, and ultimately a more mystical view of the world. The man who could make a whole stadium rock began to see silence as another ideal. He has described himself as an idle, smirking, doodling student at school, and yet in India he became devout and studious, a reader of the swamis – and notably, of Swami Vivekananda.

What has become apparent in the decade since his death is the uncanny symmetry of George's life – a life lived to the fullest. What might have seemed random or impulsive in him while he lived, is, in retrospect, a pattern, part performance, part pilgrimage.

His saturation in the material world drove him to seek the spirit in things – and so his life seems a series of vanishings and reappearances, journeys there and back, and even the portraits of him that seem iconic are various, a progression of so many faces, his features, his hair, his posture – different in each one. Yet his gaze is unchanged, his eyes telling us that the same soul is inhabiting this body.

All this sounds solemn, but he was a man of subtle and often self-mocking humour. George was interested in many things beside music, and although music was his first love, he was vitalised by travel, movie-making, and car racing. Look at his friends – the Pythons Gilliam and Idle, Jackie Stewart, Billy Preston, Eric Clapton, Bob Dylan, Ravi Shankar: the funniest men on Earth, the fastest, his most brilliant contemporaries in music.

But equal to his passion for music, and his diverse and close friendships, was an overwhelming desire to get back to earth – literally so, to dig, to plant trees, to surround himself with flowers that he himself had grown. The most obvious characteristic of the houses that he built, or bought and fixed up in the course of his life, are the gardens he planned and planted. No matter how extraordinary the houses, the gardens he created around them surpassed the bricks and mortar. In George's case the gardens he made gave him the sense that he was living in isolation, on an island of his own making. "...it's great when I'm in my garden, but the minute I go out the gate I think: 'What the hell am I doing here?'"

"From the day I met him he was defiant," Olivia said, "and so determined that nothing was going to stop him from leaping as far as he could."

She was thinking of his words in the song "Run of the Mill": "How high will you leap?/ Will you make enough for you to reap it?/ Only you'll arrive – at your own made end/ With no one but yourself to be offended/ It's you that decides."

- “Something in the way he moved us”, Independent (Sep. 2011)

#george harrison #olivia harrison #paul theroux #the beatles #ravi shankar #living in the material world #all things must pass #independent #2011

801 notes · View notes

sdottkrames · 4 years ago

Text

It’s Quiet Uptown

@comfortember Prompt 4: Anxiety

Summary: Peter goes to his first big Avenger meeting and is a bit of an anxious boi. Wanda to the rescue.

Notes: I just really want more fics with Peter and all the avengers, ya know? Like, they fill my soul with happiness. So here, have an anxious Peter (sorry, baby) and then some comfort in the form of sweet Wanda. I feel like she deserves a little love.

Also, this is totally inspired by the fact that Elizabeth Olsen lets Chris Evans draw on her hand when he gets anxious, which is the cutest thing 💜

Read it on AO3: Here

Peter was surprised. When he’d been told the team was meeting at the compound, he hadn’t expected to be included in that. He’d barely been made an avenger before he’d crumbled to dust with half of the rest of the world, so could you blame him? But they’d requested he come and meet the whole team. He’d fought alongside most of them in the big battle but never officially met them, and, honestly, Peter was already starstruck.

“Hey, Happy,” he chirped, sliding into the back of the van, bouncing his leg excitedly.

Happy nodded in the rearview mirror, but Peter was used to the “forehead of security” and his gruff nature, so he chatted happily to fill the silence.

“So Mr. Harrington said that I did really well last year in Academic Decathlon, and he wants to talk about making me co captain with MJ this year. MJ didn’t seem opposed. Actually, I think she’s starting to like me. Like, like-like me, you know? I keep finding her looking at me. I’m not entirely sure, though. Ned says that she might just be being MJ, but I kinda get the sense that it’s more.”

Happy smirked slightly in the front seat, and Peter was grateful that the older man didn’t mind his rambling. After rehashing everything going on in his life, Peter turned on some music, and was surprised to see Happy tapping the steering wheel in time with the beat.

They made it to the compound, and Peter happily accepted Tony’s welcome hug.

“How was the drive, Spider-ling,” the older man asked, slinging a casual arm around Peter’s shoulder. Peter leaned into it as they walked down the hallway, Happy trailing behind them.

