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masterwords · 3 years ago

Note

Hi Angela!! I loved the “id do it for you” and “look at that, you’re blushing,” that you wrote after my request, I just wanted to thank u sm because i loved it so MUCH AND I LOVE PEACHES SMMM.

I was hoping you could do 3 “if you arent going to help yourself, i will,” and 4 “you look pale…” with Hotch being a stubborn bastard and refusing to do something for his convenience for the sake of bureaucracy or some stubborn useless reason - this could be sometime pre show (Haley won’t exist, I’m sorry) and Morgan would visibly see him wearing himself thin instead of taking it easy like the doctors said.

With that being said, feel free disregard the paragraph above, as long as ur the one writing it I’ll eat it up at this point I just love everything u write sm 😭😭

-❤️‍🩹

OKAY, first of all? Thank you so much for all of your intensely kind words. I'm glad you liked that story! (And yeah, peaches are THE JAM. It was a love story for peaches, really.) And now for my groveling...I'm so sorry this took me so damn long to do. I wrote 3 different stories for this that just turned out like garbage, and I couldn't post them. And this has been sitting here so long, I feel awful. I hope that this story I finally landed on is good! (Probably not good enough for as long as I took to write it...did I say I'm sorry? I'm so sorry.)

2.8k words | Hotch/Morgan

“Your turn,” Hotch said, shifting the weight on his hip against the hard plastic chair. This is their second airport terminal in one day, and the layover just went from one hour to three. Outside the snow was just beginning to fall and he suspected they'd be put up in a nearby hotel for the night before long. The sky was painted an ominous blue gray and getting darker by the minute. Morgan sighed.

“I don't wanna play anymore. Nothing new to see. Know any other games?”

Hotch yawned and let his eyes drift shut. “I've heard napping is a fun game.” Morgan's laughter was subdued and tired, but he nodded in agreement. A nap did sound nice.

“Want me to keep watch? We can take turns.” Like they were two warriors on a quest, not two marooned FBI Agents in some podunk airport in the midwestern USA.

“Just give me fifteen minutes...” Hotch drawled and was asleep before Morgan even thought about replying. He'd been sort of off all day, Morgan thought, a few steps behind his usual snap. Probably just that they'd been on the road for two weeks now and every airport was starting to look the same, let alone every rented sedan with a trunk waiting for their bags and a long drive ahead of them. Sleeping in their own beds was beginning to sound like an actual luxury instead of just a desire.

Morgan read a book. Tried to, anyway. But his eyes were blurry and unfocused often enough that he wasn't getting much out of it, each time he turned the page he realized he'd only taken in about half of the words...if that. Hotch shifted on the row of chairs beside him and let out a soft snorting sound followed by a deep yawn but he never actually woke up. Morgan let him go longer than 15 minutes...he seemed like he needed it.

“Hey, sleeping beauty,” Morgan whispered well over an hour later, running his finger along the rim of Hotch's ear. He'd sort of lost himself in a daze watching the snow flurry outside of the windows, it was mesmerizing. Completely lost track of time and space. “We got ourselves a hotel voucher for the night. Let's go get some real shut eye, huh?”

It took them two days of delayed and canceled flights to make it to Idaho, where they would decide it was more worthwhile to rent an SUV and try to drive through the Pacific Northwest and its snowstorms than try to catch more flights between metro areas. They could drive through Washington and most of Oregon without trouble, stay in roadside motels, and be in California in a matter of days. A few dodgy mountain passes stood in their way, some road delays and scary slippery moments would make for good stories to tell Gideon when they returned but ultimately, it became a sort of adventure.

Until Hotch got sick in San Fransisco. Morgan noticed the first signs while they wandered along with all of the old folks on the cell block tour of Alcatraz. It was one of their very few days off, and of all things they could do during a two week trip across the country to conduct custodial interviews with talkative serial killers was tour a famous prison. Hotch rolled his eyes, but Morgan whined.

“You're only against it because you've already done it...” he lobbied, and Hotch had no argument after the obvious.

“Haven't we been inside enough prisons? This is the only day we have without a prison visit for the next six days...”

“One more won't hurt.” He said that in his best Sean Connery accent, and Hotch cringed at the attempt. Anyone who would humiliate themselves like that deserved a pass, so he bought them two tickets and they got on the ferry. That was when Morgan noticed him clearing his throat more than usual and massaging just beneath his jaw when he thought no one was looking.

Hotch cleared his throat as they stepped onto the island and winced at the sharp pain. “Did you want to see this place because of its value historically or because of the movie?” Morgan only smiled and shrugged. That was answer enough. Hotch didn't complain the rest of the day, he did his best to enjoy the tour through the look of bliss on Morgan's face.

In the hotel room that night, Morgan noticed Hotch behaving a little off. He'd thought about the airport terminal, and he'd bounced back from that after a good night's sleep. He was a little off while they were at Alcatraz but he couldn't have really said how off, he was a little distracted.

Still, he wasn't too bad, so they ordered room service with their combined per diem and fell asleep full and content after watching “The Rock”. Morgan was pleased as punch.

Hotch woke in the morning with a fever. He knew he was sick right away. His eyes felt crusty and wet, his skin hot and his throat had pinpricks like tiny bonfires that he knew would spread rapidly. He winced as he swallowed the lukewarm water on his nightstand.

“You look pale,” Morgan said, stepping out of the shower just after he'd managed to pull himself upright. It had taken far longer than he'd anticipated and came with a lightheaded feeling he didn't care for. Hotch frowned and searched his foggy head for an appropriate response. He was sluggish, though, and the delay was obvious to Morgan.

“I'm always pale.” He avoided the question, and Morgan couldn't help but respect his tenacity even if it was frustrating. He wasn't going to let him have it, though.

“Yeah, true, but more than usual...are you sick? Should I take you to Urgent Care? You gonna pass out on me or something?”

“No.”

It was colder than intended, and Derek read it loud and clear. He'd press again in a bit but Hotch was figuring it out for himself right now and he could respect that.

“I'm sorry,” Hotch muttered, resting his cheek against the cool wood of the headboard. “I don't know if I'm sick or just...”

“Worn out? Stressed? Yeah, this travel shit is rough. But you look pretty bad.”

In the end, he decided he didn't have time to be sick, so he allowed Morgan to talk him into the Urgent Care. Just a precaution, if it was something serious they could catch it right away, and if not...well at least they knew. They could medicate it with DayQuil or AlkaSeltzer or something and he'd just have to walk through it.

But it was never that simple.

He had strep throat. He wasn't willing to miss their custodial interview, though, so he spent the day preparing in the hotel room while Morgan explored the city with what little free time they had. Hotch reasoned that Morgan should spend as little time with him in close quarters as possible so long as he wasn't showing symptoms and while that sounded absolutely absurd, he knew better than to argue with Hotch when he was sick. He was more like a porcupine than a puppy. When they showed up for the interview, Hotch could barely talk but he was still unwilling to let Morgan do it alone.

“Stay in the car.”

“No.” Hotch's voice barely worked but that word came out loud and clear.

“You think I can't talk to an inmate?”

“No,” Hotch whispered this time, even though he'd been told not to. No whispering, talk at full volume or not at all. Whispering felt better and he never had been good at following directions. “You're good at interrogation but this isn't an interrogation...we have to gain their trust and make them want to talk. They're not confessing, they've been sentenced, they're giving us a gift.”

“A gift!” Morgan scoffed but Hotch narrowed his eyes and nodded.

“A gift. They don't have to talk to us. They're essentially teaching us how to catch them...”

They left their credentials and their firearms with the guard and walked in, Hotch letting Morgan lead the way. This was technically his interview today, Hotch's intention had been to take the backseat and just observe. Like a trial run, one of many. He couldn't count how many of these he gave with Gideon or Rossi sitting behind him watching his every move. He'd been so nervous at first, but once he got over that on-stage feeling it became natural.

Except he was on enough cold meds to kill a horse just to stay upright and it didn't help. He was nearly asleep sitting up.

“Am I boring you, Agent?” Hopper, the inmate, asked with a sneer. Morgan glanced at Hotch who jerked himself upright quickly and glared at the man in the prison blues. His arms were folded over his chest, eyes blinking slowly while he gathered his senses. Where he was, what he was doing, who he was talking to. His eyes flickered briefly, catching the tape recorder, and then Morgan's stunned features before he turned rather lackadaisically to Hopper. His sleepy eyes never changed.

“Yes,” he replied finally in his weak television static voice and Morgan couldn't help a little smile. “You're not a very compelling story teller and you're wasting our time.”

“Come a little closer and I'll show you how I tell stories...” Hopper growled, his meaty paws forming fists inside the cuffs on the table. Hotch didn't even flinch.

Instead, he stood, indicating for Morgan to do the same. “He's been lying to us for a half hour. I don't like having my time wasted. I don't feel very good and I'd rather be in bed.”

Hopper, the sudden realization of what he would lose if those two agents walked out the door, looked like he was choking on his tongue while he formulated a response.

Hotch continued in his flimsy painful whisper. “Whatever deal was made with you in return for the information you were willing to share is now void.”

“No, no wait! I'll tell you the truth! I swear!”

Hotch waved Morgan through the door now held open by a guard. Morgan couldn't believe Hotch ended the interview so abruptly, couldn't believe he'd picked up the guy lying even while he was sitting there with his eyes closed. Morgan had looked, thought Hotch really was asleep but he wasn't going to say anything. It all sounded so close to the file they had, so close to the trial transcripts he wasn't even sure where the lies were until later when he listened to the tape and made a comparison. The differences were stunning in their simplicity, and he wasn't sure if Hopper was lying on purpose or if he truly couldn't remember.

“How'd you know?”

Hotch shrugged, leaning his seat back in the car. He looked drained. Utterly miserable. “You get a sense for them after a while. Just like profiling a crime scene.” He couldn't explain it, except to say that it was why Morgan needed training time. It wasn't asking the questions, it was reading the answers. There were subtleties to these people, the way their minds worked.

“They lie a lot?” Morgan hadn't really given much thought to the motives of someone already in prison for life. Especially these guys who had already confessed to their crimes,they had no innocence to protect, they were just talking. Telling stories, like they were having biographies put in print. Hotch cleared his throat and frowned.

“Often. Depends on the deal they work out with the FBI to get us out there. Sometimes they just can't help themselves, the idea of having some kind of power over us is too enticing..” Hotch paused, letting out a wheezy cough into his elbow. “They like to feed us a line and see if we take it. If they can get us to publish their lies.”

“Fuck.”

Their schedule was packed, one after another. Each day was a presentation with a police station or two, followed by a custodial interview. Driving down the 101, motel sleeping, Hotch medicating himself beyond any reasonable amount just to stay upright and focused. It was really no wonder the travel had caught up to one of them.

“Let me do this one on my own,” Morgan said, sitting on the edge of the bed and yawning. It was only 3am, they still had hours before their wake up call, but it was time for another antibiotic dose and Hotch's fever wasn't showing any signs of improvement. That wasn't surprising since he hadn't rested one single time since finding out he had strep throat. It was almost like he was trying to outrun it. Out work it. Morgan handed him the pills, an antibiotic and two NyQuil with a glass of water.

“Derek,” he whined, glaring at the bright green medication even in the dark of the room. “I just want the Tylenol.”

“You're coughing instead of sleeping, man. Just take it. Otherwise we're both fucked tomorrow.”

Hotch considered it earnestly and finally let out a defeated sigh. “Fine. You'd better wake me up on time.”

“I can do it on my own, you should sleep. You're no good to us like this.”

“Wake me up.” He took the meds knowing that the NyQuil was going to knock him out and trusting that Morgan would wake him anyway. He might be a little tired during the interview but he'd be there, Morgan didn't need much more than that.

To no one's surprise, Hotch slept through the alarm and Morgan didn't bother to try and wake him. He finally looked peaceful and he wasn't going to bother him.

When Morgan returned triumphantly from the custodial, he found Hotch sitting upright on his bed looking furious. Pale, feverish, furious. Morgan thought he was pretty cute when he was sick and mad, with his sweaty hair matted to his forehead and the fever flush in his cheeks. Beside him, he had his phone, a bottle of water and a box of tissue.

“You said you'd wake me.”

“No, I never said I would.”

“We are a team, Derek. You don't have enough experience to do these interviews on your own, you're supposed to be training. Jason is going to have my head when he finds out you went in alone.”

“Man, you've been sick for three days. I've been doing them on my own the whole damn time. You practically slept through the one yesterday. That guy was pissed. If he hadn't been lying...Aaron, you got lucky.”

Hotch didn't have anything to say to that. It was true.

“If you won't help yourself, I will. That's all. I didn't mean to piss you off but you looked so damn miserable I just wanted you to sleep.”

Hotch had a litany of arguments he'd been muddling through about them being a team, but the look on Morgan's face was so apologetic that he couldn't. So he sulked instead. Just pulled out the big, pathetic watery eyes and Morgan almost fell into the bed with him to make that face go away. With some hot soup and the rest of the night listening to Morgan's interview (which, of course, was great) and watching movies, Morgan got his one wish. For Hotch to rest.

On their way to another custodial down the coast, Hotch wasn't feeling great but he was doing better. The fever had broken sometime over night, finally, and now he was left with a few days more of antibiotics and his throat on fire. Halfway to their destination, his pager went off. It was Gideon.

Morgan found a little diner and pulled over so Hotch could jump out and use the pay phone. They had a cell phone but they had no service out there overlooking the ocean on the highway.

“Jason, it's Hotch,” he said, forcing as much of his voice through his strained and painful vocal chords as he could muster. He would pay for it later.

“We have a bomber,” Gideon says gravely, taking no notice of Hotch's wobbly voice. “Get on the next plane to Boston. I need you both there immediately.”

Hotch returned to the vehicle with a shadow over his features, all the wind had been taken from his sails. Morgan leaned toward him, his arms folded over his chest and his hips resting against the hot hood of the SUV expectantly.

“What did mom say?”

“Looks like we're gonna have to stand up Bailey and Arlington, Gideon needs us in Boston.”

#aaron hotchner #derek morgan #criminal minds #fanfiction #sweet people send me prompts and i take ages to respond to them

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ahundredtimesover · 3 years ago

Text

A Still Day or A Hurricane (01) | JJK

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: single mom lawyer!OC x pastry chef!Jungkook; angst, fluff, smut; age gap (older OC)

Chapter (Series) Warnings: foul/explicit language; mentions of abandonment, death, cheating; case mentions of murder/manslaughter, trafficking; pregnancy, fertility, artificial insemination, single parenthood, child birth; explicit sexual content (specific warnings stated per chapter) (18+)

Chapter Word count: 10.4k

Status: Completed

Series summary: Driven by your perfectionist attitude and need to have everything in order, you planned that by age 30, you’d have made junior partner, bought your own apartment, and have children. You achieved them, of course, and while the last bit required you to take matters into your own hands - no thanks to your ex-boyfriend who dumped you but to your best friend who directed you to a fertility clinic - you’re now a 31-year old who pretty much has her life under control. You’re ready to raise your child on your own, that is, until the 20-something pastry chef flirts his way into your heart, messing up the perfect little life you worked so hard to have for yourself.

Listen to: Moonlight (soowoo), FROM. (Anandelight) || Playlist 🎶

A/N: It's here! This is a story about all kinds of love and I hope as you read through, you'll feel it, too. Also inspired by insta and vlive JK who's done nothing but play with our hearts. Please enjoy! 💞 But please excuse any inaccuracies in depicting the law field!

Series Masterlist

“And that’s how I plan to get the other party to agree on the proposed settlement.”

Park Jimin’s confident voice prompts you to look up from his draft agreement and finally face him, as he’d spent the last 15 minutes explaining his strategy as you reviewed the document.

His sweet smile is deceiving, laced with rainbow sprinkles coupled with his angel-like eyes, and you have to remind yourself that this is the same man you watched put someone away for manslaughter just last week.

“Looks good,” you say, underlining some parts and adding several notes before giving back the file. “Just made a few comments.”

He looks at the document, briefly furrowing his brows because what you’d written are definitely more than “a few.”

“Look at you,” he beams. “This is an improvement from the time you had me send you the file instead so you could make all the changes directly since what I wrote after how many sleepless nights was apparently not up to your standards. You’re getting better at not being a pain in the ass,” he quips.

You laugh in response.

You and Jimin are used to this - you, being highly critical and detail-oriented with your work and your people, and him, being blunt and witty when it comes to you. But neither of you mind. Drunk Jimin had told you once that it’s people like you who make him a better lawyer, and drunk you responded that it’s people like him who make you believe that there are genuinely good and capable people out in the field.

“Make sure to bring that sass with you during the meeting with the Lees on Friday,” you say smugly.

“Damn right I will,” he smirks. “But also, can you at least credit me for - let’s see - my actual skills? I’ve improved so much, and I’m more than just sass, you know?”

“Oh I know,” you roll your eyes. “I wouldn’t have assigned you the tough cases if I didn’t think you were skilled. But with corporate clients and the people they anger like this,” you point at the document, “you’re gonna need more than skills. You’d have to be a Park Jimin to make it work.”

You smirk this time, knowing it’s all it takes to get him to stop whining.

When you were still an Associate like Jimin is, you handled many cases together, and you know he lives for the compliments - like many lawyers you know; hell, so do you. But it takes depriving him a bit then feeding his ego for him to be satisfied. It’s what gets him going.

You know your people; it’s one reason why you’re good at what you do.

“Well, this Park Jimin knows he’s gonna have another successful case under his belt and that calls for a celebration,” he crosses his legs. “Drinks at the Blue Side this Friday night. They have mocktails for you. Can you go? Half the firm is gonna be there.”

“Since when does our favorite cafe host a night of drinks and for that many people?” You question, trying to imagine how the small space can accommodate your group of 30 without it being too crowded.

“Since Hobi purchased the rooftop last week,” Jimin responds, referring to the cafe’s owner who’d become your friend, given your almost daily trips to the place for your coffee. “It’s part of his grand expansion plan. Obviously he told me, and I told Yoongi, and he told Jin, who screamed about treating a round of drinks, so naturally, half of the firm heard it and wanted to go, too, because when does he do that, right?”

You squint your eyes and drum your fingers on your chin, an indication that you’re envisioning how the rest of your week is gonna go - if there are family, personal, medical, and other matters that you have to attend to, if you can actually squeeze in time for a social affair, if you even have the energy for it, given your perpetually busy schedule.

Jimin knows this look, and he also knows you need an extra nudge to agree. While you’re not one to seek nights out of drinking, he also knows you’re not opposed to it. In fact, you encourage all the employees of the firm to go out and have fun, whether with friends or their families. It’s one reason why he admires you - you give so much of yourself to your work, but not all of you, and it’s something you remind the other lawyers as well.

“Come on. We’ve settled in for the new year, and you didn’t even get to celebrate the holidays with us,” he reminds you, as you took your family on a trip abroad. “Take this as a celebratory night out for you, too, since you didn’t let us throw you a party after you made junior partner last year and after you dropped the baby bomb a month ago.”

You turn towards your colleague, bitten lip and continuous nods telling him that you’re close to agreeing, prompting him to tempt you even more. “Hobi’s gonna launch a new dessert menu so I’ll convince him to serve pastries and cakes for you, and some decaffeinated drinks, too, if you don’t want the mocktails,” Jimin’s sweet smile makes another appearance. “And I’ll convince Yoongi to convince Jin to pay for all your rounds.”

It’s really all you need to hear, not so much that Kim Seokjin - filling in for his father as the OIC managing partner of Kim & Ko law firm - will be treating you, but because a possible dessert spread is definitely something to look forward to. You know Hobi and his penchant for pretty things, and you already know his desserts will taste and look good.

“Fine. Tell Hobi I want tarts. And I’ll pay for everyone’s first round of drinks but Jin will pay for all of mine,” you state.

“Got it, boss,” Jimin smiles, as he stands up from his seat after he’d seen your personal phone light up, knowing it’s his cue to leave. “I’ll tell the guys.”

You bid him goodbye and pick up, smiling at your sister’s name flashing on the screen.

“Sun-hee, hey. How’s your day going?”

“Depends on you,” she huffs, and you can already imagine her pouty face but innocent, pleading eyes, something she’s mastered as the youngest of your siblings.

“And why is that?”

“I asked Mom for permission to go to Thailand with my friends and she said to ask you before she agrees.”

“And why do you sound upset? That’s always been the agreement. Mom consults with me before she gives the final say.”

“Because,” she whines. “I already know you’ll say no.”

“Hey, I allowed Taehyung to go to the States with his friends and Yuri to Japan with hers,” you respond. “Why are you so sure that I won’t allow you?”

“You didn’t let me sleep over at my friend's house until I was 20! And that was just 4 years ago! You’re gonna say that I’m too young to go abroad with my friends and you’ll say I’m not responsible enough yet.”

“Well, you are still my baby,” you reason.

“I’m not!”

“That’s not what you said when you asked me to buy your phone, and your laptop, and your camera, and your—”

“I’m only your baby when I need you to spoil me, not when I’m asking your permission to go somewhere,” she answers back.

“Yah! Are you trying to get me to allow you or not?” You can’t help but laugh.

“I am! But please, can you let me go? Med school is driving me insane and I need something to look forward to at the end of the semester. You know Mom won’t mind. It will be just a week, and I’ll see you before I leave. I'll call you everyday, I promise, and… Do I go on or have you already made up your mind but you just want me to commit more things?”

You playfully roll your eyes even if she can’t see, but you smile at how well your baby sister knows you.

“Fine, fine. You can go. I’ll tell Mom I’m okay with it after you send me your hotel details and itinerary and list of people you’re going with.”