“Great! Happy actually tapped along to my music, Mr. Stark. I think he’s coming around,” Peter said, shooting the man behind him a grin. He received rolled eyes in response.

Tony chuckled. “I’m sure he is, kid. It took me literal years to get him to warm up to Back in Black.”

“Oh, I love Led Zeppelin,” Peter said, and Tony screeched to a halt.

“You did not just say that.”

Peter just grinned and started walking backwards. “Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t. C’mon. Keep up old man. We can’t be late for my first big Avengers meeting!”

Tony looked at Happy and shook his head. “I swear he’s going to send me to an early grave.”

“Sure, boss. Out of everything that kid does, confusing AC/DC and Led Zeppelin is what will do you in.”

Tony narrowed his eyes. “You know, you have a point.”

“Come on, you slow pokes,” Peter called, halfway down the hall.

He had no trouble finding the room. It’s large, opaque glass doors are embossed with the Avengers logo, making it obvious. As he stared at those heavy glass doors, the enormity of what was happening hit him, and his excitement slowly faded. He was going to meet Natasha Romanoff. Bucky Barnes. Stever Rogers. Bruce Banner. Thor! Everyone.

His fears pinned him to the spot, and he was unable to move to open the door.

“Kid, you okay?” Tony asked, coming up behind him.

Peter swallowed. “Uh...yeah. Yeah.” In slow motion, as if from outside himself, he watched his hand reach to take the handles and open the door. His mouth felt like sandpaper, and his mind was a jumbled mess.

Would they call on him to say something? Was he supposed to contribute ideas? Oh, gosh, what if he said something stupid?

The strange, out-of-body experience continued as Peter walked to a seat with his name in front of it on a neat white card. It was all the way at the end of the table with some newer Avengers, and his heart started to race even more as he realized Tony would be clear at the opposite end of the table.

Peter looked down as he sat and closed his eyes, trying to get his breathing under control. He could do this. No need to freak out. He was sitting next to Falcon. Falcon was nice. And the girl on the other side- Wanda, he remembered- was nice. It’s fine. He’s fine.

He looked up, but the sight of Bruce Banner talking to Steve Rogers made it clear very quickly he was very much not fine, and he looked back down so fast his neck cracked.

“Hey,” an accented voice called. He looked over to meet Wanda’s eyes. “First meeting?” she asked. Peter nodded, not trusting his voice. “You’re going to be just fine. I was terrified the first time I met them all, too. Well, met them for real.”

Peter remembered hearing about her powers. She must have had a lot of reason to be scared to meet them all after manipulating their brains. Some of the tightness in his chest loosened at her words and he smiled at her gratefully. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Peter, right?”

“Yeah. Wanda?”

She smiled. “Yes.” She thought for a moment before reaching into a purse at her feet to pull out a blue, ballpoint pen and offering it to Peter. “Here. I promise I’m not using my powers, but I can tell without them when a brain is being too loud. If it gets too much, go ahead and doodle on my hand. It helps. Steve let me do it my first few meetings, and I still bring the pen just in case.”

Their conversation ended abruptly as Nick Fury stood up, but Peter took the pen and smiled gratefully again. He would have made it through the meeting just fine, feeling much better after his small conversation with Wanda. But then he was asked to introduce himself.

He stood up, hugging his arms to himself, a nervous habit he’s had since childhood. “Hi, I’m Peter. Uh, Spiderman, but nobody else knows that besides you guys and my Aunt. I’m 17, I live in Queens.” He hesitated, before deciding that was probably all they needed to hear. “It’s nice to meet you all,” he said, and awkwardly gave a small wave before sitting down.

He was breathing fast again, overthinking every word that he said, his brain getting “too loud,” as Wanda put it. He jumped slightly as her hand slid into his and she nodded to the pen.

Grateful for the distraction, he uncapped the pen and started drawing. He was no artist, but he could draw basic geometric shapes and soon he was so engrossed in the motion of the pen and ink swishing across her skin that his brain is quiet enough for him to actually pay attention to the rest of the meeting. The hour passed quickly as he drew circles and squares and infinity signs (which he saw somewhere was good for anxiety). He didn’t take his eyes off the smooth motion of the pen until he heard chairs squeak as everybody stood up.

“Thank you,” he murmured to Wanda, putting as much gratitude as he could into his voice as he handed her the pen.

She smiled at him. “Any time. It wasn’t a bother at all. If you ever need it again, I’ll be right here.”

He nodded and started to turn around, but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder. He turned to look at her again. “Welcome to the team,” she said, and Peter couldn’t help but smile at her.

As everyone gathered around to greet him, he forgot what he was so nervous about in the first place. Stars in his eyes replaced the butterflies in his stomach as he shook hands with his childhood heroes.

“Peter, Stark has told me much about you!” Thor boomed, and easily scooped the young boy up in a bear hug which nearly gave Peter a heart attack because Thor (Thor!) is hugging him.

“Okay, Let the kid breathe,” Steve said, shaking Peter’s hand and dispelling any lingering doubts about hard feelings due to Germany.

“N-nice to meet you both, Mr. Rogers, Mr. Thor, sirs,” Peter stammered out.

“Alright, Underoos,” Tony cut in, saving Peter from embarrassing himself. “Have you met everyone? You ready to head to the lab for a couple hours before we get you home?”

Peter nodded and bid goodbye to everyone (Thor promising to come spend more time with him at some point) before he and Tony walked together down the hall to the elevator.

“Everyone was really nice. Thanks for inviting me.”

“You're welcome. I was worried you were gonna bolt at first,” Tony teased.

“I was really nervous,” Peter admitted, looking down. “But Wanda helped.”

“Yeah, she’s a good kid. Like you. I knew you two would get along!”

Peter blushed, pleased at the praise. The elevator opened, and as they headed down to the labs, a thought occurred to him.

“Did you put me and Wanda together on purpose?”

Tony shrugged. “Like I said, I thought she might help you be less nervous around all those stuffy superheroes. I’m glad it worked.”

And Peter’s heart filled with gratitude. His brain is blissfully quiet, he made a new friend, met his childhood heroes, and got to spend time with his Mentor.

Maybe being an Avenger really wouldn’t be that bad!

#comfortember #comfortember 2020 #mine

8 notes · View notes

gumnut-logic · 5 years ago

Text

We’ll Be Home For Christmas 4.5

Title: We’ll be home for Christmas

Day Four – Five Billionaires and No Wives – Part 5 Prologue | 1.1 | 1.2 | 2.1 | 2.2 | 2.3 | 3.1 | 3.2 | 3.3 | 3.4 | 3.5 | 4.1 | 4.2 | 4.3 | 4.4 | 4.5

Author: Gumnut

29 Apr - 11 May 2020

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS

Rating: Teen

Summary: The boys can’t fly home for Christmas, so they have to find another way.

Word count: 4259

Spoilers & warnings: language and so, so much fluff. Science!Gordon. Artist!Virgil, Minor various ships, mostly background. A little angst in this one.

Timeline: Christmas Season 3, I have also kinda ignored the main storyline of Season 3. The boys needed a break, so I gave them one. Post season 3B, before Season 3C cos I started this fic before we saw it.

Author’s note: For @scattergraph. This is my 2019 TAG Secret Santa fic :D

I’ve been staring at this too long and it is late. I hope I don’t regret posting this. Especially as Alan misbehaved and threw an unplanned scene at me.

Many thanks to @i-am-chidorixblossom @scribbles97 and @onereyofstarlight for reading through various bits, fielding my many wibblies, and for all their wonderful support.

Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

-o-o-o-

He didn’t sleep long.

Virgil was woken so they could drag him onto A Little Lightning. Scott marshalled him out of his wet clothes, into a shower and quietly redressed his healing incisions. Lunch was demanded and a sandwich shoved into his hand. Coffee was denied him and orange juice substituted.

He found himself dozing at the table.

Mel and Sam were invited for lunch aboard the boat. Gordon was busy being host, but never quite seemed to be very far from Virgil.

Sam mentioned the whales several times, but Gordon shut him down and at no point did he have a chance to corner Virgil.

Virgil felt sorry for the cetacean biologist. He must remember to talk to him at a later time. Once he had finished processing today himself.

The whole experience was otherworldly. He didn’t quite know how to express it. It was as if the music had shape and form, his mind’s eye producing a kaleidoscope of imagery sculpted by sound.

And it meant something.

He knew it meant something, but he couldn’t decipher most of it. Bits were missing, the shapes fragmented, but he did feel the emotion that travelled with it. Multidimensional, the song communicated in a way he wasn’t capable of fully comprehending.