Her shriek of excitement is one you always love hearing.

“Yes! It’s all ready, actually. I’ll send them to you in a bit.”

“Okay, then. Is there anything else?”

“Well, uh. Can you pay for my airfare? Or my accommodation? Or give me some pocket money?”

“Kim Sun-hee, you’re giving me a headache,” you groan.

“Nevermind! Don’t take it back, please?”

“I won’t. Just… Let’s talk about it this weekend, okay?”

“Okay, I can’t wait. I love you! You’re the best eldest sister ever!”

She drops the call before you can even respond, and you sigh at how much of a handful she is, way more than your twin siblings Taehyung and Yuri. Perhaps that’s what happens when you’re the eldest child and lived most of your life taking care of them with your mother after your father left shortly after Sun-hee was born.

It’s no secret that you have a soft spot for them, and even more that one reason why you dreamed of a successful life is so that you could provide them with whatever they need and want. You already know you won’t get to resist your sister’s request of paying for her trip, and you smile at the thought of how weak you are for her. And you definitely can’t wait for her hugs when you see her this weekend.

The knock on your door prompts you to straighten up and put on your work face - the calculated one, the one that screams approachable yet demands respect. It’s what you’re known for, after all, at least in the firm.

You’re not feared but not underestimated either; your smile has enough sharpness and tenderness in it that lets people know you’re competent and trust that you that you’ll get the work done, whatever it is.

“Hey,” Min Yoongi, the firm’s office manager, enters as you say. “I heard Jimin convinced you to pay for everyone’s first round of drinks this Friday,” he smirks.

“That is totally not what happened but whatever,” you lean on your chair. “If I don’t get my dessert spread, Jimin will pay for the first round, especially since it seems he’s gone on to report to you already.”

“He ran to me, actually. We made a bet and I said you won’t go,” Yoongi shrugs.

“Where’s your faith in me, Mr. Min?” You dramatically ask. “I always attended our study-slash-drinking sessions during college. When I was legal, at least.”

“Yes, but you can’t actually drink this time,” he cocks an eyebrow. “Plus, I just assumed you’d rather stay at home and meditate or something, to help with the baby and all.”

“That’s still an option,” you say, “but it’s the telling me at the start of the week that helped. I probably wouldn’t have agreed if you asked tomorrow.”

“Oh I know,” he chuckles. “I’ve known you for over a decade, ___. Last minute things don’t fly with you.”

“As they should,” you respond. “Just a friendly visit or there’s more?” You change the subject.

Yoongi hums, as if just remembering why he came to your office, and places folders on your desk.

“I need your endorsement for the associates’ salaries,” he says, “and to let you know that the conference room is ready for your meeting with the new client you brought in.”

“Great,” you smile. “We’ve got another big case coming, Min. I’m ready to win this one.”

“Oh, I’m sure you will,” he grins.

You finish signing the documents and hand them over to him. Getting up on your feet, you take a deep exhale and prepare yourself for another afternoon where you prove, once again, why you deserve your position.

“Go make the little one proud,” your friend whispers before opening the door for you.

You flash him your most sincere smile as your heart leaps at his words and make your way to your seat, across the other Atty. Kim who looks just as ready as you do.

There’s a brief moment before the meeting starts when you palm your belly lovingly, taking this time to calm yourself down with the presence of the tiny human inside you. While merely the size of a raspberry, you can’t help but imagine their tiny little face, satisfied and excited at the thought of their mother about to kick some ass.

The week flies by fairly quickly, with more meetings and court appearances filling your days, as always, and it’s Friday before you know it.

It’s still cold for the tail end of winter, so you put on your slick overcoat to match your black jumpsuit and a yellow statement necklace, and replace your nude stilettos with yellow t-straps. You’re not used to not being in your usual 4-inch heels, but a decrease in height is not much of a sacrifice; you welcome the excuse, if you’re being honest.

Jin insists on having his chauffeur drive the two blocks from your office to Blue Side, saying that he can’t have you walking and risk getting into an accident on his watch.

Much as he’s the feared lawyer who could destroy anyone with his devilish good looks and arguments, you know deep down he’s still the same well-mannered junior who helped 20-year old freshman you at law school, not one bit intimidated by the competence of someone as young as you.

He’d been the one to pirate you from the big law firm where you interned and planned on working at, convincing you that you’d have more control in the medium-size one founded by his parents. It prompted you to think that your plan of making it partner by the time you’re 30 would be much more attainable there, and you were right.

It was your grit and brains and competence that got you here, you remind yourself - winning cases and getting new clients left and right - but you don’t deny the mentorship your friend gave to help you in the process.

“The car will just be here, okay? Just let me know when you’re tired and I’ll have you taken home,” Jin says as you both exit the vehicle.

“I will, Atty. Kim,” you tease. “Much as I’d like to take advantage of you paying for all my drinks, I won’t stay long. I’m leaving for Geochang in the morning.”

“Byeol driving you, I hope?”

“Yes,” you roll your eyes. “You know my best friend wouldn’t let me take the train or drive there myself.”

“Good,” he smiles, opening the door of the cafe. “Can’t have anything bad happening to my right hand woman. Don’t know how I’d manage the firm without you.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t know, too,” you laugh.

Hobi’s bright smile from across the room catches your attention once you enter, and you mirror it when he sees you and promptly walks towards you.

“Glad you could make it,” he hugs you and Jin, guiding you past the hallway to the elevator up the rooftop. “The launch of the new space isn’t scheduled until next month but Jimin convinced me to have a trial run with you guys.”

“Convinced you or played the I’m-your-legal-counsel card so you’d agree?” You cock an eyebrow.

“A bit of both,” Hobi chuckles. “He’s not wrong though. I’d love your feedback on the layout and the dessert spread so I’ll know what to improve on.”

“That, we can do,” Jin says. “We are dessert connoisseurs, after all.”

“That’s just him. I just eat the food,” you laugh.

The three of you exit the elevator that directly leads outdoors and you’re pleased with the rustic feel of the place, with lanterns and fairy lights hanging above wooden couches and cocktail tables. There’s a bar at the center, with one side of it arranged as the designated space for the dessert spread.

“I’m short on staff tonight so I’ll head downstairs, but tabs are open, alright?” Hobi says. “Tell Jimin to call me if you need anything.”

You bid your friend goodbye and spot Jimin and Yoongi going around with a tray of glasses and a bottle of tequila, urging your colleagues to take a shot. You’re surprised that more than half of the firm is here, filling up the entire space, including the ones who rarely ever go out. You just know that Jimin somehow charmed them to drop by. With his perfectly-coiffed platinum ash hair and alluring smile, you can’t really blame them.

Both men spot you and Jin and head your direction, with three tequila-filled shot glasses ready.

“Grape juice for you, ___,” Yoongi hands you your drink.

“Cheers to being the four most amazing people in the firm,” Jimin raises his glass. “And for all the amazing things that happened to ___ the past year. She deserves all that and more.”

“Well, I guess thanks are in order to the most supportive colleagues ever,” you smile at the three men, internally thanking the stars that despite the exhausting and competitive field you’re in, you found friends whom you can trust and count on.

Yoongi and Jin start talking about their weekend plans of going golfing this weekend, while you and Jimin head to get some dessert. You fill your plate with the bite-sized cakes, profiteroles, and blueberry tarts, with you stating that you wish they had some strawberry ones, too.

“Craving already, I see,” Jimin smirks. “I spotted the same slice of strawberry shortcake in the pantry’s fridge yesterday with your name on it.”

“I had the best one over the holidays when we went to the US; I haven’t gotten enough of it since then,” you explain. “Byeol and Namjoon have been buying me from different bakeries and restaurants until I’m satisfied.”

“Thank the stars for best friends who’d satisfy your cravings,” Jimin says, and you wholeheartedly agree.

You know it’s not easy to do that when they’ve got their own lives and jobs to deal with.

“The cakes don’t taste like what I want, though, so I’m never truly satisfied; I just can’t tell them that.”

“Well, my friend’s the new pastry chef here,” he continues. “It won’t be hard to convince him and Hobi to start serving strawberry shortcake.”

“Oh, they finally have an actual pastry chef? No wonder Hobi decided on expanding the menu.”

“He always wanted to, just needed the right person for the job, I guess,” Jimin says, his face immediately lighting up as someone with a tray filled with more desserts exits the elevator. “Oh, there he is!”

A man who seems to be in his early twenties approaches you and gives the tray to a server, who promptly places the tarts and macarons on the spread.

“Kook, it’s so nice to have you back,” Jimin chirps, giving his friend a hug. “How was the internship in Singapore?”

“It was incredible,” the man says, his eyes flitting from Jimin to you and lingering. “Just reminded me how much more I need to learn and Hobi’s been great in letting me experiment and have fun.”

“Well, when he said he was looking for a pastry chef, I immediately thought of you.”

“Thanks, man. Glad I get to be back in Seoul and see what’s out here.”

You don’t miss how the younger man gazes at you, his pierced eyebrow and tattooed right arm that you spy from his rolled up sleeve a contrast to his youthful features like his doe-eyes and cheeky, slightly devious yet still boyish smile.

While you hate to admit that you’re used to this - men eyeing up and down the young, successful female lawyer in her power suits and heels - you’re more confident in a meeting room and in a court, not in a rooftop bar during a night out with colleagues, partly because you don’t always do this, and partly because you don’t really catch attention outside of the courtroom. But like your friends have pointed out, it’s probably that first trimester glow.

“Oh yeah, this is Atty. Kim ___,” Jimin introduces you. “Youngest junior partner at the firm and current person I admire,” he continues, and you playfully roll your eyes at him sucking up to you again. “And this is Jeon Jungkook. He was a freshman when I was a senior at college, and we were in the same dance club for that one year he joined. Got pretty close after.”

“Ah, the prettier Atty. Kim, I suppose,” Jungkook takes his hand out, which you briefly shake. “So you’re the woman that Jimin misses game nights for,” he quips.

“Work is important and I demand the best from my staff,” you shrug, feigning interest and sipping your juice.

“Oh, I’m sure you do. Jimin here has always been committed to his job, so much so that he missed my birthday trip last September because he had so much work to do.”

“He didn’t complain though,” you bite back.

“I don’t mind, now that I see you,” Jungkook smirks, “I mean, he never said his boss is gorgeous.”

“Why the fuck would I say that to you about my boss?” Jimin finally speaks up, incredulous at his friend’s statement.

“So you don’t think I am?” You nudge him.

“I mean… you’re—”

“I’m just messing with you, Park,” you laugh, causing Jungkook’s smile to soften at your tender sound.

“Telling you as a friend, you are pretty though. Don’t fire me for saying that, nor for my friend for saying that,” Jimin scratches the back of his neck.

“What’s wrong with it? I’m complimenting her,” Jungkook defends.

“You just met. Maybe ask her first if it’s okay since it’s about her looks? Plus, you’re not exactly being subtle with the way you’re gazing at her,” Jimin scolds.

“I’m here, you know,” you remind them.

“Fine,” Jungkook turns towards you with a little smirk. “May I compliment you about your looks?”

“Nope,” you say pointedly.

“Okay, okay,” he chuckles. “Let me go with small talk, then. How do you like the tarts?”

“Did you make them?” You eye the ones on the table not far away.

“With these skilled hands,” he raises and wiggles them, veins and more ink decorating them, “yes.”

You put on an unimpressed look. “They’re too sweet. And what’s a dessert spread without anything with strawberries?”

Jungkook isn’t fazed, merely enjoying getting more out of you like this, even if you do seem a little annoyed.

“Got that. I’ll go easy on the sugar for you,” he winks. “And this is just a teaser of our desserts and luckily for you, I’ve got some strawberry cakes and tarts for taste-testing. Mind having the honor?”

“Not really,” you respond, causing Jimin to laugh and enjoy this exchange because you did just talk about constantly craving for some strawberry shortcake.

“I’ll just surprise you, then,” Jungkook smiles. “Can I perhaps offer you a cocktail?”

“I can’t drink, I’m pregnant,” you say before you could stop yourself.

It’s just something you’ve always wanted to vocalize, given the journey it took for you to get here - from deciding on having a baby, going through counseling, finding the perfect half, and actually trying and finally letting it stick.

“Well, shame on me for trying to flirt with a taken woman,” Jungkook says, traces of confidence and smugness melting away with his smile. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask.”

“Oh, she’s very much single though, just pregnant,” Jimin casually shares.

You glare at him, as it’s something you weren’t exactly keen on letting the stranger know, but your friend’s apologetic face makes you forget about it.

“Sorry, please don’t fire me,” he pleads.

“Hmm. So you really are pregnant,” Jungkook states, with a cheeky smile back on his face.

“You think I’m lying?”

“No. I mean, maybe it’s an excuse to turn me down?”

“I can say that to your face without an excuse,” you cross your arms. “Like, I’m turning you down. Sorry, I’m not interested.”

Jungkook places his hand on his chest, faking being hurt by your rejection. “Wow, that’s a first,” he cockily says.

“Oh my god. Please. Look around,” you state exasperatingly. “I’m sure there are other women out here who’d gladly keep you company,” you say, glancing at the interns and other young lawyers at your firm who’d been sultrily eyeing him for a while now. “Or maybe ride your dick if you wanted or something.”

“You’re the only one who caught my attention though, and I don’t really want anyone else’s. And, what made you think that being ridden is what I want?” Jungkook asks the last bit incredulously.

You shrug. “You’re friends with Jimin. Just assumed, sorry.”

“Well, you’re not completely wrong about that,” he smirks again, earning him a scoff from you. “But I'm also quite the hopeless romantic. I like dinner dates under the stars and long walks by the beach.”

“Holy shit, you’re sleazy,” you say, though your laugh at the end doesn’t convince Jungkook that you truly think he’s insufferable, and that makes him think that he might actually have a chance.

“Kook, strike out,” Jimin shakes his head, the secondhand embarrassment becoming too much. “Your usual charm won’t work on her.”

You flash an almost triumphant smile.

“Fine, fine. I’ll stop. I have to refill the food anyway,” Jungkook says, walking behind you to take the tray from the table. “But I mean it though, in case it matters and I hope it does,” he whispers. “You’ve caught my attention since you entered the cafe, and I like dates, and not just to fool around.”

His gruff voice sends shivers down your spine, and somehow you know he means it, but you pull yourself out of his temporary spell before you fall into it.

“Still not interested,” you say.

“Maybe I could change your mind.”

“Maybe you won’t.”

“We’ll see,” he smirks for the nth time then leaves.

Jimin watches the exchange in amusement but apologizes just the same. “I’m so sorry for him. He’s usually more bearable than that.”

“It’s okay. I’ve unfortunately experienced worse,” you shrug, cringing at the memory of men who’d been way more disrespectful and offensive and just didn’t know when to stop. “And technically, Jin is your boss, you know that right? I just endorse your paycheck.”

“Oh, I know. Kook tends to be a persistent, annoying little brat sometimes and I needed the boss excuse to not visit him in Singapore for his birthday last September. We had that big trafficking case last year.”

You satisfyingly hum at the memory. It was a case you brought in and took on, and winning it dispelled whatever doubts the senior lawyers still had about your skills. It was also the one that, according to Jin’s father, elevated the firm’s status, thanks to your persistence and insistence on doing things your way.

“But he’s a really good guy, ___. Tends to be a bit all over the place and likes to have too much fun sometimes but one of the nicest people I know.”

“And this matters, why?” You ask.

“Because your cravings will frustrate you pretty soon and I know you when you don’t get what you want,” he furrows his brows. “And keeping a chef close by is always a benefit.”

“Hmm, you have a point,” you nod.

“And you’re very single and so is he,” Jimin adds.

“Don’t ruin it, Park,” you glare at him. “Being single is what I plan to be for now.”

You find yourself entering Blue Side alone the next morning, with Byeol asking to sleep in a little longer after an emergency surgery she had to perform last night. You said you’d be fine having breakfast on your own, and she could just pick you up at the cafe with takeout for her before you take the 3-hour drive to your hometown.

There’s something comforting coming here, with its cozy yet bright interior that personifies Hobi. The darkwood floor and wooden chairs are contrasted by the pops of color found in the throw pillows, the rugs, and the small paintings and figurines displayed on the shelves. The smell of coffee beans makes it the perfect place to start your day.

“Hey, ___,” Hobi greets you with his usual cheeriness. “Sorry I didn’t get to spend time with you guys last night, but I hope the food and drinks were good.”

“They were, actually,” you smile at the memory of some of the best-tasting tarts you’ve had in awhile from last night, and of course, the lie you told the flirty chef that they were too sweet.

You hate to admit that you’re afraid you’d be craving them but wouldn’t want to give Jungkook the satisfaction of actually liking what he’s made. You could be petty sometimes and that’s totally fine, you remind yourself.

“That’s great to hear. I was a bit worried because Jungkook, our new pastry chef, was nervous about the spread. He said someone commented they were too sweet and he started to panic and he’s never like that.”

“Oh, really?” You say guiltily. “That person probably wasn’t in their right mindset last night. The stuff was delicious. Maybe have some strawberry and raspberry ones next time?” You flutter your eyelashes. “I would devour them.”

Hobi laughs and you’re glad he’s not dwelling too much on the comment he doesn’t know you made, and you feel a little bad that Jungkook took it so seriously, something you didn’t intend nor expect.

“I know you would, but they’re in the works. Jungkook tends to be a bit all over the place sometimes but he can be laser focused if he wants to be.”

“Hmm. Park said the same thing last night,” you say.

“Ah, so you met Kook!” Hobi says excitedly. “I’m glad he finally figured out what he wanted to do and I got to him before others did. The guy’s talented.”

“Oh yeah? You seem to know him well.”

“Enough. He was three batches lower than me and Jimin but we’d see him everywhere - in the quad, the management building, in all the parties. And that’s considering he was in college for just two years before he dropped out then went to pastry school.”

“Interesting,” you say, although even more of a turnoff, if you’re being honest, considering he couldn’t seem to make up his mind about what he wanted to do with his life, the complete opposite of you who knew exactly what you wanted when you were just 15 years old.

Hobi’s about to respond when the devil himself enters the cafe, dressed in black jeans and an oversized plaid polo over a thin black turtleneck, similar to what he wore last night and one you realize is what they wear under their chef’s whites. He doesn’t notice you, as he bops his head to the music only he hears, his sleepy eyes and mussed hair telling you that he doesn’t seem to be a morning person.

Under the overhead lights and with the sun shining from outside, you can make out more of his features, like his sharp jawline and thin, pink lips. He places his bag on the counter, still unknowing of your presence, and he cracks his neck and combs his hair with his fingers like it’s some morning ritual. You hate how such harmless acts are getting you worked up, and you blame it on the hormones because, well, you can.

“Rough night?” Hobi smirks, and the insinuation isn’t lost on Jungkook and you.

“Not really. I got turned down,” he shrugs, and your heart races at the thought that he didn’t, in fact, get his dick wet after you rejected him last night.

“Well, that’s a first. And I probably know her if she’s from the firm so I won’t ask,” Hobi laughs. “So no date, huh?”

“Nothing more than her name,” Jungkook sighs. “But she looked so—”

You clear your throat to let him know that you are actually there, not wanting to admit that you’re nervous of what he meant to say about you.

Jungkook turns towards you, eyes widening at the sight of the woman he was referring to that rejected him, much to his dismay. Although with the way you carried yourself last night, he already had a feeling that trying to impress you wouldn’t be easy.

He recovers quickly as he cheekily smiles again. “Hmm, didn’t think I’d see you so soon.”

He proceeds to remove the rings off his fingers and places them on the counter, smirking as he eyes you mindlessly watching him do so, your lips parting just the slightest bit.

“___ basically opens the place most days,” Hobi answers for you. “At least today it isn’t for work.”

He motions towards your comfy sweats and luggage bags good for a weekend trip.

“I come in earlier than most staff, actually,” you correct.

“Hey, my shift usually isn't until lunch time,” Jungkook defends. “But we’ve got loads of orders of pastries after last night, even if someone said they were too sweet. I’m thinking now maybe they were lying,” he smirks.

You chuckle, but you can’t deny the way you’re being affected by his gaze, especially as he chooses to remove his polo in front of you and change it with his white one, briefly gracing you with his taut pecs and toned arms bulging out of his semi-tight black top.

You turn away, your hands reaching for your belly as what you’ve come to do whenever you find yourself flustered.

Jungkook remembers that you’re indeed pregnant, embarrassment filling him since he made a move on you.

“Speaking of which, I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable,” he continues. “I didn’t know that you—”

“Jeon Jungkook, what did you do to my best customer?” Hobi interjects. “Did you hit on her? Should I fire you or something? Don’t make me, we’re just about to launch our dessert menu.”

“I, well, I was tipsy and—”

“You drank during your shift?!” Hobi is now close to a meltdown.

“Depends on who’s asking,” Jungkook chuckles, scratching the back of his neck in embarrassment.

You roll your eyes, and he’s back to being the sleezeball you met last night. “You didn’t smell like alcohol. But either way, human decency tip: don’t use that as an excuse next time, okay? That’s a really douchebag thing to do.”

“I’m sorry. I just…” Jungkook panics, knowing he’s really thrown away his shot with you. “You really caught my eye last night and I didn’t know how to say that without sounding like a creep or anything.”

“Wait, she’s the woman you said turned you down?” Hobi now laughs.

“Yeah,” Jungkook huffs, looking like a kicked puppy and you actually feel a little bad for him.

“Wow, this is quite the unlikely pair,” Hobi continues. “I’ve never seen Kook seriously be upset over a rejection because, well, he’s never really been rejected. Not that he hits on every woman he fancies, just to be clear,” he backtracks, as Jungkook glares at him for rambling. “Bottom line is, I wouldn’t say he’s a creep, just a little too persistent sometimes.”

“It’s okay,” you laugh, not wanting Jungkook to feel even worse. “Jimin profusely apologized for last night and vouched for him.”

You turn to Jungkook this time. “And I don’t think you’re a creep. Just a kid who thinks he’s got game and you probably do, which I’m sure a lot of women your age would happily go for and—”

“Wait, a kid?” Jungkook exclaims. “You think I’m a kid? ___, you’re not that much older,” he adds.

He didn’t even think you were in your 30s if Jimin hadn’t told him last night.

“Well, you’re 24… right? So is my baby sister. Anyone in their early twenties is a kid to me,” you shrug.

“That can’t be any further from the truth, actually, and I—”

“Please don’t say you’ll prove it to me. I don’t really need you to. Like I said, I’m not interested,” you say once more, with a hint of irritation in your voice, something he picks up.

“Got it. My apologies, Atty. Kim,” his smile fades a little, no longer the same cheeky one he’s been sporting since last night. “Would you like something to eat? On me, just to make it up to you. Perhaps something sweet? I make a mean French Toast.”

You give in, seeming as if he’d gotten the message that you really don’t want to play this flirting game with him. “Okay then. Jimin did mention that last night.”

Jungkook’s eyes have a glimmer in them, the corners of his lips turning up softly as you give him a smile.

“Okay, good.” He rolls up his sleeves and grabs his things. “Order coming right up.”

“So,” Byeol raises her eyebrows at you from across the table. “Who was that hottie at the cafe yesterday who couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off you?”

You’re currently seated at the outdoor dining table of your family home, surrounded by your mother and siblings, as well as your best friend Namjoon and his pregnant wife, Ma-Ri. It’s been a while since you’ve been complete, with everyone being busy with their respective jobs to find time to come together and celebrate your pregnancy.

It’s been a month since you found out, and the relief of being successful at it after the 4th cycle elated you. You’d wanted to celebrate with your loved ones immediately but it had to wait, and you’re just glad that you get to be with all of them in your hometown, even if it’s only for the weekend.

“A hottie? Someone’s flirting with you?” Sun-hee looks up from her phone. “Who’s the unlucky guy who’s going to be rejected multiple times?”

You frown at her, knowing you’d done it already.

“The new pastry chef at Hobi’s cafe,” you shrug. “It’s nothing. He’s your age, actually.”

“Ew,” Sun-hee makes a face. “That’s like, dating your little brother.”

“Yup, I totally called him a kid and he hated it,” you laugh.

“Well, if I’m flirting with someone and they call me a kid, I’d hate it, too,” Yuri points out. “You hated it.”

You scowl at her at the reminder.

“Only because that was Yun-seo’s default statement every time we fought then,” you roll your eyes, remembering how the 5-year gap only mattered to him whenever you argued, but never when he needed you to fix his bills and taxes or make him look good to his bosses.

“Oh, so we’re allowed to say that asshole’s name now?” Taehyung asks, his hardened face only ever showing up when you talk about your ex.

“Pretty much,” you hum.

“But we still hate him, right?” Your brother asks.

“Not really, I just… It’s been years, and it doesn’t really matter now that I’m pregnant. I made it without him, that’s all that matters,” you sigh. “It bothered him so much that my independent ass could thrive whether he was around or not and me getting pregnant without a partner just proves that I can, indeed, make things happen without him, or any partner for that matter.”

“Must be pretty lonely though,” Namjoon says, as you meet his perpetually soft eyes when it comes to you.

“I have 3 different kinds of vibrators, Joonie,” you laugh.

“I don’t mean that!” He nudges you.

“Well, I have a little human growing in me and I’ll get to meet them in a few months!”

“Yeah but, I don’t mean that, too.”

“I know,” you laugh bitterly. “I’m too young to think that I’ll never have a partner or anything. I mean, look at Mom, flirting her way to her sixties.”

You all laugh, as your mother owns up to her ways. She never let anything faze her, and that’s why you always looked up to her. She’s perhaps the biggest reason why you even think you could do this.

Even when your father left your mother with 4 young children and a budding medical career, she didn’t back down - not from being a successful doctor, and especially not from being a loving parent. With the help of your grandparents when they were still alive then, she made sure all 4 of you were given all your basic needs and more, including all the support she could give at that time, without giving up her career and happiness.

By the time you’d all graduated from college, she thought it was time she could share herself with others, too - going on dates, trips, and meeting other men who could be potential partners for her. She took on the challenge of being a single mother, not once making any of you feel like something was missing, and when it was time, she chased her own happiness outside of her family, too.

“You’d be surprised at how horny doctors are,” your mother sips her beer. “They’re divorcees and widowers who want companionship as well. That kind of thing knows no age, darling,” she tells you. “You’ll never be too old to want sex or a hand to hold or someone to laugh with. Your baby-making abilities may have an expiration date, but your desire for a warm body doesn’t.”

“Spoken like the true warrior that you are, Auntie,” Byeol says, having witnessed everything about your family as your best friend of 20 years.

“Got the scars to prove it,” your mother winks. “But I’m planning on settling down soon. Jung-jae seems like it for me and I’d really want to see where our relationship could go.”

You all squeal in excitement, given that she’s finally made up her mind about the man she wants to take seriously this time. While it seemed like she was more into Byung-hun, the chief of the cardiology department, you knew deep down she’d go for Jung-jae, an old friend and university professor who’s her grounding presence and the calm to her storm.

“I’m happy for you, Mom. You deserve it. At least he won’t be surprised that you have three additional children that you look after,” you laugh, referring to your friends who are also part of the family.

“Thank you, honey. And I’m happy for you, too,” she sends you an air kiss. “I’m glad it finally worked out, and that not being in a relationship didn’t stop you from having your own child.”

“She wrote this on her vision board, Auntie, of course she was gonna make it happen,” Namjoon laughs, referring to the life-size board you made when you were a teenager that you showed him.

He recalls being in awe of you then, the briefest moment of thinking you were a little too crazy and uptight, eventually going away once you asked if you were, indeed, being a little too crazy and uptight. But he’d met you when you were 16 and he was 19 - you, as a college first-year student because you’d gone to school early and even skipped a grade level, and him, the student affairs representative who was tasked to help scholars like you.

You were 20 by the time you graduated university, 25 when you became a certified lawyer, and 30 when you became a junior partner, just like you planned all those years ago.

And even if your desire of becoming a mother materialized a few years later than what you’d originally planned - no thanks to your ex-boyfriend who dumped you - you still made it happen. Namjoon knows you’d find a way to have your 3 kids by the time you’re 35, even if you’d have to do it via artificial insemination again.

“Hey, that was 19-year old me who decided, okay,” you reason amidst the laughter. “And I just couldn’t shake it off.”

“And that’s totally fine, honey,” your mother says. “We all go through life in our own ways - some plan it out and some don’t, we all end up where we’re meant to be anyway, regardless of how we get there.”

“I know, Mom. Thank you for always reminding us,” you smile.

“In that case, so who’s the hottie that Byeol said couldn’t keep his eyes off of you?” She teases.

“A kid, like I said,” you shrug.

“Babe, he didn’t look like a kid,” your best friend counters. “I don’t know if you were looking but his sexy arms were popping out of his thin top and the piercing on his eyebrow and those tattoos? Not your type but he totally could be.”

“You can have him, or Sun-hee can. Or Yuri or even Tae, for all I care,” you retort. “He’s too young, too flirty, too out there… and that’s on top of me not looking to date anytime soon. This was the one bit that was negotiable in my vision board.”

“Hey now, that isn’t exactly set in stone, is it?” Ma-ri now asks. “I mean, is he at least decent?”

You narrate what happened last Friday night and yesterday morning, much to the amusement of your family and friends.

Since your breakup with Yun-seo, there wasn’t really someone worth sharing to them about. The tension between you and some of the lawyers you work with and go against were merely moments, and while you and Jin were a little too comfortable a few times, you both knew - and everyone around you - that you were too similar and would probably drive each other crazy, in a not so good way.

(“We’d kill each other,” you’d told Byeol in her inability to let go of the ‘power couple’ agenda. “But the sex!” She’d cried out.”)

“So yeah, the kid with the piercings and the tattoos isn’t bad. He makes really good French Toast, though,” you conclude your story.

“He sounds whipped,” Yuri says.

“He sounds like the kind of guy who’d stand by like a little puppy waiting for you to give it some attention,” Tae says. “And you sound like the girl who’d keep thinking it’s cute and give it treats every once in a while, maybe pet it on special occasions but you’d never actually keep it.”

“How… specific,” you state, your brother merely shrugging at you.

“Okay, he may be a little handsome but I feel like we’re too different, I mean based on what the guys have said about him,” you say. “We’ll want different things at different times. And I know he’s just 7 years younger but that’s still… young. I’m pretty sure he’s gonna want someone who will need him back and I’ve just always been fine on my own. And I’ve got you guys and I—“

You stop, as you’re met with 7 pairs of eyes basically rolling at the back of their heads.

“Yah! You’re overthinking again,” Byeol says. “And thinking too far ahead.”

“Can’t help it,” you say, as if you even need to.

It’s what you tend to do, and they all know that. It’s gotten you this far and this much, though.

“Anyway, not my priority,” you conclude. “I’m two months in, I’ve got prenatal yoga soon, I’ve got a nursery to design and daycare centers to research on… and a big case up ahead, on top of the usual ones. In short, my hands are full.”

“Alright, honey,” your mother comforts, going to you to hug you while you remain seated. “No pressure. He’s probably just some guy enraptured by you because you’re gorgeous and smart and capable and all the things that a good guy is supposed to appreciate, okay?”

She kisses your cheek, and you smile, not missing the other words she doesn’t say.

You think about those that night after you'd gone back to Seoul and what prompted her to keep those unsaid.

Yun-seo broke up with you three years ago after he dropped you off in your apartment, after you treated him to a fancy restaurant because you won a big case. He was quiet the whole night, and you’d been the one anxious, thinking you did something wrong.

It was an offhanded comment by one of his colleagues, he said, about you being the one who wears the “pants” in the relationship, and the fact that a comment that stupid was enough to cause him to doubt his own capabilities and your relationship told you enough.

You were a woman in your mid-twenties when you got together, fresh off passing the bar exams. With wide eyes and a trusting heart, you gave yourself to him, and he made you believe you were his endgame, the way you felt with him. It only took several high-profile cases and wins and a rapidly increasing salary to get him to realize that you are, indeed, a highly capable and independent woman who didn’t need his money, his influence, his name, and his protection.

“Such a bruise to your ego to date a younger woman who’s more successful than you are,” you told him then, not letting yourself cry over a man who saw your worth only when it benefitted him.

“I just want to feel like you need me, that you could depend on me,” he’d said, masking his own insecurities.

“You don’t ask that of people, you just become someone they lean on,” you responded. “You want to be needed because you want to feel important, not because you care about me, otherwise all my achievements wouldn’t be your downfall.”

You never thought a breakup could be that satisfying even if it hurt, and it hurt bad.

Maybe it was you. Maybe you didn’t see the red flags, how he undermined your achievements and wanted you to just settle for whatever law firm, whatever case you could get. Maybe you were blinded by his kindness, thinking he was dependable all those times when really, he just wanted you to be dependent on him - every broken light, every burnt pancake, every piece of jewelry you were saving up for. It was all self-serving, and you’d realized it too late, a broken heart and your own bruised ego later.

Everything that happened only prompted you to be better. You didn’t lose a part of you, you’d remind yourself everyday. You weren’t any less just because he left you. You continued to shower your family and friends with gifts, going on all the trips you planned on taking with Yun-seo, working harder until you went up the ladder, and finally, going to that fertility clinic that Byeol recommended after deciding that you were, indeed, going to have that baby like you wanted.

Your siblings have grown up, your mother is getting older - you wanted a child to care for and to love, that your family could also love, that you were going to give your whole heart to because you could.

You wanted that experience - of trying, of growing a little human inside of you, of bringing them into this world, of giving them everything because you made them… All you needed was a man somewhere else in the country who was good enough to give you a hopefully perfectly healthy little one.

You cradle your growing belly, like you do every night, and hum the closest to a lullaby that you can. You imagine having this child and the life you’ll both have - hopefully with more siblings, and maybe another parent, too, in time, if the universe wanted it.

But right now, you and this baby are the only ones who matter, and you can’t wait to meet them.

Jungkook yelps in surprise as Hobi nudges him on the shoulder, the young man’s eyes blinking to try to stay awake as he continues his preparations for the day’s bakes.

“I honestly didn’t think you’d last more than a day but it’s already Thursday and I’m impressed,” the older man chuckles. “You got it hard, Kook. I didn’t think you’d be committed to anything other than baking.”

“Well, I am still baking,” Jungkook responds, taking the puff pastry that’s been chilled overnight. “Just, you know, doing it for someone who—” he holds his hand up in front of Hobi to keep him from interjecting— “is actually helping me with the final dessert menu,” Jungkook continues.

“I am the one who should be helping you with the final menu,” Hobi teases. “I am your boss, not ___.”

“Yes, but you’re not a customer, she is.”

“Who also happens to be the woman you’re currently crushing on.”

“And that,” Jungkook doesn’t hesitate.

It’s been 4 days since he’s been coming to the cafe about 6 hours earlier than he’s required to. After finding out that you come here every morning for your only caffeine fix of the day, he rearranged his shift so that he’s on opening duty and taking this time to whip up something he’s been working on to serve to you, on the house, as part of his efforts of finalizing the dessert menu that Hobi has asked him to do.

You were surprised when you arrived last Monday, not expecting Jungkook to be there serving your coffee because that’s also something he learned to do.

He also served you a strawberry tart like you hoped he did last weekend, and he was over the moon when he saw your lips turn up after the first bite, even more so when you finished it immediately and told him to make sure it makes it on the menu.

Everyday since then, Jungkook has been making something new for you to try, from scratch. He’d been perfecting the recipes in time for the soft launch in a few weeks, as Hobi wants an afternoon tea set with seasonal pastries.

As Hobi’s favorite customer, Jungkook says it’s important that you get to weigh in on which ones make the final cut, although both men know that’s complete bullshit. Jungkook hasn’t stopped thinking nor talking about you since that night you both met, and all he wants to do is impress you.

Hobi watches the young man prepare the filling for the turnovers, with Jungkook hissing as he lightly burns his fingers from momentarily dozing off. He only had 3 hours of sleep after staying up late playing Overwatch with his friends, with Jimin copping out much earlier in the night because of work. Lucky him, Jungkook thinks, being in the same space as you everyday.

“Fuck,” Jungkook wails, tending to his aching fingers.

“Love hurts, doesn’t it?” Hobi teases, earning him a smack from the younger man.

“Be supportive, will you?”

“I am! Even if I think you don’t really have a chance.”

“Why, because of my age? I’m not her type? She’s mature and responsible and I’m not?” Jungkook states. “I’ve heard that already from her friends.”

“And they have a point, Kook. They are her friends.”

“Yeah but—” his mouth opens then closes, unsure what else he wants to say.

He doesn’t want to come off as disrespectful, even if all he’s been doing is give you free food.

“You know what makes one not mature? Not accepting no for an answer,” Hobi points out.

Jungkook merely huffs, knowing his friend is right.

It’s not another hour when you arrive, in your high-waist skirt and kitten heels, iPad in hand as you read through articles and case files. He sees you from the kitchen order your drink and settle at your usual table, the one in the corner.

“Fancy seeing you here again this morning,” he says. “Strawberry turnovers and a bowl of vanilla ice cream made from scratch, just in case.”

His smile is soft yet proud, doe-eyes trying to read your amused ones, as internally, you can’t wait to sink your teeth into these. The image of that puppy that Tae told you from last weekend enters your mind, and you snap out of it before you give a misleading smile or a compliment that would make Jungkook think all this is okay.

You’re not one to lead someone on, and Jungkook seems too sweet of a guy for you to do that to him.

“Hobi, is it okay if I ask Jungkook to take a seat in front of me?” You call out to your friend.

Hobi nods, knowing what’s about to come.

Meanwhile, Jungkook stands there unable to process what’s going on, and you have to nudge him to sit on the chair across from you.

“I, uh…”

“Jungkook, what are you doing?”

“Serving you free food?” His voice increases in pitch.

“Why?”

“Because… Because you like strawberry desserts and I’m working on the final menu and I wanna know what you think of them.”

“But you shouldn’t,” you say pointedly.

“Why?”

“Because you’re not just making all this so early in the morning so you’d know what I think of them, so it could help you decide on the final menu. You want to impress me, and I don’t like ulterior motives, Jungkook. You’re not exactly subtle.”

“Well, I’ll have you know that all of those are true,” he says, “because yes, I want to impress you. I’m obviously attracted to you, like, I burned my fingers while making the filling because I’m so sleepy from playing Overwatch last night but I wanted to make these for you so you’d want more and keep coming here and trying on the stuff I’m making.”

“And then?”

“And then what?”

“You’ll keep giving me free food?”

“Well—”

“You shouldn’t.”

“Well, yeah. Hobi’s gonna kill me.”

You can’t help but laugh at his innocent eyes and pouty lips, especially as he sulks and scratches the back of his neck, turning towards a cross-armed Hobi who has a serious look on his face.

“Jungkook, I like the things you’re making. They’re honestly really good, but I have to keep myself from saying these to you because I don’t want you to take them differently,” you sigh. “All these could make it to the menu. You’re really talented, but that’s it. There’s nothing else and there’s nothing more. You’re gonna have to stop this special treatment, okay?”

“How would I take those compliments differently?” he pouts again, prompting you to cross your arms and cock an eyebrow.

“Fine. In case you haven’t noticed, I have a massive crush on you,” he says so casually.

You snort this time. So does Hobi, as well as Dea, the other cafe worker, who's been witnessing all this since Monday.

“No shit, Sherlock. Like I said, you haven’t exactly been subtle.”

Jungkook looks at your cocked brow and takes it all in - you in your power suit, looking so put together and in control, and him in his already dirty uniform and burnt fingers, just trying to stay awake.

It’s silly, he thinks, how he’d met you last week and how much effect you already have on him, while he doubts you even think about him after you exit this cafe and go on about your day, doing adult things, caring for yourself and another human being you’re carrying.

He honestly doesn’t even remember if he’s already paid the monthly rent of his apartment that his parents still give him money for, or when the last time he even had it cleaned. He thinks about his suspended license after his repeated traffic violations and how he’s just been lazy to get around to working on it.

He’s pretty much all over the place, as his friends always tell him, but he’s always managed to get by. He’s healthy, capable, and finally doing something he enjoys after being confused for most of his life. He likes his job so far, and it’s enough to get him excited and able to actually deliver; he’s sort of made up his mind about his career at this point, at least.

You’re you and he’s him. He doesn’t really know what he was thinking, where his efforts would lead him, and why that would even make a dent in your life. He just decided on it after seeing you, and he hadn’t thought about what comes after.

“I’m sorry, and I really mean it this time,” he smiles, the kind that makes you want to take him seriously. “I was being stupid and naive, I admit that. I didn’t think things through and that’s pretty immature of me.”

“You don’t have to put yourself down, you know,” you say. “That’s not what I intended at all.”

“I just wanted to verbalize it. It helps with accepting,” he chuckles. “I know I have to get my shit together and stuff.”

“Look, I’ve only known you for a week, and given that you have a job that you’re actually good at, that’s more than having your shit together,” you try to comfort him.

“Oh, ___, you have no idea.”

“Well, yeah, I guess I don’t,” you smile this time.

“Thank you though, for being honest with me, and for not being mean about it,” he says.

“It didn’t hurt your ego?”

“Nah,” he shakes his head. “Mine isn’t that fragile. It’s all good.”

“That’s good, then. But I do mean it. Your stuff is great. I can’t wait to actually pay for them.”

“Thank you, ___. No more special treatment and trying to impress you to get you to like me,” he says, standing up. “Can we at least be friends?”

“Friends, that I can do,” you say, shaking the hand he reaches out. “Thank you, too.”

“Now, if you don’t mind, I have pastries to bake and a boss to make up to.”

You laugh and watch him go back to the kitchen, finally having time to devour the strawberry turnovers that’s been tempting you since Jungkook put them on the table.

You finish each piece in three bites, scooping some ice cream and savoring its sweet taste to balance out your coffee’s bitter one. It’s heaven in your mouth and you’re glad you get to enjoy this without much of the guilt, as you pay what Hobi tells you the amount he’s pricing it, given that it has, in fact, made the final cut on the menu.

Jungkook merely hums from the kitchen, faintly hearing you rave about the pastry, and the sight of you earlier smiling as you quickly finished what he’d made is embedded in his mind. At least he gets to have this - friendship for you, and his continued admiration from afar.

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#jungkook fic #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #strangers au #friends au #single mom OC #pastry chef jk #ASDOAH #series

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seongsangi · 4 years ago

Text

your girl calls me daddy too

pairing: johnny x reader

summary: the story of getting involved with your professor/classmate's dad 👀

word count: 4.5k

warnings: professor!johnny, dilf!johnny, daddy/sir kink, age gap bc johnny is older in this fic (reader is 21+, we dont do that barely legal just turned 18 shit) straight up smut, that's all we do on this blog

author's note: this took me from 8 pm to 4 am to write. idk if that's fast or not compared to some people but bitch... that's a record for me!

another note: idk if anyone's wondering but johnny is a single dad in this, no cheating or infidelity involved!