“Virgil, you should go to bed.”

Scott again.

“Mmm-hmm.”

“C’mon.” A hand landed gently on his shoulder.

“Mmm...” Musical shapes danced in his mind and he realised there was colour. Greens, violets and yellows. Patches torn from an unseen spectrum. It was frustrating to not be able to pull it all into focus and understanding.

“Virgil?”

It would be interesting to try and paint. Yes, maybe that would be a way to understand it better. He visualised forming those shapes with pencil and brush. Three dimensions...no four. They shifted according to time.

Hell. So confusing.

But he could try.

“Virgil? You with me?”

Huh? He blinked and looked up at concerned blue eyes.

A sigh. “Just thinking.”

“I can see that. You need rest.”

He did, yes, but he also needed to think, to doodle, to work it all out. He caught Scott’s eyes. “Sit with me?”

A blink. “Of course.”

There followed farewells, Virgil pre-occupied throughout. At some point Mel kissed him on the cheek, but he barely registered it. Sam said something but was interrupted by Gordon. Virgil felt completely spaced and somewhere at the back of his thoughts he was embarrassed at his lack of response and manners.

Scott didn’t leave his side.

Gordon made excuses and apologies.

John was speaking to Eos...which meant their guests must have left. Man, he was out of it. Brain overload.

Alan had concerned blue eyes so much like their eldest brother.

The yacht’s engine starting up scared the living shit out of him. It shattered his mindscape with aural static, those careful shapes disintegrating.

“Hey, hey, Virgil. It’s okay.” Scott had his hand on his arm again.

Virgil’s heart was thudding in his chest. A blink. A calming breath. A moment. He forced calm. “I’m good.”

He was, really. He just had a lot to think about.

“You sure you don’t want to sleep?”

“I’m sure.” But there was something he did want to do. “Come up front with me?”

Scott frowned at him.

“I just want to feel the sun on my face, the wind in my hair.” And get as far away from the engine as possible.

“Sure.” A pause. “But you’re sitting down.”

“Sure.” Virgil pushed himself to his feet.

They found a niche on the bow, enough to sit comfortably with some back support. They could see Gordon frowning at them from the cockpit.

Virgil caught the thought and had to stop himself from laughing out loud. Apparently, he was as much a flyboy as his big brother.

The boat was moving at a reasonable speed, Gordon, no doubt, wanting to get home fast due to the day’s events. That and now they were behind schedule and had quite a long, final stretch to make it before sunset.

Raoul was little more than a smudge on the horizon already. Virgil stared at it a moment before turning and facing the wide ocean ahead of them that ultimately would contain their island. Wind streamed through his hair.

“It will be good to be home.”

Scott didn’t hesitate. “Definitely.”

Virgil snorted. “Missing your ‘bird?”

“Missing land.”

“You spent last night on land.”

“Not the right land.”

Virgil raised an eyebrow at that. “You seemed quite happy with at least one of the inhabitants.”

That prompted a smile on his big brother’s face. “Fishing for details?”

“Some. Not too much.”

Scott turned to him and shrugged. “It was fun. Mel is an interesting woman.”

Half a smile. “I’ll give her that much.” A curious eyebrow. “See it going any further?”

Scott’s expression was thoughtful. “Maybe.”

“Invite her over for Christmas.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Why not?”

“Late notice.”

“You have a Thunderbird.”

That thoughtfulness increased and a slight smile curved his brother’s lips.

“Invite Sam and Liam while you’re at it. We owe them cake. Alan ate theirs.” And Virgil owed Sam an explanation.

That frown returned. “You sure?”

“Sure. The more the merrier.” A snort. “Hell, have them over for a few days. It will give Melissa the chance to check out our ecosystem, she’ll be ecstatic.” A pause and then quietly. “It will give me a chance to speak to Sam about...” A fractured image came to mind and he realised it meant whale. An indrawn breath. Oh god. One concept. He understood something. He could not reproduce it. It wasn’t just sound. It was something else. A combination of visual and auditory. How? His throat froze up. Hell.

“Virgil?”

“I...” The concept tantalised him. His fingers itched for his pencils, his paints and his piano all at once. How?

How?

He swallowed and realised his heart rate was up again. “I...need my tablet...and stylus.”

Scott stared at him a moment before standing up and making his way aft.

It was a sign of how preoccupied Virgil was that his tablet appeared almost immediately in his hands.

He didn’t hesitate. His fingers pulled up his drawing app, his stylus connected with the surface and lines appeared.

Lines. Curves.

Shapes.

Interwoven.

No.

Not right.

The stylus squeaked across the screen.

More lines. More shapes.

The screen became black with them, so he added colour. It splashed and bled across the lines.

“Virgil.”

It still wasn’t right.

Frustration stirred and he groaned at the image.

A blink.

Sound.

He scratched more lines, but the moment of inspiration faded.

He couldn’t do it.

“Virgil.”

It wasn’t a single dimension. It was many. Visual, sound and...and...

Emotion.

How?

It all came back to that question.

He let the tablet and stylus drop, clenching his eyes shut and rubbing his face with his hands.

How the hell could he communicate emotion?

-o-o-o-

John squirrelled himself away. Eos had contacted him to give her report, but there was something in her tone that told him not to take it on an open line.

So, he waited until Gordon got the boat moving and Scott had corralled Virgil before retreating to his cabin for some privacy.

“Did you receive a clear enough signal?”

“Affirmative, John. The upgrade to Virgil’s comms worked perfectly. I am confident I received the full spectrum of the whale’s emissions.”

“Any conclusions?”

“Tentative. And at least an explanation why Virgil is so relaxed in their presence.”

John frowned. “Show me.” The tablet in his hand, the same waterproof device he had clung to as they were tossed from the boat, lit up and a hologram hung above it.

It was a series of graphs mapping sound waves, several equations scrolled down one side. The frown on John’s face deepened. That was some seriously complex math. “Talk to me, Eos.”

“Multiple carrier waves interact synergistically to create other waves which also carry data. This is truly a multidimensional sound.” The waves on several of the graphs split up to show their originating structures.

“Can you decipher a language?”

“Not a simple language, no. Initial assessment leads me to believe this is at least partially a graphical language. The mathematics reveal vector information is part of the transmission.”

John’s eyes widened. “Any interpretation?”

The graphs disappeared to reveal fragmented moving lines and clouded shape. “These images are calculated using a section of song the mother whale was singing to Virgil.”

“Can you see a pattern?”

“Not presently, however, I am still analysing. One aspect to be considered is this...”

A second grouping of graphics appeared beside the main display. This was smaller and lacked colour, the lines far more fragmented and the whole composition was fogged with what appeared to be static. “What?”

“That is Virgil’s vocalisation while he was in contact with the whale, if it is run through the same mathematical algorithm.” The two graphics were suddenly overlaid together. Virgil’s section fit like a piece of a puzzle into the larger composition, as if it was an unfinished section awaiting colour.

“How? Why is Virgil picking this up, but the rest of us are not?”

The graphs returned along with one new one. “I retrieved Virgil’s EEG readings from his last head injury.” Lines lit up in red on several of the graphs. “Several of the carrier waves create a binaural beat. The result is that at least part of the whale’s communication is nestled in frequencies that resonate with human brainwave activity. Virgil’s, in particular, appear to align well. I hypothesise that this facilitates his receptivity.”

John stared at the lines denoting Virgil’s delta wave production. A flick of his fingers and the graph overlaid that section of the whale’s vocal output. Delta waves were well known for their calming effect and their influence on sleep. It would definitely explain his brother’s thrall and lethargy during each encounter.

The red lines glared at him.

An exhaled breath. “So, no chance of a translation?”

“Not any time soon. The transmission is extremely complex and I have yet to reveal all of the carrier signals, much less decipher the entire data stream.”

Eos fell silent a moment and John stared at the graphs, watching them move in rhythm with each other. “Why hasn’t this been discovered before?”

“Recording equipment. Of the recordings I have examined, only three have managed to record enough detail to even hint at the complexity. Today’s samples are of the highest resolution ever taken. Further clarity would be achieved with multiple recordings.”

Which meant more encounters. The sight of Virgil singing on the whale was eerie and unsettling. He may have held back Scott from going to Virgil’s assistance, but the truth was he had to hold himself back just as much.

“Is it causing Virgil any harm?”

Eos didn’t answer immediately and it gave John the chance to ramp up his concern just a notch.

“I cannot locate any medical effects beyond a tendency towards inducing sleep due to some of the frequencies involved. I would recommend further monitoring, however.”