No one knows about your relationship with Johnny Suh, certainly not your family or friends, and certainly not his son who is in the same biology course as you this semester. The secret is kept strictly between the two of you, the thrill of hiding it making it that much more exciting.

The relationship began with him being your chemistry professor. The brief glances, lingering touches, and frequent visits during office hours became too much for either of you to deny the attraction. It felt so wrong, the professor-student affair being too much of a cliché that you were hesitant to follow through with it. But after a particular session discussing the assigned homework, you both realized it was now too late to go back.

***********************************************

“Professor, why are you looking at me like that?” you fiddle with your pen in your hand.

“I’m sorry, I’m just a little distracted.” Mr. Suh lets his eyes trail down your figure, eyeing the neckline of your dress that reveals just enough to get his imagination going. He’s thinking about the way you waltzed in here with that damn sundress on, the way you bite your lip when you’re confused on a reaction mechanism, the way your innocent eyes look up at him when he’s explaining the concept. He feels foolish, unable to focus on your question when you’re sitting across from him looking like that, the dress hugging your figure in all the right ways.

“Should I come back another time?”

Mr. Suh clears his throat, giving you another glance up and down before collecting himself. “No, no, I promise I’m fine. Let me check your work right quick.” You hand him the paper, watching as he leans back in his chair examining the mechanism you drew. You let your eyes do the same thing to him as he did to you, taking in the long sleeve black shirt he wore today that hugs his biceps almost too well. It has your hands itching to feel them under your fingers, to take the shirt off and see him in all his glory. Your eyes roam his face, the sharp features drawing you in. You imagine his plump lips doing things to your body that are sure to take your breath away.

He does not fail to notice your lingering stare, or the way you’re fidgeting in your chair. He pulls the sleeves of his shirt up his forearm and grabs his pen, leaning in to show you where you went wrong. As he’s explaining, you lean in too, your perfume filling his senses. You can’t seem to focus on what he’s saying, too busy tracing the veins along his arms and hands. Oh, how they would feel wrapped around your – okay, bitch you have got to chill.

“Miss Y/N, is something the matter?” The way your name rolls off his tongue has you swooning, the added ‘miss’ making your tummy flutter.

You feel your body temperature rising with each second, fiddling with your hands in your lap, your mind going crazy with impure thoughts. You take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down. “Uh, I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”

Mr. Suh notices your attention is elsewhere, setting his pen down and looking you directly in the eye, making you feel tiny under his intense gaze.

“You’re playing a very dangerous game.”

The statement catches you off guard, your cheeks immediately getting hot. “I- I don’t know, wha- what do you mean?” you stutter, which he finds endearing seeing you all flushed.

“Let’s not act like we don’t know where your mind is at,” he sees right through you. “Cause I’ll be honest, I’m right there with you.” His voice drops a couple octaves, sending a wave of arousal through you at the sound of it. Oh fuck, is this really happening right now?

Your breath gets caught in your throat, unable to respond. What the fuck do you even say to that? Mr. Suh gets out of his chair, his long legs coming around the desk and standing in front of you. He leans down real close to your face, bracing himself on the arm rests of the chair you’re in, effectively caging you in. If you thought you were getting warm before, you’re on the verge of burning up now. He’s smirking down at you, enjoying just how riled up you’re getting.

“Are you gonna tell me you haven’t been thinking of things other than chemistry during our meeting?” He cocks his head to the side, challenging you with a tease in his words.

“Um, professor, I don’t think we should be doing this…” you trail, glancing at the closed door behind you. His face is too close for comfort, looking anywhere but at him.

“Then tell me to stop,” his lips now ghosting your neck, so close you can feel his breath on your skin. He’s watching your chest rise and fall with heavy breaths. Every fiber in your being is telling you this is wrong on so many levels, but it’s making your body tingle in a way you can’t ignore. You’ve been thinking about him and it’s obvious he has been too, what’s stopping you from going further? You open your mouth to say something, but you can’t find any words to say, nothing to let him know you don’t want this.

“You have to tell me you want it then,” he pulls back from you slightly, waiting for your confirmation. If you don’t explicitly say yes, then he won’t push it any further.

You can’t take this any more, sitting up straight and saying “I want it” in one breath before crashing your lips against his. There’s no taking this back, you tell yourself as you let him take control. You sigh into the kiss, his lips feel so right against yours, letting the lust cloud your mind. He cups the side of your face, pulling you up by your waist to get a better angle to devour your lips. His hips push you against the desk, lifting you slightly to sit on the edge. Your hands bunch up his shirt, pulling him even closer to you. He bites your bottom lip as he pulls away, searching your face for any sign of regret. Instead, he’s met with your blown out expression, needy eyes asking for more.

Mr. Suh shakes his head in disbelief, almost chuckling. “You don’t know what you do to me, miss Y/N.” You love it when he calls you that. He steps back, turning around to lock the door. The sound of the lock only fuels your excitement, eager to see what he’ll do next. Your hands grip the edge of the desk as Mr. Suh stalks towards you, like a predator eyeing his prey. Oh, how you want him to eat you up right now. Your thighs press together at the thought, a movement he quickly notices.

His hands trail up the side of your thighs before resting on the curve of your ass. The fabric is soft to the touch but he bets your skin is softer. “What are you thinking of, you naughty girl?” His lips are back on you, letting your head fall to the side as he peppers kisses along your neck. “Just thinking about you,” you pant.

“I know that much. What do you want me to do, hmm?” he presses further.

“Anything you want,” falling further under his spell. He groans in your ear, ready and willing to take advantage of your submission. It’s more like you’ve got him under your spell. He knows this is wrong on a professional level, but fuck that right now.

“Turn around,” twisting your body before you can even do it yourself. His touch makes you so dizzy, bracing your hands on the homework assignment that has long been forgotten. He kisses your shoulder, pressing close to your backside as he admires you from behind, the dress doing wonders to accentuate your curves.

“You look so good in this dress doll,” kneading your ass in his hands. He gives it a tame slap, not wanting to be too rough since there are still other offices around his. “But I bet you’d look even better with it off.” The wetness in your panties is becoming unbearable, desperate for him to touch you where you need him.

“Touch me please,” your sweet voice begging him is more than enough for him to comply. He bunches your dress up over your waist to expose your soft skin, the thin panties you’re wearing showcasing your wet spot off clearly. His pants are getting incredibly tight, blood rushing to his member with each second. He lifts your right knee to rest it on the desk, trailing his fingers over the thin fabric.

“Right here?” he slides his fingers up and down your center, earning a shudder from you.

“Or here?” pulling your panties to the side and coating his fingers in your arousal. You let out an audible moan when he finds your clit, which prompts him to clamp his hand over your mouth. He cranes your head back to look you in your eyes, his hand still rubbing against your bundle of nerves.

“You’ll have to be quiet or else I’ll stop. Can’t have anyone around us hearing you.” You nod in understanding, eyes fluttering shut as two of his fingers slide into you with ease. You arch your back a bit more, pushing your hips further into his hand. It’s a good thing his hand is still covering your mouth because you can’t help your moans when his fingers are drilling into you so fast.

“You’re taking my fingers so well doll,” he’s gonna drive you insane with that nickname. You turn your head to get a better look at him, watching him part his lips as he watches his fingers disappear in and out of your core.

He slides a third finger in and you want to scream, the stretch makes you feel so full. You’re soaked now, the lewd sounds of your wetness making you feel self-conscious. Just then, his office phone rings. You gasp, looking at him with wide eyes. He lets go of your mouth but doesn’t pull his fingers out of you, pumping them in even as he reaches for the phone. You try to stay as quiet as you can with his fingers still working your core.

“Hello, this is Johnny Suh.” He looks you dead in the eye, telling you you better shut up without verbally saying anything.

“Ah, Jaehyun, what can I do for you?” Your legs buckle when he hits that spot, almost letting out a yelp. He shoots you another glare, pulling his fingers out and shoving them in your mouth to keep you quiet. He sets the phone down for a second, leaning in to your ear. “Play with yourself while I take this call. And shut up, I mean it.”

You can taste yourself on his fingers, the whole thing making you feel so filthy. Your hand reaches down to your core, rubbing yourself slowly as Mr. Suh picks the phone up again. You lick him clean, getting your own fingers wet now with your slick. He’s listening to the other person on the line but paying close attention to your hand in between your thighs. He likes watching you play with yourself, getting off on the thought of him.

“Okay, all that sounds great. Send me an email of the template and I’ll check it out. I’m with a student right now, so can I call you back later?”

When he finally gets off the phone, he shoves his fingers further into your mouth, almost making you choke on them. “Didn’t I tell you to be quiet? You couldn’t even do that?” You’re so worked up, you can feel your high approaching and you just want him to help you reach it.

You grab his wrist, pulling his fingers out of your mouth. “I’m so close,” bringing his hand back to your core.

“You want to cum? Beg for it,” he doesn’t make a move to touch you.

“Please sir, I wanna cum on your fingers, please please.” You stroke his arm gently, pleading with your eyes, anything for him to touch you again. How could he say no when you’re looking at him like that?

He tells you to turn around to face him, holding your leg against his waist. He watches your face contort in pleasure as he gives you what you want, rubbing yourself at the same time to chase your high. You try to keep your voice to a minimum, your sweet moans fueling him on. If his fingers feel this good in you, you can’t even imagine what else he’s got in store for you.

“Fuuuck, sir I’m cumming,” you cry weakly, closing your eyes and clenching around his fingers as you finally get that release. The sight of you coming undone on his hand is almost enough to take you right then and there, but he holds himself back. Your hand grips his wrist tightly, but he doesn’t stop pumping in and out of you until you open your eyes, worried he’s gonna try to get another one out of you so soon.

He finally stops, taking the chance to taste yourself by licking his own fingers clean. God, you thought sucking his fingers was hot, this is even better. He loves the taste of you, already craving more. Mr. Suh runs his hand along your inner thighs, taking a mental image of the sight of you spread open for him on his desk.

“Miss Y/N, I think it’s safe to say that we should keep this a secret between us.”

***********************************************

And that’s how your intimate relationship with your professor began. You’ve been in his office so many times after that, you’ve lost count, letting him take you on every inch of that desk. Before, during, and after office hours, you both crave each other’s touch. You know to keep your time together to a minimum though. You can’t be coming into his office whenever you want, or else it would start to get suspicious. Sometimes you catch yourself stealing glances at his son in biology class, wondering if he has even the slightest idea of what’s going on between you and Mr. Suh.

One day, when he’s at the front of the class teaching, all you can think about is his lips on you as he takes you from behind, whispering in your ear how dirty you are for letting him fuck you before class started. By the end of class, he passes the homework back out. You see a note written in red at the bottom of your paper.

127 Paradise Lane tomorrow 7 pm

It doesn’t take a genius to know what that means or what it entails. You quickly put your homework in your backpack before any curious eyes can see what’s written on it. You look up to see him steal a glance at you, making sure you got his note. Neither of you say anything as you walk out of class.

***********************************************

When you get to his house the next night, he welcomes you in with a warm smile, which quickly turns devious as he shoves you against the door immediately after closing it, capturing your lips in a heated kiss. You grab hold of his shirt as his hands roam your body, pulling him as close as you can. His hard bulge presses against your stomach, thoughts already wandering to how mind blowing his impressive length will feel in you. You want him, but one questions prods at your mind, pulling away from his lips slightly.

“Sir, what about your son? Is he gonna be home tonight?” You feel weird in your classmate’s house, but the fact that you’re about to fuck his dad as you’ve done plenty of times before is more overwhelming than your qualms about being here.

“He’s out of town with his friends,” running his hand up your back before grabbing your hair, pulling your head back so fast it surprises you. His breath is warm against your lips, “And when you’re in my house, it’s daddy.” You’re so used to calling him sir, knowing it turns him on but the new name in this new setting makes your insides tingle. You can’t hold back your smile, giving him your best “yes, daddy” to appease him.

Mr. Suh leads you to his bedroom, the king sized bed hitting your back as he throws you down. He towers over you, unbuttoning his shirt slowly. You sit up on your elbows, rubbing your thighs together as you eat up the man before you with your eyes. With each button that comes undone, you get more and more excited. He’s watching you intently, thinking of all the ways he’s going to ruin you tonight. He looks delectable with his shirt off, licking your lips at the sight of his well built figure.

“You’re gonna start drooling soon,” he teases, walking to his closet and pulling out one of his many ties. Whatever he’s thinking of doing with that, you have absolutely no complaints. You bite your lip in anticipation as he kneels on the bed, securing the tie around your neck into a makeshift collar. “Is this okay with you?”

You nod your head, but he pulls on the tie quickly, taking your breath away. “Use your words.”

“Yes, it’s ok,” you choke out. He doesn’t let up, asking instead, “Yes what?”

You’re gushing already, the control he has over you making your head spin. “Yes daddy,” you can barely get the two words out. He lets the tie go slack, coughing a bit at the sudden attack. His hand cups your face, “Sorry was that too much?” You nuzzle your cheek into his hand, telling him you loved it.

And that’s what he loves about you, that you take anything he gives you and enjoy every bit of it. You’re too much for him. He sits with his back against the headboard, tugging your arm to straddle him. “Did you wear this little dress for me?” his hands are sliding up and down your thighs, bringing out the goosebumps on your skin. You brace your hands on his chest, moving your hips against his jeans. The friction against your clit is oh so good and feels even better when he flexes his thigh after seeing your movements.

“You should see what I’m wearing underneath,” tugging the hem of your dress over your body, revealing your choice in white lingerie underneath, the color making you look angelic but is a stark contrast to the sinful things that are about to happen.

“Miss Y/N, what am I gonna do with you?” he asks as you pick up the pace of your hips, leaning down to press your lips to his neck. He lets you do what you want to him, encouraging your hips to move faster. Your small whimpers in his ear tell him you’re enjoying yourself, using his thigh to get off. You know not to leave any visible marks, opting for further down his chest to leave hickeys. His jeans feel so good against your core, finding more pleasure in riding his thigh than you thought, but it’s still not enough. “Want you to fuck me,” you moan breathlessly, pushing your chest into his face as you find that perfect spot to keep grinding against.

He hungrily pulls your bra down, attaching his lips to your hard nipple as he rolls the other one between his fingers. Your skin is so soft, he could bury his face in your tits all night. He leaves his own hickeys on your chest, admiring his work as he puts your bra back in place.

“Keep the lingerie on.” He pulls you down by the tie again, kissing you fervently as you fumble with his jeans. You get down on your knees, taking his clothes off so that he’s naked before you. His rock-hard member slaps against his stomach when you pull his pants off. You flatten your tongue against his member, locking eyes with him as you lick him from the base to the tip. You take him in your mouth, using your hands to fondle his balls to add to his pleasure. Using your tongue as much as you can to get him wet, you take him as far as your throat allows.

“You look so good with my dick in your mouth,” grabbing your hair and bobbing your head up and down on him. You let him use your mouth, parting his lips at the feeling of your warm tongue. When he lets go of your hair, you release him with a pop, sliding your hand along his length. “I bet I look even better with it in m—” you can’t even finish your sentence as he grabs you by the chin, shutting you up.

“I knew you’d say some shit like that. Why don’t you be a good girl and come ride this dick then?” He shoves your face away, but the roughness only turns you on even more. You straddle his hips, his hand pulling your lace panties to the side as you position him at your entrance. Both of you gasp as you sink down on him, the stretch quickly filling you up, your tight walls clamping against him.

“Fuck daddy, feels so good,” you whine. When he’s all the way in, you lean back on your hands in the cowgirl position, giving him the best view of where your bodies are connected. You feel so exposed in this position, but he can’t keep his eyes off your core as you move your hips, which makes you feel powerful under his glare. You know he loves it just as much as you do, giving him a show as you ride him.

A thought comes into your head, pulling out but quickly turning around so that your backside is facing him. You slide down on him again, his hands gripping your waist. You can move your hips faster in this position, setting a quick pace and slamming your hips against his. He’s lost in the way your ass bounces on top him. You let out a loud whine when his hand lands a hard slap on your ass cheek.

“I can’t do that when we’re in my office,” he lands another one to the same cheek, “but now I can.” He wants to see you red with his handprints, enjoying your little yelps at the sting. You clench around him each time he spanks you, doing so particularly hard but you can’t deny that you like the pain. By the last spank, your ass is on fire, but his large hands smoothing over them soon makes you forget about the pain.

Suddenly, you’re being yanked back by your hair, thrown on your side as he spoons you. Lifting one of your legs up, he slides into you from behind. The new position introduces a new angle for him to fuck you. “Oh shit, fuck, oh my god,” you can only curse as he abuses your core deliciously. Instead of using the tie, he wraps his hand around your throat to choke you. You grip his forearm, letting him use your body to his content.

“Your pussy is so good baby,” he growls in your ear. “So tight, so wet, I could fuck you all night. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” You mumble incoherently as a response, too gone in the pleasure he’s sending throughout your body. You let out a choked scream as his hand that’s holding your leg up finds your sensitive nub, bringing you closer to the edge as he tells you how much he loves fucking you. Your legs shake as the pleasure overwhelms you, but he holds you close to keep you from going too far.

“Don’t run away, I know you can take it doll.”

“Daddy please,” you beg shamelessly but you don’t even know what you’re begging for. You want him to keep ravaging you, but you physically don’t know if you can keep up.

Mr. Suh makes the decision for you, pulling out of you to stand at the edge of the bed. He grabs your ankles, dragging your body towards him. He holds your legs together, pushing them towards your chest. He slides right back in, wasting no time in fucking you again. He loves watching his dick slide in and out of you, loves hearing you moan his name, loves how tight you get for him. You let your legs fall open, sitting up on your elbows to watch him fuck you. There’s something insanely hot about watching you take every inch of him, you can see why he enjoys it so much.

Your breasts bounce with each thrust, which makes him grab handfuls of your tits, pinching your nipples. “Baby, can I take a video of you? I won’t get your face in it, you just look so good in this lingerie right now.” You nod, feeling a surge of confidence at his words. He reaches for his phone on the nightstand, opening the camera and pressing record. He slows his thrusts, sliding into you slowly to show off how wet you are. The camera pans to your bra, giving them a squeeze for the video. He shoves your hand away, pulling your breasts out of your bra. He tugs on the tie, making sure not to get your face but still showing your makeshift collar off.

Without warning, he speeds his hips up again, earning a cry from you before ending the video and throwing his phone on the bed. He’s so riled up, he just wants to use you to finish. “You gonna cum for me daddy?” God, he loves hearing you beg for him. You sound so sweet saying the dirtiest things. “Cum for me please, I want it so bad, want you to cum in my mouth.”

“Oh shit baby,” he pulls out quickly, grabbing your hair and shoving himself in your mouth, his warm release all on your tongue. You swallow every last drop, sucking him off as he groans at the slight overstimulation.

He takes a second to catch his breath, noticing your not so innocent eyes looking up at him eagerly. A playful smile spreads across your face and he knows that look all too well.

You’re insatiable.

***********************************************

The next semester, you’re moving into a new dorm. Your parents are here to help you move everything in. You notice Mr. Suh’s son moving into the same dorm, looking around for a glimpse of him. He’s carrying a box of things from the car to the front entrance, stopping you for a quick “hello Miss Y/N, how was your break?”

He looks behind you, asking if those are your parents. “Maybe I should say something to them.”

“What are you gonna say?”

“Oh, I don't know, maybe something like: your girl calls me daddy too,” he jokes as you storm off, cheeks flushing red.

#nct smut #nct 127 smut #johnny smut #nct johnny #nct johnny smut

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littlemisslipbalm · 4 years ago

Text

“your turn”

Harry Styles was a romantic. He hated weddings. Rori Williams was practical. She hated weddings, too. How could she deny a man who had just drunkenly confessed his love for her at a wedding? Even if it was completely and totally untrue.

A story of two semi-strangers to lovers with weddings, drunken confessions, and girls with two names.

gif has nothing to do with it but he looks fancy and i like it :) tpwk

Hi! this is for @meetmeinfleetwood to lovers fic challenge! and it’s a little cruel of me to post it today after those wedding pics came out but i have been working on this for awhile and tomorrow’s the deadline so if it’s too soon im sorry and if its just what you need enjoy! I used prompts 12 and 15! It’s my first ofc story which is a little strange for me but i wanted to use a name for this, but besides her hair and eye color and a name she’s pretty generic,,, idk thank you all for always reading and all of that. lmk what you think and reblogs are always really appreciated

Word Count: 9.3k | Warnings: drinking, swearing, implied? smut (couldn’t bring my heart to write any my apologies), harry being a silly drunk, mentions of being afraid of someone taking advantage of someone under the influence but ofc no! actual any misconduct -- a SITCH wedding!!! so cute ::))

Harry Styles was a romantic.

He loved love songs that professed their undying love for their significant other. He loved romance movies, rom coms especially, because they were happy and in love and he got to cry and laugh all in one. He loved writing his own songs about love and he loved spreading the idea of loving and treating others with kindness. He loved first dates and the relationships that sometimes sprouted out of them. He loved reading books about love and how to make it last. He loved poetry that waxed eloquent about love. He loved love.

He hated weddings.

Well, he hadn’t always hated weddings. In the beginning, they were like every other aspect of love, he loved them. But slowly, as he kept receiving announcements of engagement and wedding invitations and he kept not sending out letters of his own, his aversion grew.

Sure, he still loved going. He still wept for the happy couples when they committed themselves to each other. He still clapped profusely and danced to the dj or live band. He still tried to enjoy it. But with weddings he had a nagging sense in the back of his head reminding him that he still hadn’t found it yet. Each of his relationships had fallen short in some way as to not lead him to this destination. So when he sat at his assigned table at these various gatherings, he held a bit of apprehension, a bit of envy, about everything going on. He knew that his smiles were all a little forced and his laugh not quite genuine. His thoughts always managed to be controlled by his green-eyed monster that he always attempted to keep locked away. But at weddings, especially when the alcohol started flowing, he had a harder time controlling it.