“I agree.” An indrawn breath. “Thank you, Eos.” He blinked and realised exactly what his daughter had just done. His eyes widened just a little. “Continue analysis. This is an important scientific discovery and you have done some excellent work.”

“Really?” Her voice was ever so hopeful, ever so young.

“Of course. I’m looking forward to working on this with you.” There was definitely work to be done and soon.

“Thank you, John.”

“No, Eos, thank you.”

Her giggle bounced across comms. Sometimes so old, yet always ever so young. Her youth was always surprising as was her need for guidance. “Could you please send me Virgil’s vitals, both during the encounter and now?”

“Yes, John.” More numbers appeared above his tablet. Fortunately, they were all healthy numbers, though Virgil’s heart rate was up somewhat. A flick of his fingers and Scott’s vitals appeared beside Virgil’s. Both brothers’ heart rates echoed each other.

John would have felt like he was spying on his family, but he did it so often for reassurance on Five that it now barely registered. Another flick of his fingers and he directed Five to focus on A Little Lightning. He found his eldest brothers on the bow of the yacht. Virgil appeared to be drawing on his tablet.

“He is well, John. I can see no after effects from his encounter.”

John wondered if he could coerce his brother into an EEG exam when they made it home. Roping Scott in would probably manage it, but the stress on both of them would be considerable and he hesitated to aggravate either of them.

Perhaps further down the track, or if Virgil gave him any reason for concern.

God, he hoped not.

A sigh. He had probably jinxed himself last night acknowledging the vacation they were on. Since he woke up to Virgil’s snoring early that morning, things had changed. Sure, surfing with Gordon had been fun, but seeing Scott stressing over Virgil on the beach and the events that followed right up until they returned to A Little Lightning had been anything but relaxing.

One of Virgil’s piano sonatas started playing over his tablet ever so softly.

Despite himself, he smiled. “I’m fine, Eos.”

“You’re worrying again. This is not good for your hair production.”

He blinked. “What?”

“Several sources state that stress can disable the pigment production in human hair follicles, resulting in white, often termed ‘grey’, hairs. I believe this is a negatively viewed characteristic and I have noted that your elder brothers have encountered this issue already. It causes distress, therefore it should be prevented.”

Another blink. “Both of my older brothers have dark hair. Grey becomes very apparent in contrast.”

“It will turn your hair pink.”

“What?” This conversation was ridiculous. “It is a natural ageing process. There is very little that can be done about it.” A breath. “I’m not vain, Eos.”

She didn’t answer immediately. “But your brothers are?”

“My brothers are my brothers, Eos.”

“Well, that makes little sense.”

“Just accept them as they are.”

“Is it possible to accept them any other way?”

“No, not really.”

“Then that statement is redundant.”

“Eos.”

“Yes?”

Frivolous distraction, Eos-style. She had become quite adept at it. Moving his thoughts off worrying topics. A sigh. “Thank you, Eos.”

She didn’t answer immediately, but then...

“Did you know Virgil dyes his hair?”

-o-o-o-

Scott watched his brother draw somewhat manically on his tablet. The resultant art was far from what the artist usually produced. This was all sharp lines and angles followed by random blob shapes. At first it was all in pencil, but then Virgil started adding colours. There was no pattern, it was all haphazard and, worse, it appeared to be aggravating him.

“Virgil.”

His brother groaned in frustration, his eyebrows creasing his face in half and swallowing the scar on his forehead.

“Virgil.”

But he suddenly stopped, realisation on his face morphing into disappointment and more frustration.

The tablet and stylus slipped from Virgil’s hands and Scott was hard pressed to catch them.

But he did.

Virgil’s eyes were scrunched shut and he rubbed his face with his hands.

Scott glanced at the mess on the tablet and shoved it to one side, turning to his brother. “Virgil, talk to me.”

“I can’t.” It was small and hoarse.

“Can’t what?”

“Can’t...express, explain...trying to understand...it’s a mess...”

Okay, this was well outside his realm, but he knew Virgil. He slipped off his seat and knelt in front him. Gently he pulled those hands away from his brother’s face to reveal worried brown eyes. “Stop. Take a breath.”

Virgil stared at him a moment before the soft command was obeyed and he drew in air. Those eyes closed briefly and his brother’s shoulders dropped. “Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about.”

“I ruined it again. I’ve stressed you out.”

“This time, I don’t think you had much say in it. Mamma Whale was very determined to say hello.” A small smile. “I think you have a music fan.”

Virgil snorted softly and Scott knew he’d broken through even if just a little. “She definitely wanted to talk. I just wish I knew what she wanted to say.”

“You picked up something, though, didn’t you?”

A quiet sigh. “She was happy and surprised.” Virgil looked up and stared out into the ocean, but Scott could tell he wasn’t seeing the waves.

He wondered what he was thinking.

“How could you tell?”

The frown returned. “I don’t know.” A pause caught in thought. “The sound makes me feel? The sound is...everything.”

Virgil stopped speaking, lost again to whatever was in his head.

Scott swallowed and tried a different tactic. “I think you made a mistake.”

Brown eyes snapped to him immediately. “What?”

“You should have asked Mel out. Lost opportunity, bro.”

Virgil stared at him. “What?”

“She had the hots for you, Virg, and you ignored her.”

“Last time Raoul erupted? She tried to climb me like a tree. Kay had to drag her out of the cockpit.”

It was Scott’s turn to stare. “Really?”

“She was very exuberant in her thanks.”

Scott smiled. “She knows what she likes.” And yes, admittedly, she was very good at climbing, after all Scott was taller. His smile widened.

Virgil’s stare intensified until plain, straight human communication got the message across and his brother groaned. “God, Scott, TMI.”

Total innocence. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to. The image is radiating off your skin.”

Scott sniggered.

Distraction achieved.

“Well, I did say you lost an opportunity.”

“That’s fine, Jungle Jim, she’s all yours.”

Scott shrugged. He could always hope. She certainly knew how to press all his buttons. “Still think we should have her over for Christmas?”

“Yeah, Gordon will love it.”

“What about you?”

“I need to speak to Sam.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

“Okay.” A breath. “Just take it easy.”

His brother nodded and returned to staring out at the ocean. “It will be good to get home.”

Scott stood up slowly and sat back down beside his brother. “Yeah, it will.”

So good.

-o-o-o-

“Are we there yet?” Alan’s voice was particularly whiny, no doubt, specifically designed to irritate.

Gordon turned away from the helm to look at him. “Do you see an island in front of us?”

Alan shoved his hands in his pockets. “Nope.”

“There’s your answer.”

It had been quiet on the bridge for the last few hours. Gordon was grateful for the time to think. A Little Lightning cut through the water ever so smoothly. It was satisfying to see the swell pass by knowing that they were one wave closer to home.

Gordon loved being out on the ocean. It was his native element. But at the moment he longed for the safety of Tracy Island. That last encounter with the whales had its own sense of wonder, but until he understood exactly what the effect was on his older brother, he wasn’t entirely comfortable.

It was weird and unnerving.

And it worried him.

“They been out there long?” Alan was staring at the two men sitting on the bow of the boat.

“Yeah, couple of hours at least.”

“Do you think Virgil is okay?”

No. “Yeah, he’ll be fine.”

Alan eyed him. “I’m not a kid anymore. I don’t need protecting. Since when have you become one of them?” He pointed at his eldest brothers.

Gordon sighed. “I’m not. It’s just...I don’t know, okay? It was weird and amazing and I need to talk to him and he was spaced out and his singing was...”

“Weird?”

“Yeah.”

There was silence for a moment, but Gordon knew it wouldn’t be long.

Sure enough.

“Do you think Virg can talk to whales?”

“I don’t know, Alan.” It was said on one long exhale.

“He communicated something, didn’t he?”

“I don’t know, okay?” And that was the problem. There was so much they didn’t know. Gordon was itching to get into the in-depth literature, to find out more and fill the gaps in his knowledge so he could help his brother. He would be speaking to Sam as soon as possible, but for the moment, the priority was getting Virgil home.

“Some vacation.” It was said with a pout.

Gordon sighed and shoved on the autopilot before turning to his younger brother. “Alan, out with it.”

“What?”

“What’s bugging you.”

“I thought that was obvious. Virgil going zombie and singing to a whale is enough, don’t you think? As if appendicitis wasn’t dramatic already.”

Gordon stared at Alan. “He is going to be okay.”

“You don’t know that. You just said so!”

“He sang to a whale, Alan. They are one of the gentlest creatures on the planet. If he was going to choose a weird conversation partner, he chose well.”