Seeing all his friends getting together, getting married, and having children wore on him. Wore him thin more than he ever let on to anyone but his therapist. And his therapist couldn’t seem to give him a better answer than to be patient and not give up hope.

By 2021, Harry had decided that maybe he was just meant to be alone. Love was something he could admire, but it wasn’t meant for him. He could chase it, but it would never let him have it. He was unlucky in love and by Sarah and Mitch’s wedding in the Spring, he had come to terms with it.

He had even been optimistic for it, being Mitch’s Best Man and all had gotten his hopelessly romantic heart all aflutter. He was introduced to Sarah’s Maid of Honor, Renee Williams and she had been lovely. She was 31, a little older than Harry - but age wasn’t something that deterred him, and she had worked with Sarah in Los Angeles before Harry recruited Sarah for the band. They were best of friends and Sarah had known for a long time that Renee would be her Maid of Honor.

When Harry met Renee, he was sure that she was meant to be his person. She was beautiful and hilarious, her beauty mark at the side of her lip was so utterly unique he called her a “right Marilyn”. She insisted she was not a Marilyn Monroe type at all and had laughed. Harry had charmed her with his expert flirting and claimed that just because she was a brunette didn’t mean she was a Marilyn. She had smiled and bantered through the rehearsal dinner with him at her side. He was entranced, it had to be Renee, he had been so sure of it.

When Renee had walked down the aisle just before Sarah, Harry had been sure of it. When Renee had smiled at Harry as Mitch slipped on Sarah’s wedding band, Harry had been sure of it. When he had hooked his arm around hers as they walked down the aisle and into a foyer, Harry had been sure of it. When she laughed at his jokes while they waited for their wedding party photos to be taken, Harry had been sure of it.

When Renee walked up to Harry at the reception with another man wrapped around her, Harry wasn’t so sure of it anymore.

“Harry, I’d like you to meet my boyfriend, Corey,” Renee smiles giddily between the two men.

Harry’s eyes widen slightly at the word ‘boyfriend’ and he swallows harshly before blinking and putting on a sweet smile. He thrusts his right hand out for Corey to shake.

“Hullo, mate,” Harry says happily.

Corey greets Harry, extending his hand to meet Harry’s with a warm smile and a “how are you”. Harry laughs boisterously and takes a sip of his champagne flute. They shake hands with a firm up and down motion.

“Planning on getting really drunk,” Harry says in response to Corey’s question. “Have a great night, you two,” he finishes and stalks off for a refill.

Renee watches him go with a little bit of a confused look on her face. She sees him tilt his head back and finish his drink before turning to face her boyfriend and peck his cheek. She mumbles to him, “He’s a really nice guy, wouldn’t stop chatting my ear off the past few days. All these people must make him antsy.”

He nods back to her, “They must.”

Harry sidles up to the open bar, discarding his empty flute and exchanging it for a much stronger drink.

“Tequila. Neat...Please.” He sighs and runs a hand through his curls that are slowly becoming less and less coiffed. His fingers slide to the collar of his shirt and tug, attempting to loosen it a little.

“Rough night already?” Someone asks from beside him.

His face turns to them and sees a smiling brunette. Her eyes are big, larger than most eyes he’s come across. They’re brown with tinges of gold and green, likely making them hazel by her standard since most people prefer saying hazel eyes to brown. Her smile is bright and clean and if Harry hadn’t already heard her speak he would assume she was American from that smile. It was perfect, too perfect - the teeth both straight and blindingly white.

He raises his eyebrows at her and thinks about his response. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, leaving them parted, but he remains silent when the bartender hands him his tequila. Harry wraps a specifically less ringed hand tonight, he had forgone his ‘H’ and ‘S’ rings as well as the rest of them actually on his left hand. His right hand still had two: the large flashing lavender gemstone encrusted in a gold casing from Stevie Nicks on his middle finger and then a clean gold signet ring with little crosses on the sides on the adjacent ring finger. Every other finger was noticeably empty. So when he picks up the glass there is no familiar clink which draws the attention of himself.

The woman doesn’t pay any attention to his hand, she’s still waiting for him to respond to her question, as well as waiting for her other drink to be made. She was taking advantage of the two drink system and getting two for herself right now, so she didn’t have to come back until much later.

“You have no idea,” is how Harry decides to respond and then turns to leave. He forgets about the woman and sits at his assigned table for his entire drink, talking casually with the people who come to speak with him.

When he's finished, he goes back to the bar to order a second tequila. He thinks about the girl who had stared at him with her big brown eyes. How she had seen him and thought to ask how his night was when it seemed to be going to shit. And how he had blown her off with barely a glance. God, he could be such a prick. After he receives his drink, he forgets yet again and continues to drown his sorrows in the golden liquid that helps him numb the pain that he had once again missed out on his fairytale love story.

The girl Harry had run into sat in the corner of the ballroom for the majority of the night. She settled on just having that first round of drinks for herself and one glass of obligatory champagne during the toasts. Other than that, she had promised herself she wouldn’t get drunk and go off with a random stranger. This was not a wedding for that. This wedding couldn’t be for that. She just needed to keep her head low and try to have a semi-pleasant time.

When she was nursing her champagne through the toasts, the man at the bar caught her eye again. She knew who he was. He was the Best Man after all. Sarah talked about him a lot, even Renee after the past few days, but seeing him at the bar had been the first time she’d ever seen him up that close. It was strange, he was so human. So tangible in that moment. His shoulders shook with each breath he took. His fingers tapped as they waited for his drink. His green eyes blinked and darted around as he took in his surroundings and even looked at her. He simply was and it had startled her to see him in a slightly bewildered state at the bar, but again, she wasn’t one to judge.

Get through the wedding. Try to have a semi-pleasant time.

It was time for the Best Man’s speech. Renee had just given the Maid of Honor’s and now Harry was up. He stood up and wavered a little as he tried to stand up straight. The neat tequila likely makes his stance a little harder to maintain. Mitch looks up at Harry at his side and smiles fondly.

Harry raises one hand in an awkward wave while the other is planted firmly on the table.

“Hullo,” he starts, “I’m Harry and I’m the Best Man, but I’m sure you knew that already.”

The entire group of guests laugh wholeheartedly, taken by the talented young man.

“To start,” he stutters, his words slurring slightly from the alcohol he’s had, and his smile slithers into a smirk. “Let’s hear it for the bride and groom, the lovely Sarah and Mitch Jones!”

Queue the laughter again. Harry laughs too when Mitch slaps his arm playfully, he turns to look at him with a mock ‘what did I do wrong’ expression.

“I had a speech written out, took a week to write, made it nice and poetic for these two lovebirds, but it seems I’ve misplaced it,” he pats at his pockets and sighs before rubbing his forefinger at his bottom lip. “I hate weddings.”

Everyone laughs again, thinking he’s joking. Harry grimaces but it passes as a smile even though she can tell it doesn’t meet his eyes.

He rambles on for a few minutes about love and commitment, how this is just the beginning for Sarah and Mitch and everyone laughs at the appropriate times and just when he’s wrapping up, successfully stumbling through his messy mind, everyone begins to clap.

“To the happy couple…” queue applause, but she sees him say something else, it’s drowned out by the crowd cheering and clinking glasses again.

He sits back down, downing his champagne glass that’s been refilled twice already during the speeches. Mitch leans over and whispers something in Harry’s ear as he twists a hand through his hair. Harry shifts away from Mitch and gives him a look, telling Mitch that he’s fine.

The party goes on, a few more speeches, a few more glasses of champagne for Harry, a few more sighs from the girl in the back of the room.

She watches the first dance of Mitch and Sarah but once that part is over she slinks off. She’s got half a drink left and all she wants is to be alone. Tired of the party, tired of the people, tired of having to try to have a good time. The Rowland-Jones Party had rented the entire place out, so she wanders out of the main room and down a hallway until the music is a faint buzz in her ear. The air grows colder as the amount of people dwindles from over a hundred to one.

There’s a door to her right that has an intricate golden handle that she pulls down on. It opens quietly onto a similar ballroom that is slightly smaller than the one the party was going on in. It’s quiet and spacious, her steps echo as she enters on heeled feet. The clicking of her satin stilettos resonate against the linoleum. She walks to the center of the room and turns around herself, lifting her head to the light in the room. An ornate chandelier is still above her, it’s the same gold as the handle that let her in. Her eyes travel to the walls that contain swirls of gold as well, everything was encrusted in gold and splotchy vintage mirrors. It was beautiful and she saw herself in the reflection of one of those splotchy vintage mirrors and actually felt beautiful in that moment.

No one else saw her but herself and she thought she was beautiful, a fleeting thought as she watched her body move. No one to watch as her reflection swayed with her. Her lavender dress swished back and forth, the end of it brushing around her ankles. The tulle fabric climbed her torso, cinching at her waist and draping over her breasts. The sleeves fluttered over her shoulders and ended midway down her upper arm. The somewhat sheer material made her tan skin look all the more carmely in the golden light of the chandelier. Her pendant necklace was silver and glinted in the light as it sat evenly over her exposed clavicle and decolletage.

In the corner opposite of the door there was a single table with three chairs. It seemed whoever was meant to put things away had grown tired and left these out. She wasn’t complaining as she crossed the floor to take a seat. It was the perfect escape. It was quiet and not too cold in the room, which was especially nice since she had left her jacket in the coat room. What wasn’t so nice is that her phone had died and she had nothing to do in the room. It wasn’t horrible though, she had wanted to be alone with her thoughts. She just feared what would happen if she sat alone too long with no escape of the internet to drown those thoughts.

That contemplation was squashed with an unwitting solution not ten minutes later. She had been sitting at the table, sipping her drink occasionally and staring at the chandelier. Sighing with content that it was finally silent beside the clink of her melting ice cubes. The house mixed drink was strong, but with each passing second it grew more and more diluted. She considered herself completely sober.

She only questioned that when she noticed a second person in the room. She hadn’t heard them open the door, but she heard their loud footsteps shortly after.

He all but stumbled in and was entranced by the chandelier like she had been. He walks to the center in a similar fashion and twists around, only this time his balance isn’t as good as hers. He ends up on his ass, legs splayed in front of him and hands behind him only cushioning his fall a little. He lets out a huff, “Fuck.” He runs a hand over his face before bringing it down to look around the room again. His eyes are foggy with alcohol, everything hazy and slightly blurry. It feels like he’s moving with superspeed but as she watches him with a tilted head she wonders why he’s moving so slowly.

He squints while looking around after a moment, running a hand through his thoroughly tousled hair. His tongue comes to wet his lips, but this time it's for a touch too long like he’s genuinely tasting the liquor on them. She raises her brows, observing him, her presence seemingly unknown.

“Oi, you!” He slurs the words and points lazily at her reclined in her chair. “Are you real?”

She half smiles and replies with a simple ‘yes’.

“I like your dress,” he says merely like he was stating a fact rather than giving a compliment. His hair falling into his eyes again despite him just pushing it back.

“Thanks.”

He makes his way to standing, his process rather ungraceful. He twists onto his hands and knees and begins to push himself up. He slips once before making it to full standing, he sways slightly and looks around again like he’s forgotten why he stood up. His eyes land on her again and he decides to make his way over to the table.

“You should probably sit,” she says, watching him splay his arms around him to keep his balance. She had seen him an hour and a half ago and he seemed fine, but now he seemed absolutely and utterly pissed.

“Thanks, mum,” he says as he thunks into the seat beside her, his hand waving off her suggestion.

Her brows raise at the slightly rude comment, but she leans back in her seat still observing him.

“Why do you hate weddings?” She asks once he’s settled and has his head propped up with one of his hands. She takes a sip of her drink as she watches him scan her face again, trying to see if he recognizes her.

His mind must come up empty, a vague memory of the bar slipping away without a second thought.

“It was a joke,” he shrugs.

“No it wasn’t,” she replies easily.

His eyes narrow and he leans forward a little shakily, “Who are you?”

“Aurora.” She licks at her own lips, a stray bit of liquid lingering on her lips.

“That’s a Disney princess name,” he says, unconvinced, how most drunk people were when you told them the truth.

“And my great-grandmother’s and mine,” she responds, a grin playing on her lips as she watches him think it over. “It’s wild how multiple people can have the same name. Did you know people can share a last name as well?”

He leans back in his chair now, unhappy with her snarky response.

“Isn’t that why we’re here, two people joining together and sharing the same last name now?” He threads his fingers as he speaks, mimicking something coming together.

“Yep,” She perks at the question he poses. “You still didn’t answer my question.” Her brows raise once playfully.

“What?” Harry seemed to have lost the plot, his fuzzy drunken brain choosing to forget the first thing she asked him while in this private ballroom of theirs.

“Why do you hate weddings?” She repeats, louder and with emphasis, the words echoing this time.

“Oh,” he looks up to the ceiling and blows air past his lips harshly, “S’ a long story.”

“We got all night,” she offers, and raises her glass to her lips once again.

“A night wouldn’t even cover half of it,” he ponders seriously, his mind reeling. “I’d rather talk about you.”

“Why me?” She laughs like she’s just received the most delightful surprise.

“Because,” He starts and then sits quiet for a moment before leaning forward, elbows on the table as he peers at her, “I think I’m in love with you.”

“You only just met me,” she responds. “Not to mention, you’re drunk as fuck, Best Man. Just minutes ago I watched you stumble in here and truly fall on your ass.”

“Then tell me about yourself and I’ll explain my hatred for weddings.”

“You’re awfully good at bargaining for being this inebriated.”

“I never lose my charm, no matter how pissed I may be,” he smirks and gives a sloppy wink, hair falling in his face yet again.

She scoffs, but she is rather amused and intrigued by the man beside her. His tie now completely loosened, hair falling every which way, and his green eyes set on her. The shiny shoes he wore slipped around on the ground as he shuffled his feet below him like a child wanting to go play. She figured it was just his drunk brain trying to amuse himself or something. How could she deny a man who had just drunkenly confessed his love for her at a wedding? Even if it was completely and totally untrue. She at least had to entertain the foolish notion that maybe he actually was interested in getting to know her. If anything, it would help pass the time until she could go home.

“I’ll bite,” she relents.

The smirk doesn’t leave his face, it only widens, “Only if I can, too.”

“I wasn’t saying-”

“Shush, sh-sh-shush. I know that,” he holds a hand up at her, trying to get her to be quiet. He sways again, even in his seat he looks as if he could fall over at any moment. She wondered if he might not remember this tomorrow. “I was bein’...” he licks his lips in a pause, “suggestive.”

She laughs again, knowing his sober brain probably would have chosen a more articulate and suave word since ‘suggestive’ was rather tactless and more straight to the point. If she learned anything from all the conversations she overhead about him, Harry was definitely one for tact.

“You were something, that’s for sure,” she wraps a hand around Harry’s wrist, she draws the hand down from its hovering state and lays it against the table again. She withdraws her own hand back to her glass, her drink almost completely gone now.

He smiles, pleased with himself, but unaware that his charms had worn off with his exorbitant amount of alcohol consumed. At least on this girl they weren’t working. She had never been attracted to people who were too drunk to help themselves and she always hoped that’s how others felt too. She was thankful he had stumbled in on her rather than someone who didn’t feel the same way. It made her sick to think of what someone with evil intentions might do if they came across a babbling drunken version of Harry. Pushing those thoughts away since that wasn’t the case, she decided to pat his hand once just in reassurance to herself and him that this was really happening.

“I’m twenty-five.” She states.

Harry nods, a small smile on his lips now rather than a smirk as he watches her again. He liked how smoothly she moved rather than the rest of the world in his drunken eyes, everything else was choppy and fast. She was elegant and fluid, calming even.

“I love love,” Harry says, eyes remaining on hers, no trace of a joke in his tone, “And it hates me.”

“That can’t be true,” she squints at him, a frown gracing her face for a moment at the sadness she sees in his watery eyes. Not crying watery, just watery from his drunken state.

He says nothing, waiting for her to offer more information about herself before he says anything else. This was the deal after all. She quickly realizes why he isn’t responding and sighs, conversation with drunks was tedious already, but Harry seemed determined to make it even harder.

“I’m from California.”

“They always are,” Harry mutters to himself. He ignores her hum of a question, asking what he just said with a simple sound. “All my friends, they’re either getting married or they’re already married and got kids on the way or whatever. They all found love and I’m just here with fuck all.”

She sincerely doubts what the drunken man is telling her right now, but she knows how to play the game now to get more information. “I hate my job,” she states.

“Sometimes I feel like I'm cursed, like I fucked up one too many times and now I’m doomed to never find love.”

Her eyes widen at this, he sounds so damn sad and she wishes she could take his pain away. She knew what a good guy and she couldn’t imagine why he would deserve to feel this way. No one deserved to feel like they weren’t worthy of love. His sad state truly almost brought her to tears. She’s there in a stunned silence and Harry is confused why she hasn’t said anything more about herself. It was her turn.

“What’s something else about you?” He asks, his hand fiddling with itself on the table. She notices once again that there aren’t as many rings on his fingers as what she thought was usual.

She licks her lips and reaches her hand forward. She grasps Harry’s fiddling hand and stops his movement. “I feel sorry that you feel this way, no one deserves the kind of pain you’re inflicting on yourself. I’m very very sorry for you, Harry.”

“That’s not really…” He trails off, losing his focus on her face and instead looking at their hands touching. The feeling is so intense in his buzzing body. Her touch was so calming compared to the electric feeling in his body. It felt nice.

“Can I ask you a different question and then I’ll tell you something no one knows about me?”

He nods eagerly.

“And you can’t dodge the question, you really have to answer it, okay?”

“Okay.”

“What did you say at the end of your speech? It got drowned out by applause, but I saw you say something.”

“You noticed?” He asks kind of surprised, then scratches at his eyebrow. He sees her slight glare and knows to get to his answer. “Asked when it’d be my turn…like to fall in love, y’know.”

She sighs, saddened yet again by his words. “Okay, well, here’s my secret... I hate weddings, too.”

Harry’s eyes light up, maybe he really was in love. She purses her lips and pulls back from him.

“I think you’re my soulmate,” he breathes out, again making a false confession. His drunken brain wants it to be true. He’s desperate for his search to be over, for her to be his person.

She smiles that same sad smile that she keeps getting when he says these sad things to her.

“I assure you, I am not, Best Man.”

He looks at her confusedly. She was beautiful, she was clarity to him. Her brown hair was straight with a little wave in it, like it was straightened for the occasion but never truly that way otherwise. It flowed around her head and shoulders, but she had it tucked behind both ears. She wasn’t trying to impress anyone, she just simply was beautiful. Her sun tanned skin looked soft under the golden glow and Harry was sure she was an angel or something.

“Why not?” He insists, leaning forward.

She stands up from her seat. He follows clumsily behind her, standing as well. He was still taller than her even in her high heels. He smiled like a lovesick child down at her, his eyes as big as the moon. She bites at her lip as she sees him look at her so lovingly, so misguidedly. Then she leans up towards his face, up on her tiptoes and past his lips. Her hands hold him straight with them curled in his suit’s lapels. She presses a sweet and gentle kiss to his cheek, closer to his jaw than anything.

“Good night, Harry,” she whispers against his skin before pulling away.

His eyes flutter open, his looks at her confusedly, slightly unaware that he had closed his eyes at all.

“Good night…” He had already forgotten her name, something with an A...or was it an O? He’d have to ask Sarah and Mitch about the girl who had talked to him in the empty golden ballroom, the girl he had fallen in love with. He was certain. She was the one - if only he could find out her name. If he remembered this at all or if he just thought it was a dream.

She leaves the room before him and as she leaves she wonders if she maybe should have made sure he was alright, but she figured their talk was sobering enough. The night was ending and she had a sneaking suspicion that there were plenty of people here tonight looking out for him.

Harry forgot about the girl in the ballroom. Or at least he wasn’t sure if it was a dream or reality. He had woken up at Tom’s place where he had said he would stay after the wedding reception so he hadn’t gone home with a girl. He couldn’t remember her name so he couldn’t really ask anyone about her and he didn’t exactly have a lot of people he could ask. He wanted to ask Sarah and Mitch, but they were already off on their honeymoon and he was one of those people who would never bother a couple on their honeymoon. He was too embarrassed to ask Renee and anyone else for that matter.

So, instead, he forgot. Harry forgot about her for three weeks until Sarah and Mitch returned. He had called them for a hike and lunch the moment their plane had landed. He had missed some of his best friends. It was a lull in the year, where he wasn’t touring or in the studio, just living and writing when he felt like it. So maybe he was in need of some inspiration.

“Ah! The Jones’!” He exclaims as he walks up to their parked car at the head of the trail.

Sarah laughs and Mitch rolls his eyes, half-heartedly since he’s just as happy to see Harry as Harry is to see him.

“I missed you,” Mitch says as he brings Harry in for a hug.

“Don’t let the missus hear that,” Harry tuts while he sends a wink over Mitch’s shoulder to Sarah.

“It’s all he could talk about for the past few weeks,” Sarah jokes as she goes in for a hug with Harry. “How do you think Harry is? Hope he’s eating? I miss Harry.” She mimics Mitch’s voice.

Mitch shakes his head shyly, a smile spreading on his face after a moment. “That. Is not true at all,” he assures Harry, “But you do look a little thinner. What have you been eating?”

Harry elbows him with a grin, “I’m fine. Been bored so I’ve just been filling the time with working out.”

They start their ascent up the hill and into the canyon. Mitch nods, his worry for his friend subsiding momentarily before he says something strange.

“I’ve been wanting to ask, but you’ve been gone, about a girl at the wedding.”

“Oh?” Sarah gives Mitch a knowing look.

“Yeah, well the thing is, I’m not sure if she was real or not. I think she was real, but I was so drunk, there’s so many bits missing in my memory.”

Sarah and Mitch both laugh. “You were very drunk, H,” Mitch confirms.

Harry ignores him, “I even asked her if she was real and she said yes, but y’know people can lie in dreams. All I remember is she was amazing and she had a princess name, I think.”

Sarah thinks about the guest list. “No princess names that I can think of. What did she look like?”

Harry squints ahead of them, his sunglasses pushing his curls back on the top of his head. “She had straight brown hair, not long or short. She said she was, uh, twenty-five. She was in lavender, I think.”

“You think a lot,” Mitch interjects which earns him a glare from Harry.

Harry thinks about this part that he remembered vividly, how she had been so confident that he wasn’t. He adds, “...And I told her I was in love with her.”

“Oh god, Harry,” Sarah sighs.

Mitch gives Harry an apologetic smile.

“She didn’t buy it, but she didn’t run off either. We talked for awhile.”

“Maybe it was a dream,” Sarah says.

“Okay, let’s see,” Mitch grows to be the leader of the investigation, wanting everything for his best friend to find the love he knew he deserved. “Twenty-five year old brunettes at our wedding who are single. C’mon there weren't that many people there.”

Sarah thinks about it again. “Renee’s sister is twenty-five. I don’t remember what she was wearing, I hardly saw her all night,” she pauses, “Which is strange since she wasn’t on the job for once.”

“What do you mean ‘on the job’?” Harry asks curiously, remembering his girl saying she hated her job.”

“She’s a wedding planner,” Sarah says, glancing at him because she was almost sure that Renee’s sister was not who Harry was talking about. “But she had referred me to someone else for the wedding, she consulted sometimes and got us a discount, but said she didn’t like working with people she knew personally.”

Harry nodded, how could Renee’s sister be his girl? How could a wedding planner hate weddings? And wouldn’t it be all the more awkward if the girl was Renee’s sister? Renee’s little sister, could it be? He had no clue.

“I don’t think it’s her, though,” Sarah gives a half-smile, “She’s not super...uh, how do I say this?”

As Sarah says “touchy-feely,” Mitch interjects.

“She’s pretty cold-hearted. She’s relatively nice, but what makes her such a good wedding planner is she doesn’t get caught up in the sentimentality of it, she just understands other people’s emotions and knows how to make them feel amazing.”

“That’s a little harsh,” Sarah looks at Mitch with a strong glare. After all, he was talking about her best friend’s little sister.

“Well, what’s her name?” Harry insists, semi-off put, but knowing her secret made him think it was possible for Renee’s sister and his ballroom girl to be the very same.

“Rori Williams, think it’s short for something else, but I don’t know, as long as I’ve known her she goes by Rori.” Sarah gives Harry a sad smile and it reminds him of his mystery girl.

“Do you think I could meet her or something? I just want to know if it’s her.” Harry says as they reach the first peak on their hike. He looks out at the view from there, Los Angeles was green for once, but he knew it would quickly fade to brown and tan as the spring plants died off again from the summer heat.

“Pretty sure she’s off working on some destination wedding right now. She doesn’t like being bothered when she’s working,” Sarah gives Harry a look for two reasons as she says that. One, because she knows his next question would be to contact her anyway. And two, she’s saying how he is exactly the same, hates being contacted when he’s busy with work. “I can text Renee to see what’s up.”

Harry nods, “Please…” He begins to imagine Rori as his ballroom girl and mutters to himself, “A June Wedding…” getting lost in a silly little daydream.

“Harry Styles is asking after you,” Renee snickers over the cellphone line.

“What is this? The 1800s?” Rori sighs, as she holds the phone to her ear with her shoulder. She tries to brush her hair from her face with a flick of her head, which makes for a rather silly sight as her head and shoulder move awkwardly. “People don’t ‘ask after’ anyone anymore.”

She was in Hawaii, Maui specifically, steaming a sneaky last crinkle out of the latest bride’s wedding veil.

“Well, he still is doing it. You know how he is.”

“I actually don’t,” Rori responds, easily, ignoring the memories of her two encounters with him. “What does he want?”

“Wants to meet you or something,” Renee says easily. “Thinks he met you at Sarah’s wedding, obviously impossible since I know you scampered off half way through the reception and he was falling down drunk at the half way marker as well…” she trails off.

Rori knows her sister well and expects the next thing to come out of Renee’s mouth.

“Oh my god! Did you hook up with him?!”

Expecting this, Rori responds quickly and calmly, “No, we did not hook up, I would never... I did watch him fall on his ass, though.”

“So it was you!”

“What was me?” Rori squints her eyes at her sister over the phone and finally straightens from her steaming task. She feels like she’s only half paying attention to the conversation, especially since she had no intention of meeting up with Harry. He had been so sweet and sad, and she truly wished him the best, but she knew she wasn’t the answer to his problem.

“You!” Renee all but yells into the phone, “Are his dream girl! He’s been wondering if you were even real for weeks.”

“I’m real,” Rori sighs and crosses the room she’s in to sit at the desk she was using as a work space. She flicks through the planner she was using for the Hearst wedding, set to take place tomorrow. “But I’m certainly not his dream girl...I told him that when he said he was in love with me.”

“He what?!” Renee exclaims and hears her sister sigh once again, she knows Rori is growing tired of the conversation and is ready to offer an excuse to hang up any moment now. “Nevermind that, I’m going to tell Sarah to give him your number and the date you get back to Los Angeles. Keep next weekend clear.”

Before Rori can open her strawberry pink lips to reply, Renee is squealing a goodbye and hanging up. She felt her shoulders sag with the empty line, she reclined into the nicely plush swivel chair. This is why she stayed out of love and relationships when they didn’t relate to work, they were exhausting. Too much ‘he said, she said’ going on at all times. Color palettes, seating arrangements and menus were simple, they made sense, they could be arranged and put into place. Relationships were messy, the actual event of a wedding could even be messy, but when she planned them out, for a single moment everything was orderly and simple. She was in control. She knew she couldn’t be Harry’s dream girl because she knew she couldn’t control that situation.

Upon arriving back in the continental United States, at the end of June, Rori ubered immediately to her apartment in Silverlake. Well, it was a converted garage behind a house of a friend of Renee’s. Like most apartments in Los Angeles, it was funky, but it was Rori’s until she decided where she wanted to move. She never wanted to buy in LA and she never wanted to upgrade from the place she had called home for the past four years.

Almost immediately after dropping her pink work tote bag and worn backpack on the floor next to her medium sized navy suitcase, her phone rang through the ‘Do Not Disturb’ setting with an unknown number. A New York number. Possibly a new client, she picks up quickly and shuts the window-paned door behind her. The days were long, the longest day of the year had almost arrived, yet the sun was still beginning to set in the sky and turn the light blue into a painting of oranges pinks and purples.

“Hello?”

“Is Rori Williams there?” A British voice asks, almost timidly.

“Who’s asking?”

“...Harry.”

“I was told you’d be calling or something along those lines,” she smiles to herself.

Harry sat in his room, chewing at his lip, still unsure if the voice on the other side of the phone call was the woman he had talked to previously.

“Can we go for a drink sometime? How’s tomorrow?”

“Someone is quite enthusiastic.”

“It’s just...I’m trying to figure something out.”

“So I’ve heard,” she chuckles slightly.

“So you won’t tell me whether you’re the girl I talked to at Sarah and Mitch’s wedding will you?”

“What would be the fun in that?”

“So it’s a right Cinderella, if the shoe fits situation,” he mumbles, slightly to himself, but she hears him clearly.

She laughs.

“I don’t really care for Cinderella, I’m not really one for Disney princesses at all, actually.”

His breath catches, a foggy memory of something having to do with princesses tries to break into his mind. He couldn’t remember still and he vowed time and time again that he would never get that drunk again. Too much time lost.

“Alright, Harry. I’ve just gotten home from a work trip so I’m planning on a bath, some wine, and some terribly raunchy TV to get my mind off of my life. How about you pick a time and a place for drinks and hopefully I will show up? Great! Goodnight.”

She doesn’t wait for a response, just clicks the red button that hangs up the phone and goes on with her professed plans. Harry sits in stunned silence for a few moments, whatever he had gotten himself into was going to be a ride of a lifetime.

At a quarter past six, Harry sits anxiously at the bar top of a semi casual, semi fancy, totally cool bar he loved. It was private so he wouldn’t be bombarded with people, but it was still lively enough that it wouldn’t be dead silent if conversation lulled between him and Rori. That is, if she showed up.

His foot begins to tap, ever so persistently against the silver footrest at the bottom of the bar. His eyes shift from right to left, not wanting to order a drink before she arrives, but also not wanting to wait much longer and not order a drink. He’d waived off the bartender twice already.

She walks in, right on time, Harry had just arrived early. Her lips part into a happy smile at his anxious stance at the bar, he mirrors her expression at the sight of her.

She’s wearing a billowy white button down, the sleeves cinching perfectly at her petite wrists, cinched beneath a brown corset-like tank top. Her breasts showed their true size today in this outfit. She had the collar pulled out and the corset made it so that her cleavage was perfectly sculpted just beneath the crisp white cloth. Her pants were sleek and black, understated to draw more of a focus to her top as well as the lavender jewel inlaid pendant hanging just above the swells of her breast. Harry’s eyes dipped to that level for a moment, but quickly recovered to focus on her face. The night of the wedding had been blurry, but he was sure Rori’s face was the one of his mystery girl.

He’s shy tonight and a little more reserved than last time. He’s out of his comfortable bubble, what could anyone expect from a man so constantly watched. He fidgets with the top most button of his shirt that was buttoned and thinks about unbuttoning it to reveal a little more of his chest, but he refrains. At a friend’s wedding he feels safe, but in public he’s always watching, always aware of the possible prying eye. But like he had said drunkenly to Rori, he always maintained his charm, no matter the circumstances.

“Lavender was gorgeous on you, but this…” he gives a graceful sweep of his hand to gesture at her outfit tonight, “is extremely enchanting.”

“So you remember me in lavender? I thought you couldn’t remember me at all.” She grins as she stands directly beside him, similar to the first time they had chatted at a bartop.

Harry clears his throat at her tease, “I knew once I laid eyes on you, I would know. So now I know.”

She smirks at his reasoning and orders a vodka cranberry, both not wanting to get off her ass or look any certain way. Vodka cranberries were acceptable mature drinks, but not overly pretentious in any way. Harry tells the bartender to make it two. She looks at him with a discerning eye.

“Do you remember the first time we met?” She asks as she slides into the bar seat that seems to be trying to look vintage but was likely made no less than five years ago.

Harry sits too, more easily since his legs are longer than hers. “We met in the ballroom for the first time, did we not?”

“No...we met at the bar in the reception room.” Her hand splays to feel the stone of this counter, cold unlike the wood of the previous one. “We were about this close after you’d rudely stepped ahead of me and ordered before I could...not that you noticed. I asked if you were having a rough night and you pretty much dismissed me.” She bites her lip as she tells him the story, her eyes widen as she watches the distress roll over his features at what she says.

“Oh god,” One of his hands reaches to grab her hand to emphasize his apology, “I’m so sorry, that’s so rude. I was having quite a rough night as you would eventually see.”

He stares at her face, trying to meet her eyes, but she’s glued to the sight of their hands intertwined. He was so smooth and it was making her melt, making the walls she had purposefully put up for this date weak. She had rules, especially for guys like Harry - not that there was anyone that compared to him in her life, but she had them and she knew she couldn’t just be swept off her feet by his sweet voice and gorgeous face that has the most puppy-dog look on it.

She knows she shouldn’t but the extra ice she had added to her personality melts away, her eyes going slightly moony as she watches him visibly relax again. “No worries, I enjoyed your company upon the second meeting, even if you didn’t even remember my name after it.”

“Well,” he finally catches her eye, “That’s where I have a bit of a bone to pick.”

“Oh?”

“You didn’t tell me your real name...gave me some fake name I can’t even remember, but it certainly wasn’t…” His eyes shift to her pendant again and he looks back at her brassy eyes in the bar’s lighting. “If your name is Rori Williams, why is your pendant an ‘A’?” He says slowly, another foggy memory trying to break the surface of his knowledge but still failing.

She finally feels in control of the situation, calm and assured of herself, which was maybe unfair since it seemed Harry really had a hard time remembering that night and she could really fuck with him if she wanted to, but she wouldn’t - couldn’t - with those earnest eyes looking at her.

“I told you my real name the first time we talked, Harry. It’s Aurora,” she retracts her hand from beneath his grasp and touches at the necklace, “I go by Rori both socially and professionally, but officially it’s Aurora and this had been my great-grandmother’s. I don’t go anywhere without it.”

“Almost as beautiful as its wearer,” he smirks, his gaze stuck on her face, attempting to convey something specific. She thinks she knows what he’s saying with his look.

“You’re quite the flirt,” she rolls her eyes playfully before specifically choosing to take a sip of her drink through the little straw the bartender had put in it. It draws Harry’s attention to her lips, and after a moment they were wet with a bit of excess vodka cranberry and Harry felt himself grow a little hot at the tips of his ears when her eyes meet with his. She had caught him staring, but he recovers easily.

“I remember telling you I never lose my charm, it’s true is it not?” Harry inquires, head leaning closer to her as he takes a sip of his own drink, making a show to lick his lips after removing them from the edge of the lowball glass.

Her laughter is loud but not overbearing, Harry thinks it’s the best laugh he’s ever heard even if she’s laughing at him. She’s true in that laugh, she’s not trying to make him fall for her with that laugh, it’s just her enjoying herself.

She responds with something sweet and the two begin the back and forth of a successful date. They both drink around three drinks as the night persists, but it’s enough for her to feel the burning pull inside the pit of her belly for Harry. His hands stay relatively to himself besides a few subtle touches at her hair and hands every so often, his feet are the ones to blame. At one point in the night, he hooks his loafer covered foot around her ankle and she is quick to lean into it, reciprocating the footsie with ease. Each brush of his leg against hers is electrifying, every nerve in her body was beginning to go crazy. She was buzzing in a way that she hadn’t when she had first encountered Harry. Tonight he was more suave, but with a tinge of timidness that made him irresistible.

Harry made sure he wouldn’t get drunk tonight, ordering only as much as Rori. He didn’t want to be the fool who couldn’t remember their time together, again. Plus, he didn’t want to forget any of their time together, he wanted to remember it all. Everything about her was amazing, the feeling he had about her, the nagging desire to meet her was for a reason, he was sure of it. If her voice was a melody, then she was the most beautiful love song he had ever heard.

At 11:30, he leans in close to Rori, his nose brushing at the hair tucked at her ear and asks her if she wants to leave. She looks at him confused, the warm feeling in her stomach falls because she thinks he wants to end the night.

“Oh,” she says dejected, she swore it was going well. “Right..That’s it.”

Harry’s brows crinkle at her sad face.

“No, love, I was saying,” he raises his brows, “Y’know.”

“Oh! Right! You just sounded so...I don’t know, serious.” She sinks in her seat, realizing her presumptions had been wrong.

“I was trying to be,” he twists his lips trying to find the word, as blush rises on his cheeks. “Seductive.”

The two of them are quickly realizing they can’t pretend with each other. Rori can’t keep up the harsh facade against love with him, he sees right through it. Harry can’t play his old tricks with her, she sees right through them.

She laughs again, “Well, it just sounded like you were bored. Sometimes your moves fall really flat.” She offers a sweet wink in consolation for his failed attempt at trying to really get her weak in the knees.

They were a lovesick mess together as they clambered off their bar seats and exit the bar that had gotten increasingly loud.

“So what’s next?” She asks on the warm summer night.

He steps closer and takes the liberty of fiddling with the strap of the corset she has on. His head is tilted down as he towers over her. “You know me Rori, I’m a hopeless romantic so I desperately want to take you out for dinner sometime and slow dance with you until the sun comes up, but,” his breath fans over her face now as he shifts impossibly closer, “I also want to grip your hair as I watch you writhing underneath me. Just tell me what you’d prefer and it’s all yours.”

Her breathing has become a slight pant as his words wash over her. His nose brushes over the ridge of hers and she takes the moment to put her hands on his shoulders and pull him onto her. They were in the alleyway beside the bar, away from prying eyes except a few people too drunk to recognize Harry's face that is all but hidden in Rori.

“Harry,” she breathes, her eyes fluttering shut as she makes the decision to cross them into the point of no return. She wants this too much. She hadn’t thought this would be how her night would go, thought she would brush him off and never see him again, but god, she needed his warm body everywhere. Needed him to touch every part of her.

“Rori,” he responds.

“I want the second one first,” she whispers, feeling a little too eager, but feeling Harry press excitedly against her reassures her.

His lips press a searing kiss to her and she makes a sound of happiness at the contact. Her hands fist at the fabric of his shirt as she presses her lips feverishly back onto his. Harry’s quick to grip at the back of her neck and the small of her back, keeping her tight to him as he licks into her mouth.

“Can still taste that last vodka cran,” he notes before kissing her again.

Their tongues rub against each other, sloppily but with a tenderness hidden there as well. She snorts at his words which makes him smile and they’re kissing is becoming more silly as they try to contain their laughter. He pulls away, finally giving up trying to maintain the kiss while they both laughed.

“Would you like to come back to mine?” Harry asks as he leans his forehead against hers.

Rori’s eyes flicker open and stare into his, the focus only on his eyes and the sprinkle of light freckles and beauty marks below them. She nods her head, making his move with it. They both smile, trying to contain their laughter once more.

She presses her lips against his once more for a small peck and then lowers her head into the crook of his neck. The skin warm and smooth against hers as she whispers happily to him.

“It’s your turn now, Harry,” Rori says blissfully.

She had been the answer to all his questions.

#to lovers fic challenge #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles oneshot #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles x ofc #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles smut

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aliensunflower-fics · 5 years ago

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Marinette’s Big Fall: An angsty Prompt

[ I have had not one. Not two. But THREE anonymous asks for some Miraculous ladybug angst with a pinch of salt SO here you go. Also because people keep asking me if they can make fics from my prompts I will just put here that YES you can I will love you if you do, please just tag me so I can squeal. I always love fan-art and I always love fics based off my ideas just go nuts guys. ]

If you asked the students of Bustier’s classroom what happened that sunny tuesday at 1:36pm they would all tell you it was an accident. None of them had meant for anything to happen and none of them had so much as laid a finger on the dark haired girl. It was just an accident that was all, but still their faces would lose blood and they would shake as they remembered the sight of Marinette Dupain-Cheng laying still as a stone at the bottom of the stairs. If you asked them to start at the beginning they would take a shaky breath and start their tale at the first warning bell of the school day, before Marinette had arrived and when Lila Rossi did.

The italian had for months been telling them of Marinette’s misdeeds and though many were proven to be false it seemed like not a day went by where Lila didn’t have some new to say about the bakers daughter. That days newest tale was about how Marinette had ruined Lila’s photoshoot at the park with Adrien. It was suppose to be a romantic shoot for valentines day and Marinette had arrived at the park where it was taking place with little Manon. Lila claimed that Marinette bribed the child into pushing Lila into the fountain during the shoot thus ruining the whole thing and making her look bad in front of the employer. Now hearing this story the students of Bustier’s class felt mixed Marinette was prone to fits of jealousy but would she really bring a child into it? Some were angry at Marinette for her repeated felonies some were unsure and one other a certain Adrien Agreste still had no idea what everyone meant about Marinette being jealous and while he knew that Lila had ended up in the water and that it was Manon who did it... He also knew for a fact that Marinette was in no way involved.

The debate over Marinette’s innocence would last until the young designer arrived then the class would fall into steely silence all fuming and grumbling trying to justify the Marinette they knew and loved with the jealous green eyed monster Lila suffered under. As they day wore on Alya always the seeker of truth began badgering Marinette trying to get to the bottom of the whole affair, and while Marinette admitted to being at the park and admitted to babysitting Manon and yes she even confirmed that Lila wound up in the fountain she claimed no responsibility arguing that little Manon had just wanted a hug from Adrien and had accidentally shoved the italian. This information spurred only new arguments though they happened without Marinette’s knowledge in back and forth messages when the teachers back was turned. Lila meanwhile continued to weave her web sending her own messages to the class with new accusations and ‘evidence’ something had to give as the tensions rose and at exactly 1:00 when Mme. Bustier stepped out something did give indeed.

No one really remembers the argument only who was leading it. Alya was a good person a bit too trusting and maybe a bit too gullible and brash but she always protected the weak and thats why Marinette loved her. The problem was right now Alya thought the one who needed that protection was one Lila Rossi. Marinette did her best to diffuse the situation she argued that it was a child’s mistake that Lila should let it go. Alya argued that Marinette always had issues with jealousy and that she needed to fess up and apologize. Marinette would no apologize for something she didn’t do and so the argument continued, classmates joined in things got more and more heated in the spur of the moment with everyone yelling and Lila sobbing Alya snapped and said two things she never should have. One she told Marinette they were no longer friends unless Marinette stopped being jealous. And two, she revealed just why Marinette was ‘jealous’ her crush on Adrien Agreste. The moment the words left her mouth Alya was hit with regret, the moment she saw embarrassment in her friends face and tears hot and fresh welling in her eyes she was hit with shame. No one spoke as the bakers daughter let out a choked sob but suprising them all it wasn’t an accusation of anger at Alya for outing her secret that left the dark haired girls lips it was a quiet shaky and broken:

“W-Were not friends a-anymore?” Followed by yet another choked and heartbroken sob.