“But you don’t know what it did to him!”

“It didn’t do anything to him.”

“You don’t know that!”

“Alan-“

“Don’t lie to me!” The words shot across the bridge and slapped Gordon in the face.

Voice calm and quiet and not a little hurt. “I have never lied to you, Alan.”

Blue fire glared at him. “You haven’t? Not even to protect the littlest one? Scared I might burst into tears.”

Gordon stared at his little brother. “What is it?”

“Have you?!”

“No! I’ve always told you the truth. You know that!” He let out an aggravated breath. “What is wrong, Allie?”

“What do you think? First you, then Virgil, and now this!”

“What?!” Him? Virgil? Oh...shit. “Virgil is okay. Hell, I’m okay. Allie, we are all fine.”

“That’s what he keeps saying!” Alan shoved a finger in Virgil’s direction. “He’s always fine, even when he’s not. You’re all the same. Big tough guys, nothing is ever wrong. You could be bleeding to death and you’d ‘be fine’. What is wrong with admitting you’re hurt? What is so wrong with being hurt that you have to hide it?”

Gordon opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

“Well, you know what? I’m scared and I’m sick of hiding it. Virgil nearly fell out of the damned sky with his infected appendix. It could have killed him. And now he’s scaring everyone with this whale thing.” A harshly indrawn breath. “Don’t tell me Scott’s not worried. I’m not stupid.”

Two steps and Gordon was in front of his brother, his hands landing on shoulders that were just that touch higher than his own and tighter strung than Virgil’s piano. “Allie, he’s going to be okay.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because it is true.”

Something unintelligible and Alan was wrapped around him like a limpet. Gordon held his little brother. It was unusual and alarming. Alan usually went to Scott for comfort. Gordon was for pranks and cohorting. “It’s okay to be upset. It’s okay to be worried. You can cry if you need to.”

“I’m not going to cry!” Alan pulled away and glared up at Gordon.

“What?”

“Now you think I’m the baby that needs to bawl on your shoulder?”

“What?!” The hell was going on? Some conscious part of his brain was aware of the yacht’s engine, the high speed they were travelling and the fact autopilot on water was vastly different from the sky and he really should be paying attention. But Alan needed...something. “Allie, you’ve lost me. What do you want?!”

“I want Virgil to be okay. I want you to be okay.”

“We are okay!”

“Then stop scaring me!”

“I didn’t scare you!”

“You....you terrified me, Gordon. You terrified all of us.”

“I didn’t do it on purpose.”

“Still hurt.”

“Aww, Allie...” What could he do?

“And now, here you are ‘okay’, and it could happen again, and...” A shaky swallow. “I’m scared, okay? You’re fine. Virgil’s fine. But you’re not, and...I’m not okay...okay?”

This time it was Gordon wrapping his arms around his not so little brother. “I’m sorry, Allie.”

Muffled into Gordon’s shoulder. “Not your fault.”

“No.” But he should have realised it was still messing with his little brother. Alan was the least experienced of them all. Gordon had seen things, done things, things that hopefully Alan would never have to experience. Quietly. “I think Virgil is a little freaked out. I don’t think he understands what happened much more than we do. But we are going to find out. I’m going to speak to Sam. We’re going to do some research and we will find out why the song affected Virgil the way it did. But he is okay, Alan. Tracy’s honour. A little shaken up. A little worried. But he is okay. We’ll work through this like we always do.”

His brother’s arms tightened around him just that little bit more, but Alan didn’t say anything.

A rustle of fabric and Gordon looked up to see John standing in the doorway staring at them with a hint of worry in his eyes.

“John?”

Alan startled and pulled away immediately. Turquoise followed his every move.

A slow blink and John stepped onto the bridge. “Eos is deciphering the song. We have a good idea as to why Virgil reacted the way he did.” It was said calmly and factually for such a great discovery.

“You do?” Alan found his voice first.

Those eyes latched onto Gordon’s. “We do.”

The helm beeped.

A blink and Gordon was back at the wheel, scanning their position. A mass of volcanic rock and tropical reef appeared on navigational sensors.

A familiar chunk of rock and reef.

Tracy Island.

Home.

-o-o-o-

End Day Four, Part Five.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderbirds #Virgil Tracy #Scott Tracy #John Tracy #Gordon Tracy #Alan Tracy #kermadec fic

40 notes · View notes