Before Alya or anyone could answer the girl bolted for the door shaking with sobs. Everyone stood shocked still for a moment before Adrien bolted up and rushed after the girl the rest of the class followed. But they never reached Marinette in time. In her distressed state the pigtailed girl had tried to make a break for home but she was clumsy and clumsier still when upset so when she rushed down the stair she tripped and everyone could only watch in silent horror as the bakers daughter only managed to let out a gasp before her body slammed into the hard concrete. When the students of Bustier’s recalled everything later they would note with some shock that it was Chloe who moved first yelling out Marinette’s name, not her last name no, just her name as she rushed down the stairs and to the dark haired girls side. She noted the young girl wasn’t responding and quickly snapped for Sabrina to phone an ambulance while she continued to monitor Marinette. No one else would move, Alya would cry silently and in horror as Chloe called out to Marinette and checked her pulse, Nino would clutch his hat and stare mouth agape as Marinette lay like a lifeless corpse, Adrien Agreste would fall to his knees at the top of that stairs his eyes like saucers as he tried to comprehend what had happened. And Lila Rossi? She would feel every bit of blood in her body turn into ice as guilt gripped onto her and told her that this, all of this was because of HER.

Everything that happened next was a blur, the ambulance arrived Marinette was driven away with Chloe of all people. The police arrived, Bustier and Damocles felt there sweat turn cold as they were questioned, the other students of the school would stand around murmuring and pointing at the Akuma Class Rose would hear the kinder people ask what happened in hushed tone, Juleka would hear the crueler people say that the Akuma class had tried to kill the one person they couldn’t akumatize. Soon enough parents arrived and dragged away their children Kim and Alix would notice the small patch of blood on the concrete where Marinette landed, they would later puke thinking about it, but they told no one of what they had seen.

Meanwhile on the way to the hospital Tikki was in a panic, her dearest chosen her most precious and rare creation soul was BROKEN so many bones and bits of her body were mangled beyond repair... Well beyond NORMAL repair but Tikki was a god, a sentimental god at that and she would not let heaven or hell get in the way of her helping Marinette survive no matter the cause. And so sitting silently, hidden in the girls hair out of sight of the paramedic and Chloe who was telling them all she knew of Marinette’s medical background Tikki used her magic to mend all she could, she would make sure that her sweet precious Marinette would be alright but while she mended the broken body Tikki knew that there would be a price to pay. Magic always came with a price. In the past when she’d used her magic to heal holders this way some had lost their eyesight, others their voices, some would lose a limb, Tikki had no idea that cost Marinette would pay but she knew whatever it was her precious little bug would be alright.

And she was. The doctors were shocked to find that while Marinette had a broken leg and two broken ribs, some deep cuts that would never fully heal, and some awful bruising that would leave the girl sore for who knows how long she was in fact just fine. There was no internal bleeding, and no serious brain trauma, and somehow she’d be just fine to walk when her leg healed up. Sabine and Tom cried tears of joy at the news and stayed by the young girls side. Tikki was also pleased with the news from her hidden spot where she lay utterly exhausted. She knew still that their would be a price to pay but at least Marinette was alive and well. The bakers daughter did not wake up until early the next day and when she did she was mobbed by her parents. She smiled at their concern and when the doctor came in to greet her he decided to check her memory.

“Standard procedure.” He said. “It’s not unusual for there to be some minor memory loss surrounding the incident itself were just going to check.”

And so the questions began. They started with things like her birthday, and her parents names and ages, then they moved on to recent events, so far no problems. Finally they asked about the day itself and the ‘incident’ in questions Marinette opened her mouth to answer then paused thoughtfully. She couldn’t remember. Not unusual assured the doctor, and then he returned to asking other questions probing gently to ensure everything was alright, and it seemed to be up until the doctor asked a simple question.

“What’s your best friends name? And can you describe them.”

Marinette froze and stayed silent. Tikki suddenly felt a strange twist in her tummy. Sabine and Tom looked at their daughter uncertainly. Finally after a long pause. Marinette spoke with a strained laugh.

“I uhh dont remember having one sir.” Sabine felt her stomach suddenly drop, hidden away behind a plant Tikki felt the same thing.

Concerned by the answer the doctor probed more with Tom and Sabine joining in. The answers were startling. Marinette Dupain-Cheng had forgotten every single person that was present when she fell down the stairs. She could recall other students at the school and her teacher, but all the students of her own class? She could not recall their names or their faces. When her parents asked about a specific memory the first time Nino and Marinette met and became friends. Marinette’s eyes lit up. She remembered the event, she remembered someone being bullied and helping them and then they became friends. Her parents were hopeful and the doctor calmly asked Marinette to tell them who the bully was and who the person being bullied was. At that all Marinette did was frown and hold her head. She could remember the incident but... The faces of the bully and the one being bullied were blacked out she had no idea who they were. They tried asking her if she knew the bullied boys favorite things, she had no idea, his name? Nothing. Favorite color? Nope. It was odd extremely so and the only theory the doctor could offer was trauma based memory lose triggered by stress and the possible incident surrounding her accident.

Later when her parents left and it was safe. Tikki emerged and was overjoyed to learn that Marinette remembered her and being ladybug. Tikki was a bit worried about the holes in her dear chosens memories but she knew that this was the price Marinette had payed. She got to keep her life and all her limbs and eyes but she had lost something precious, her friends, they were now black holes burned into faded memories. And it extended into her superhero life. Marinette knew Rena Rouge she could remember her powers and her skill, but when Tikki asked who she was Marinette could only frown and hold her head as it throbbed. Alya, Nino, everyone even Adrien were gone, Marinette had the memories but no faces, no names, no attachment she had lost her friends. Tikki felt guilty of course and told Marinette as much but the young girl just kissed her Kwami’s head and confidently said that they would figure it out.

It had been a week sense Marinette’s big fall. And the students of Bustier’s class sat restless in their seats. None of them had been able to check up on Marinette as her parents had forbidden visitors and the bakers themselves were illusive now a days as they kept close to the hospital keeping their daughter company. All anyone knew was that Marinette was alive, and while that was great news it wasn’t enough. And to make matters perhaps more odd then Marinette’s disappearance was the complete inactivity by Hawkmoth. It was as if he was busy dealing with something else. Like maybe his teenage son who had been expressing all of his teenage rebellion and angst in a concentrated dose ever sense a certain bakers daughter had fallen down the stairs. Adrien was indeed the most miserable about the whole situation, he’d given up on bathing, moped all day, snapped at Lila for even opening her mouth, and was refusing to care for himself or attend any and all photoshoots and extra curricular activities. Adrien’s rebellion was causing big problems for Gabriel’s business and he was stuck rushing about trying to re-organize events and juggle his son who had become terrifyingly good at escaping the house to go to school no matter what kind of locks were installed.

As the day wore on for Bustier’s students ignored the looks given to them by the other students in the school. More then a few of them blamed them squarely for what had happened to Marinette while others shot them looks of sympathy or concern. The class as a whole looked like they were from a bad zombie movie, but the one who looked perhaps the worse of them all was Lila Rossi, while some would try and argue its because of how bad she felt for poor Marinette others would recognize that she seemed paranoid and on edge with her eyes darting about and how quick she was to defend herself against even the smallest assumed accusation against her. Finally lunch rolled around and like the mob of zombies they were the students of Bustier’s class walked mindlessly to the cafeteria that is until one of them spotted a familiar looking girl though her hair was no longer in pigtails and her clothing had changed it was undoubtedly her! The class rushed forward with a surge catching the attention of the whole school who watched the exchange curiously. Apologies were hurled out questions were yelled and poor Marinette looked overwhelmed silence only came when Sabine stepped forward with a warning look though there was an odd glint of pity and sadness in her eyes. Finally it was Alya who broke the silence.

“Marinette! We are SO sorry, please can you find it in your heart to forgive us?” The Ladybloger was holding back tears and no one had heard her voice that shaky before. After a long pause Marinette spoke.

“U-Umm... Hey listen I dont... Really know what your apologizing for... And uh I dont really know who you are but... Umm sure of course I forgive you! You seem very nice?”

The crowd was stunned. Marinette had no idea who ALYA was? Her best friend? The girl she’d fought with last? Sensing the tension in the room Tom gently guided Marinette away shooting Sabine an odd look. Both parents had hoped that seeing her old school would jolt Marinette’s memory but it seemed that even her best friends face wasn’t enough to bring back what had been lost. As Tom helped Marinette climb the stairs with her cast. Sabine took a deep breath and proceeded to explain what she could. That Marinette had lost... Some memories, specifically relating to people who had been around during her accident... She didn’t remember any of them and no one not even the doctors or Tikki herself could change that. As Sabine apologized for what must surely be a shock she excused herself to follow her daughter and husband to the principles office so they could discuss the situation.

For the students of the akuma class life felt like it had been turned sideways. Lila who had been consumed by guilt had begun to hyperventilate. Alya felt slapped and raw her best friend had no idea who she was and the last thing she had done before Marinette forgot all about her was denounce their friendship. For Kim and Nino their were tears and disbelief the girl that they had known sense childhood had no idea who they were and regarded them like any stranger on the side of the road. For Chloe there was the oddest feeling of heartbreak, now she would never know if Marinette could truly forgive her, because the Marinette to whom she’d been so cruel was all but gone. But it was perhaps Adrien who was hit the hardest, Adrien who had learned that Marinette liked him the day of the accident, Adrien who had watched her fall, who had not rushed to check on her, Adrien who had felt torn by guilt confused about his feelings, Adrien who felt like the world had lost the sun with Marinette gone, Adrien who had wanted Marinette to come back so he could see she was okay and ask her on the date she deserved, and now Adrien who meant nothing to her because she had no idea who he was.

As for the rest of the students of Dupont? Well many of them were overjoyed to know Marinette remembered them at least but they felt pity for the akuma class but many others wondered what the future held. Would Marinette’s old friends try and rekindle their friendships? Would they bring photos and music and videos to try and bring back the girls memories? Or would new friends take the place of the old and forgotten? Would Adrien continue down his path of rebellion fighting for a place in Marinette’s heart once more, or would he return to being a docile lamb under his fathers thumb his heart and mind numb due to the shock of it all. Would Lila Rossi return to her old ways? Would she crack under the feelings of guilt and shame? Or would she go mad and attack Marinette. How many people would forever flinch and rush to offer Marinette help whenever she so much as when near a flight of stairs? Would it be possible to anyone to reclaim Marinette’s lost memories or would new ones need to be made? No one knew. But they did know for certain that things would be different from now on.

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#my fic #lila salt #ml salt #ml salt prompt #lila salt prompt #ml prompt #alya salt #class salt #protective Adrien #adrinette #chloe sugar #Marinette deserves better

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tennessoui · 4 years ago

Note

So I love your keeping up with the Skywalker/Kenobis au😍!!! It's adorable and it makes me so happy to read aaaand I wanted to ask what you think Satine's reaction is to Obi Wan basically getting himself a husband two kids and a dog like 2 months after she's left him? Like if they randomly ran into each other and Obi Wan is with his whole family and is carrying Leia, while holding Luke's hand and Luke is holding the dogs leash, while Anakin is I dunno monologing about something as he usually does

hi!!!! thank you so much for the prompt i love it <3 I thought a really long time about this prompt because I kind of knew what I wanted to do but I also didn't want to throw satine's character under the bus to accomplish it because i think from what Obi-Wan's told us about his marriage she's completely justified to want a divorce, so she's not necessarily a jealous ex in this snippet. But she's sort of angry, which i feel is fair!! i also (for reasons we will hopefully see tomorrow) changed your 'two months' to '3 years', so this happens 2 years after the Skywalkers move in, which is one yearish after the divorce! mostly because Something Else happens about 2 years after the Skywalkers move in and I have an ask cooling in my inbox asking about That that i want to answer tomorrow and these two felt like they fit together

(big sigh)(2.5k)(this is Obi-Wan's POV so its a bit pretentious and also a bit sad)

It’s a very strange thing, what the body remembers but the mind forgets.

“Obi-Wan?” A tentative voice asks from his left, and he knows that voice intimately. That voice had been at one time the most beautiful sound in the entire world. That voice had been what he heard before going to sleep, what he waited on tenterhooks to hear upon waking. He’d heard that voice cry, scream, laugh, gasp, moan--he knows that voice, and for a second his body responds the way it always has to that voice.

Butterflies erupt in his stomach and he turns to look at Satine for the first time in almost three years.

“Satine,” he says and clears his throat and tries again. “Hello there.”

She smiles delicately, as if she’s unsure of her welcome. Obi-Wan’s never seen Satine shy, but he supposes he’s never seen how she acts around her ex-husband.

He surreptitiously glances to where Anakin and the twins are standing in line at an ice cream truck. It had been a nice day, so they had bundled the kids and the dog into Anakin’s car and gone to the city park with loose ideas about kite flying. Perhaps a picnic.

Perhaps twenty yards from the parking lot, Leia had spotted an ice cream truck from her perch on Obi-Wan’s shoulders, and the twins had successfully convinced Anakin to make a quick pit stop on their way up the park’s central hill. It had been a very easy sell. The sweet tooth is most definitely inherited, and nothing Obi-Wan really shares, so he had taken Chewie and gone to sit on a near park bench, graciously pretending not to hear Anakin tell his children to let the old man rest.

That had only been five minutes ago.

“Would you like to sit?” Obi-Wan asks politely, gesturing to the part of the bench he’s not taking up.

“If you have the time,” Satine responds just as politely. Obi-Wan wonders if this sort of false veneer of courteousness is putting her teeth on edge as much as his.

Do you remember how you left? Would you like me to recall the amount of things thrown by you, or would you like to do the honors? He imagines saying.

Only if you would be so gracious as to recite the long list of things you called me, he can imagine Satine responding.

That sort of conversation would be better than this. More honest. It’s a strange hurt, to realize you’re lying to the person you used to think you’d always be truthful to.

“Oh,” Satine says when Chewie immediately starts sniffing at the hem of her dress. “Is this...your dog?”

Obi-Wan fights the urge to wince. He had. Well. He had been quite against getting a dog when they’d been married. Or a cat. Or anything, really. He had vehemently protested the idea of a pet.

Of another living thing in their house.

“Ah,” he says. “Yes. His name is Chewie.”

Satine pets him with just the right amount of pressure to have Chewie tilting his head eagerly for more. “Chewie?” she asks incredulously. “I always figured we would have to name any dog or--child after some sort of literary figure.”

Obi-Wan pretends he doesn’t notice her hesitation. He has to pretend he doesn’t notice her hesitation. “I originally wanted to name him Dante,” he admits instead. “Leia compromised down to Danny, but I just couldn’t do that to the poor dead man.”

“Oh,” Satine says and then she’s quiet. Obi-Wan can just imagine the sort of things running through her head. He would deserve all the mean-spirited barbs she could throw at him now. He reminds himself that he understands that.

I hadn’t thought you knew how to do that, he imagines her saying. Compromising, I mean.

Or, does the dog hair everywhere drive you as crazy as you used to say it would?

Or, perhaps worst of all, how much has your library of dead mean kept you comfort these last three years?

Instead she gently strokes the dog’s head and refuses to make eye contact with Obi-Wan.

“You look well,” he says, breaking the silence first. He thinks she’s probably put in enough work in speaking first for a lifetime.

“Thank you,” Satine responds, tucking a piece of her ash blonde hair behind her ear. Obi-Wan catches a glint of a ring on her finger from the action. He doesn’t know if it was purposeful or not, doesn’t blame her either way. It’s been three years. Their lives are their own now. There’s always going to be those years where they...converged, and Obi-Wan isn’t sure he regrets them. He might never regret them, no matter what he thought shortly after the papers were mailed in.

After all, he’d never have met the Skywalkers if it wasn’t for the divorce.

“You as well,” Satine says, crossing her ankles. It’s her version of a fidget, Obi-Wan thinks fondly, and then wonders if he’ll ever forget that sort of information.

He smiles. “Yes, I’m...well.” He coughs and glances over to the ice cream truck. Leia waves at him from where she’s curled into Anakin’s chest, very near the front of the line. Anakin and Luke are looking at Obi-Wan with almost the same expression of pinched worry. Anakin most probably because he knows who Satine is. Luke because the boy has gotten quite possessive of Obi-Wan’s attention in the last few months.

Obi-Wan smiles slightly to let them both know that he’s fine. “I’m very well,” he tells Satine, turning back to her.

“I’m very glad to hear that,” she says, and it sounds like the most honest thing she’s said this entire time.

“Thank you,” he responds, and that’s the most honest thing he’s said today too. He knows she won’t understand exactly what he means, but it feels nice to say it anyway. Thank you for the years we were happy. Thank you for leaving before we could really start hating each other. Thank you for the divorce. Thank you for the Skywalkers.

There’s very loud footsteps on the pavement and then suddenly a blond blur is clinging to Obi-Wan’s knee.

“Obi,” Luke says very reproachfully.

Obi-Wan automatically fixes the boy’s fringe. “Yes, little one?” he asks, very, very aware of the way Satine’s posture has shifted from almost relaxed to preparing for battle.

“Daddy wants to know if you want anything. He says they have those pop--pop--cycles that you like.”

Obi-Wan switches his attention away from Luke so that he can raise a very scathing eyebrow at Anakin, who shrugs as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. He had most certainly told Anakin that he was fine and that he didn’t want to spoil his lunch. Sending Luke over had not been a friendly check-in. It had been an invasion.

“I’m fine,” Obi-Wan tells Anakin’s son. “I don’t want to spoil my lunch.”

These words seem just as foreign to Luke as they did to his father, because he squints up at Obi-Wan before shrugging and clambering up into Obi-Wan’s lap.

“Who is she, Obi?” he asks, not quietly at all.

Obi-Wan sighs. And then resists the urge to sigh harder when he catches sight of Satine’s pinched face.

A thousand conversations rush back to him.

“My career has to come first, Satine.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“A child? At my age?”

“It’s Obi-Wan, not Obi.”

“I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready, dear. Our lives would change. Fundamentally. We’d have to compromise, we’d have to figure out a way to be there for them whenever they needed it. I know people manage. But would we?”

“Don’t--”

“I’m sorry, darling. I don’t want children.”

“Don’t call me Obi.”

He understands perfectly why Satine looks as if someone has just fed her half a lemon. He does.

She’s run into her ex-husband at the park and settled in to have a civil conversation with the man, only to see that he owns a dog (which he had been against when they were together), has a child (Luke isn’t his, of course, but he can understand the confusion), and lets that child call him one of his most hated nicknames.

“Obi?” she asks, which is probably starting out small, something he is very grateful for.

“Who are you?” Luke asks more forcefully, gripping onto Obi-Wan’s shirt with his little hands. Of all the times for the boy to decide to speak up to strangers--

“I’m Satine,” Satine answers graciously. And then, “Who are you?”

“Luke,” the boy says, far less graciously. “Obi lives with us.”

“Us?” Satine asks, mostly to Obi-Wan. “You mentioned a...Leia earlier?”

“My sister,” Luke interrupts before Obi-Wan can, perhaps, explain the situation. “We’re twins.”

“Twins!” Satine gasps in a way that’s most definitely pointed and directed at Obi-Wan. “Obi, I hadn’t known you had twins!”

“I…” Obi-Wan starts to say that he doesn’t, but the twins have started shooting him very hurt looks every time he corrects strangers on the fact that the twins aren’t actually his. He’s mostly stopped correcting people now because Luke and Leia’s betrayed expressions are really, quite frankly, works of art.

“Obi-Wan!” a voice interrupts him to his right. It’s a familiar voice, one that he’s heard as he falls asleep, one he’s heard first thing in the morning, one he’s heard cry and yell and gasp and laugh, one he thinks to himself might just be one of the most beautiful sounds in the entire world.

Without his permission or even his consent, butterflies erupt in his stomach and he turns from Satine’s rigid expression to Anakin’s slightly manic grin.

“Anakin,” he says, standing immediately with Luke cradled in his arms.

“We got you the red popsicle because Luke never came back,” Anakin says, thrusting the icy treat forward as Leia tries to clamber on the bench to hand Luke his own chocolate-covered cone.

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan says, all thoughts about his appetite for lunch pushed out of his mind by the size of Anakin’s smile. “That’s very sweet of you.”

Anakin ducks his head and rubs at the back of his neck, his face turning red like Obi-Wan’s popsicle. Obi-Wan thinks he’s never been this hopelessly endeared in his entire life.

“I should be going,” Satine says suddenly, standing up. Obi-Wan is a bit ashamed to realize he has forgotten her in the wake of the arrival of the Skywalkers.

But he knows he should not leave like this. They deserve more than this stilted sort of interrupted conversation.

Gently, he sets Luke on the ground despite the boy’s protests and chases after his ex-wife.

“Satine, wait,” he pants as he catches up with her.

“What, Obi-Wan?” she asks, voice strained and eyes a bit wet. “What else do you want me to see? What else is there left? I get it, alright. I get it. It was never you--it wasn’t--it wasn’t that you didn’t want pets or kids or--or all of it. You just didn’t want them with me. It was me. All along.”

She turns away, wiping frantically at her eyes. Obi-Wan isn’t sure if he’s ever felt worse.

“No,” he insists, reaching out to touch her forearm, painfully aware of how public they are right now. “No, you’ve got it wrong. It’s not...it was never you. It’s just…”

He pauses and tries to find the words to describe the past three years of his life. That first year of despair and hopelessness and isolation. And then the way Anakin and his children had crept into his life like a summer sunrise in the dead of winter, unexpectedly and then slowly and then all at once.

Obi-Wan shrugs helplessly, at a loss for words. There’s no way to describe something like that to someone who hasn’t experienced it. “It’s just…them.”

Satine takes a few moments to breathe before she turns to face him. She’s smiling and it looks mostly like a grimace, but he’ll accept it as more than he deserves.

“Oh Obi-Wan,” she says, laying a hand over the hand he has on his arm. “You always had so many rules.”

Obi-Wan fights the urge to bristle, reminding himself that Satine has the right to say anything she wants to him today and the amount of hurts they’ve dealt each other still probably wouldn’t be even.

It takes him completely by surprise then when she hugs him. He hugs her back automatically, blinking stupidly further into the park.

“I’m glad you’ve found your exceptions,” she whispers to him as she pulls back with a sad smile.

“Satine,” he says, but he doesn’t know where he’s going with that and falls silent. She shakes her head and rolls her eyes, leaning in to press a featherlight kiss to his bearded cheek.

“Glad to know I can still make you speechless,” she tells him wryly.

“Always,” he promises her, and she laughs. Obi-Wan is suddenly struck with a sort of gut-wrenching realization that she used to be his best friend as well as his wife. He had lost both in one fell swoop.

“I think I just put you in a world of trouble,” she smirks, tilting her head back down the path. “Your partner doesn’t look very happy.”

“He’s not my--” Obi-Wan starts to say and then decides fuck it. He shrugs. “It was nice to see you again, Satine. I hope. I. I really am glad that you’re doing well.”

Satine smiles and squeezes his hand once before letting go. “You too, Obi-Wan. You too.”

When he gets back to his family, Anakin is staring intensely down at his shoes, while Luke and Leia are glaring just as intensely up at Obi-Wan.

“Who was that?” Leia demands immediately.

“Satine,” Luke relays to her, as if the word means one hundred terrible and tragic things.

“An old friend,” Obi-Wan corrects. “We haven’t seen each other in a while. I just...I just wanted to say goodbye.”

“Did you?” Anakin asks, strangely intent as he looks down at Obi-Wan’s face.

“I did,” Obi-Wan tells him. It sounds like a promise. Yes, seeing Satine had been a peculiar twist of fate, but it had felt like a goodbye. To her. To the last vestiges of their marriage. To the man he had been when he had been in love with her.

The realization feels like it should hurt, but it doesn’t. Instead of ruminating on it though, he holds his hand out to Luke’s sticky fingers. “Shall we?” he asks, as Anakin falls into place on his other side, Leia held firmly in his arms. “It’s a fairly large hill, are you sure you’re up for it?”

“Yes!” Luke insists enthusiastically, all thoughts of the blonde woman his Obi had been talking to immediately forgotten.

“Perhaps by the time we get to the top, we’ll be prepared for lunch,” Obi-Wan tells Anakin wryly. The other man laughs, but his eyebrows stay pinched. Obi-Wan has the strangest desire to kiss them smooth, to lean over and kiss Anakin’s face until he’s blushing and laughing and light as he knows he can be.

But it’s very obviously not the time and place. Such a step forward needs both a proper time and place. After all, you may have multiple loves of your lives, but you only ever kiss each of them for the first time once. And Obi-Wan is pretty sure he’s only got the two; he’s not looking to mess this one up.

#asks #obikin #KUWSK #Keeping Up With The Skywalker-Kenobis #two days after this ficlet #obi-wan accidentally kisses anakin as he's leaving the house #anakin probably would react better to that if he hadn't spent the past 48 hours worried out of his mind that satine and obi wan #are gonna get back together #anakin to padme: i mean how can you meet him and NOT fall in love with him i dont understand #padme: i mean im not in love with him and ive met him....#anakin: and i don't understand!!!!!

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cozy-the-overlord · 4 years ago

Text

Happiness

Summary: A daughter of Thanos, Eija had grown accustomed to the isolated nature of life on the Sanctuary. Only when her father orders her to keep watch over an injured prisoner does she begin to realize how lonely it is.

Written for @lucywrites02′s Lucywrites19 Writing Challenge on prompt #6

Word Count: 4,078

Pairing: Loki (Marvel) x OFC

A/N: Lucy: *puts together a list of really nice, sweet, loving prompts that would make for some wonderful, fluffy fics*

Me: And I took that personally

Honestly, this turned into more of a separate challenge for me to see if I could take a fluffy prompt and write an angst bomb. I can say I’m both pleased and thoroughly ashamed of myself.

Happy Birthday, Lucy! I hope you don’t hate me too much after this one ...

Warnings: Implied/referenced torture (it’s not super graphic, but it’s definitely there), blood/injury, character death

Tags: @lucywrites02 @gaitwae @whatafuckingdumbass @the-emo-asgardian @imnotrevealingmyname

If you want to be tagged, feel free to send an ask/message :)

Read it on Ao3!

“Are you happy, child?”

It wasn’t the type of thing Eija had expected the hulking warrior to ask a street urchin like her, especially not after catching her wrist in his pocket. Really, she should have known better than to try to steal from someone so clearly capable of crushing her skull within his fist, but his golden armor had glistened so temptingly in the sunlight and besides, she had never been caught before …

When he caught her wrist and yanked her in front of him, Eija was sure that this was the end. The penalty for stealing was steep to begin with, but stealing from a noble (and certainly this man must have been a noble) could lose you your head. But he said nothing of punishment. Instead, he curled his purple lips into a smile and asked her that question.

“Are you happy, child?”

No one had ever asked her that before. No one ever really asked her anything—the most Eija ever got were the curses spat at her on the street, on the luckless days when pickpocketing had brought her nothing and she was forced to beg for sustenance. No one cared enough to ask after her.

No, she told the warrior-noble, no, she wasn’t happy. She was hungry and tired and cold, and she didn’t have money to buy food.

The towering creature laughed, caressing the brilliant hilt that hung at his waist. “I thought not. Come,” he said, stepping forward and motioning her to follow. “I have something for you to eat on my ship.”

…

Eija tugged at the laces on her boot. She had tied and untied them three times already, but she could think of nothing else to do in this tiny room, so she went in for the fourth. Besides her, the Jotun sagged against his braces in the metal chair, his labored breathing the only sound to break the stillness. He didn’t look very Jotun. Lord Thanos had explained that it was some kind of enchantment—the AllFather had magicked away his blue skin when he was a baby to make him look more Asgardian. Eija didn’t really understand the reasoning behind such an action, but she didn’t need to. Her job was simply to make sure he survived the night.

It was a frustrating assignment. Eija wasn’t a healer—she had no idea what she was supposed to do if death came knocking for the prisoner. Unfortunately, she wasn’t exactly an assassin either, and so unlike the rest of her adoptive siblings her role on the Sanctuary wasn’t considered to be of critical importance.

So here she was. Babysitting.

The Jotun groaned. It was a soft noise, but it was enough to rip Eija’s attention away from her shoes. He shifted against his restraints, but there was no force behind the movements.

“Hey,” she called. “Are you awake?” She shouldn’t have been talking to the prisoner. Somehow, she knew Lord Thanos wouldn’t like it if he were to find out. Still, the metallic room housed a lonely existence, and Eija was desperate for any kind of distraction.

Although the prisoner didn’t exactly seem to be the ideal conversation partner. He flinched at the sound of her voice, his feeble movement falling still as abruptly as it began. Perhaps she should have gone back to her laces, but Eija was intrigued. She left her stool to stand before the Jotun, peering down at him through his shackles.

“Are you awake?” she asked again. He didn’t respond. His eyes were closed, his head hanging limply against his shoulders, as if he hadn’t just been rustling about. The thought of some grand Jotun (Asgardian?) prince trying to trick her by playing dead was so comical that Eija had to bite back her laugh.

“Hey,” she said instead, trying to add some of that Black Order sharpness to her voice as she tapped his arm. “Knock it off. I know you’re awake.”

He looked up at her then, his movement slow and labored. It almost made her wince, just looking at the way he struggled to open his bloodshot eyes. Lord Thanos had allowed Proxima charge of the Jotun today, and she had clearly made the most of it—his face was so swollen that she never would have recognized the man Corvus had pulled out of the depths of space only a week ago.

“What do you want?” he whispered, voice low and hoarse. He was making a valiant effort to control his breathing, but Eija knew the look of fear when she saw it. She had seen it in the faces of almost everyone who found themselves in the presence of Lord Thanos and his children, although those faces were never focused on her. This must have been the first time she was the cause of such terror.

It was an odd feeling. Eija wasn’t sure she liked it.

She shrugged, dropping the serious tone. “I just wanted to talk to someone. It gets very dull in here.”

The prisoner only stared at her.

No, not the ideal conversation partner at all.

Eija sighed. It seemed she’d be returning to her shoelaces in short time after all.

“Can you tell me your name at least?” she asked. No one had mentioned it yet, and Eija had been afraid to inquire. Lord Thanos hadn’t been particularly happy when he gave her this assignment—his anger had been more directed at Proxima, for nearly killing the prisoner, but Eija didn’t want to give him a reason to turn on her. She wasn’t often the target of the Mad Titan’s fury, but the few times she was were enough of a lesson for a lifetime.

But the Jotun made no response. “Is this a trick?” he asked finally.

“No. I’m just curious.” A strand of black hair had fallen into his eye. Eija was tempted to brush it away, but she held herself back. “I’ll tell you my name, if it makes you feel better,” she offered.

She waited a moment for him to give some kind of answer. He didn’t.

“Eija,” she said. “My name’s Eija.”

He inhaled. “Did he send you to kill me?”

The question caught her off guard, although perhaps it was fair. “What? No, no I’m just— no,” she stuttered. “I don’t … kill people.”

He eyed her, unconvinced. “Why are you here, then?”

“To make sure you don’t die,” she said. “They were worried, you know.” Proxima had been quite proud of herself. Eija had overheard her bragging to some of the others earlier in the day about how she had the little prince calling out for his mother by the end. They had been laughing about it, how quickly he had succumbed to childish instincts, but the thought intrigued Eija.

She had never known her mother. Before Lord Thanos had found her, she had had no one but herself, scrounging up what food she could from what she stole on the street. She never cried for anyone, no matter how frightened she was. She had no one to cry for.

She wondered what it was like.

“Are you truly not going to tell me your name?” she asked. It was a bit disappointing. She had hoped he’d be at least a little more interesting than this.

He swallowed slowly, painfully. Whereas before it seemed he was afraid to take his eyes off of her, now he seemed unable to meet her gaze.

“Loki,” he finally whispered.

“Loki,” Eija repeated. The name made her smile, although she wasn’t quite sure why it would. “It’s nice to meet you, Loki.”

She asked him more questions as the night went on—questions about his home, his family, his childhood memories. At first, he wouldn’t answer any of them. He’d just stare at her blankly as she posed her queries or whip his head away as if he couldn’t stand to be faced with the words.

So, she changed tactics. She told him about growing up on Knowhere, before Thanos found her, about how when she was not yet six years of age the man she had known as her father dumped her on the side of the road and flew away into permanent obscurity, and about how she taught herself how to reach into another’s pocket and pull out exactly what she was looking for by practicing on the other unsuspecting urchins who lived alongside her on the street. It was strange, to relieve those stories before an audience. Because he was an audience, like it or not. He was listening to every word she said, even more so, she suspected, than he wanted to let on.

When she left that morning, after Corvus came to take over for the day, her throat was so dry she could barely speak. It was a nice kind of dry, though. The Black Order never demanded her voice anyways, so it wasn’t a noticeable inconvenience.

It was worth it.

“You again,” Loki muttered when she slipped into the cell the following evening. “Eija.”

“Hey!” she exclaimed. “You remembered my name!”

“You talked a lot.” He blinked sleepily. “You had a nice voice.”

Eija stopped. She wasn’t certain she heard him incorrectly. “What?”

He yawned. “You had a nice voice.”

She felt a flush rising in her cheeks. It was quite possibly the kindest thing anyone had ever said to her, as ridiculous as it seemed. Eija doubted her siblings could even recognize the sound of her voice—if they did, it would have been to scold her for stepping so far out of line, certainly not to pay her a compliment.

“If you’d like,” she said eagerly, pulling the stool across the room so she could sit next to him. “I can tell you more stories?”

It became the part of the day Eija looked forward to most—the moments where she could talk for hours about anything she wanted, without the ever-present fear of her siblings’ mockery or the Mad Titan’s chastening. It felt … safe, in a way that she hadn’t felt safe before. Warm. She always felt so alone on this ship, wasting away whilst awaiting orders. There were points where even her own thoughts seemed to abandon her to the darkness.

But not here. Not with Loki.

He seemed to enjoy it as well. Of course, she held no illusions that he was quite literally a captive audience, but he listened. He remembered the things she said to him. On good days, he’d even ask her questions, add in thoughts and stories of his own.

“You said you don’t kill people,” he asked suddenly, on one such visit. “Did you mean that?”

Eija shifted uncomfortably. This had always been an awkward subject. “Yes,” she said. “I’m not an assassin. I don’t have the training.”

“What do you do here, then?”

She inhaled. “Steal things.”

“Steal things?” he repeated. “What kind of things?”

Eija shrugged. “Anything he wants,” she said. “Weapons, passkeys, precious gems—whatever.” She remembered that day, when Lord Thanos had taken her from the streets to his ship, what he had said as she devoured the soup his servant placed in front of her.

“I have more trained killers than I know what to do with,” he told her. “But perhaps I could use a sneak thief.”

Eija had agreed to everything he said— it wasn’t as if she was in any position to refuse him, and besides, anything had to be better than sleeping in a trash bin. And so, she became the Titan’s personal retriever, sneaking her way across the galaxy and returning with the treasures he coveted in her pockets. Her methods were straight and to the point. She was in and out before anyone even noticed her presence, and, unlike her adopted siblings, there wasn’t a trail of bodies left in her wake.

“But if your role is to steal things,” Loki asked. “Then what are you doing with me?”

Eija didn’t answer right away. Thanos had not ordered her to continue her night watch over the Jotun prisoner. He hadn’t said that she couldn’t, but she was fairly certain that he wouldn’t be pleased to find that she had. What was she doing here?

“I just like to talk to somebody, I guess,” she said. “Besides, somebody has to make sure you make it through the night.”

Although it became exceedingly clear with each passing day that such a task may be outside of her abilities. One night, she could hear his hacking all the way down the hall, rattling the walls as she rushed to his side. She found him sagging limply against his shackles, soaked in blood and sweat and goodness knows what else as he choked on his own breath.

Eija didn’t know what to do—she could only wipe the blood from his face and hold the bottle of water to his lips.

“What does he want from me?” he croaked, once he could finally speak. There were tears running down the creases of his face, although whether that was from emotion or pain Eija couldn’t be sure. “Why is he doing this to me?”

For once, she said nothing. She had no answer for him.

She tried asking Gamora once. It was no secret that the Zehoberei was Lord Thanos’ favorite—if he were to tell anyone his intentions for the prisoner, it would be her.

But the assassin gave her nothing. “He has a use in mind,” she said. “Don’t question him.”

“But,” Eija hesitated. “If that’s the case, why is he hurting him?” She gulped. “If he has a use for him, shouldn’t he be … using him?”

Gamora glared at her. “If he’s not strong enough to survive this, he’s not strong enough to do Thanos’ bidding.” Her tone lowered in warning. “Remember your place.”

Eija did remember her place. She was reminded of it with every passing moment—leashed to her lord’s beck and call, every day walking that delicate tightrope of anticipating his wishes without asserting herself too far in his eyes, living in fear of the day when the bottom finally fell through and he decided to unsheathe the blade at his waist.

Was this his plan for Loki as well? Torture him to death’s edge until it pleased him to make him yet another glorified slave? She thought of Loki, shackled to his chair, heaving and coughing up blood, sentenced to wither away until Thanos found use for him … for what? The mere crime of existence?

And here she was, letting it happen, watching as Thanos sucked the life out of him, simply using him as a receptacle to her own selfish need for attention.

She was just as awful.

But there was nothing she could do about it. Was there?

Unless …

The thought started as a hypothetical. Isn’t that how all treason began? A tiny what-if, buried under one’s daily worries? The hangers of the Sanctuary were hardly well-guarded. There was little reason to guard them, after all—few on this vessel had cause to sneak off of it, and those who did hadn’t the opportunity. And with the current position they had been holding the last few days, only a small way from the Krylor jump point, which could then take you down through one of the major galactical traffic-ways …

Stealing a ship would be almost too easy.

It wouldn’t work, she told herself as she stood amongst her siblings in Thanos’ court. The ship was one thing, the passenger was something else entirely. Loki’s chains were specifically designed by the Mad Titan to stifle the magic of that whom they held. They were the very definition of unbreakable. And the key—Thanos kept it on his person at all times, hooked to his belt alongside his blades. Any scheme was doomed to fail.

But sometimes, opportunities present themselves.

“And where are you going, child?”

Eija jumped out of her skin when she turned the corner and nearly collided with the lord himself. It took her a moment to find her voice.

“To watch over the prisoner, as you ordered, sir.”

He frowned. “That was weeks ago. You’re not still doing that now?”

She bit her tongue, so hard it hurt. “W-with all due respect sir, you never told me to stop.”

“Well, I’m telling you now. Such action is no longer necessary.”

“Yes sir.” She nodded. “Apologies, sir.”

Eija stood there shaking long after he had continued down the hall. Her heart felt as if it might pound its way out of her chest. He had to have noticed. In a moment, he’d come storming back up the corridor, grab her by her neck, and crush her skull against the wall.

But he never did.

It was just Eija, alone in the hallway, clutching the golden key between her trembling fingers.

There was little time. Her theft could only go overlooked for so long. She didn’t have the chance to question herself as she rushed to Loki’s cell—any moment spent in doubt was a moment wasted.

Loki seemed to be unconscious when she first arrived at his side, but he popped up with a start the moment she reached for his chains.

“What—" he gasped, eyes wild. “What’s happening?”

The key clicked in the lock. He heaved a breath, falling forward as the shackles fell open.

“You’re going home.” Eija’s mind was racing at a mile a minute. They couldn’t steal a Q-ship—it was too big; they’d would be noticed immediately … “Can you fly a pod?” she asked.

He gulped. “Possibly?”

“Good enough.” She pulled him to his feet. It was at this moment she became aware of the fact that she had only every seen him seated. Loki was tall. Much, much taller than her, and when he sagged against her it took all of her strength to keep him from tumbling to the metallic floor. For a moment she feared that he was too weak to even stand on his own and nearly panicked, because oh goodness how was she supposed to carry him all the way to the hanger—

But he managed to stabilize himself, gripping her shoulder so tightly that she lost feeling in it, but standing on his own. Slowly, she was able to walk him into the hallway.

The hanger was only a few floors above them, but the elevator ride felt like an eternity.

Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop …

If it stopped before they reached their destination, they were both dead.

Besides her, Loki’s breathing was labored. He hadn’t said anything since she had come to get him.

She squeezed his forearm, hoping he couldn’t feel how she was trembling like a leaf. “You alright?”

He nodded weakly. “I assume you have a plan?”

“The pods are lined on the far wall of the hanger.” She inhaled. “When the door opens, we run like mad and get you on one. And then you take off for the jump point, and don’t stop until you’ve hit traffic.”

Loki turned to her, brow furrowed. “What about you?”

She raised her eyebrows. “Me?”

“Yes. Surely you’ll not stay here?”

Eija gulped. There wasn’t time to think about that now.

The elevator doors clicked open to reveal a thicket of barbed shadows and twisted metal. The hanger was lifeless and barren this time of night, lit only by the glow of the cosmos streaming in through the glass. They made their way in perfect silence, the only sound being the pounding of her heartbeat behind her eardrums. Every dark shape seemed like a waiting figure. Now, it was Eija that clung to him too tightly, terrified that at any moment someone would jump out and rip him from her grasp. By the time they reached their destination, they were both wildly out of breath.

The pods were small, thin one-man transports. Calling them ships was really being too generous. They weren’t really meant for long term travel, but they could work for a few jumps—long enough to get to civilized airspace, which was all he needed. She helped Loki into the compartment, careful to keep him from hitting his head on the low ceiling. This damn ship had caused him enough pain already.

He sighed, leaning against the seat in one short moment of rest before turning back to her. “You still haven’t said what you plan to do.”

Eija hesitated. What could she plan to do? She had nothing waiting for her beyond this ship. As with all of his children, Thanos held a piece of her that he would never relinquish, no matter how far she flew.

“I’ll stay here,” she murmured. “For now, at least. They might pick up on something if too much is out of place.”

“But—"

“Please,” Eija hissed. “You remember what I said, right? Take the Krylor jump, and just keep towards Xandar.” She inhaled so deeply it hurt, trying to bury the aching dread building in her chest. “Stay with the crowds whenever you can—he won’t bother with you if it means he has to go through heavy populations.”

Loki nodded, but she wasn’t certain he was listening. There was a sadness behind his eyes that seemed to pierce her very soul. He squeezed her hand, pressing her knuckles to his lips in the lightest of kisses.

“Thank you, Eija,” he whispered. “May fate be kind to you.”

…

The alarm went off some hours later, when morning dawned upon an empty cell. They came for her only minutes after. Eija hadn’t been certain of what she would do—would she scream when they broke down her door? Cry for help? Fight for her life? But as the Black Order filed into her room with their weapons drawn, Eija felt only an overwhelming calm. It was good that they were here. The longer they spent with her, the more of a chance Loki had of getting away.

She went with her adoptive siblings willingly.

They took her to the same tiny room where this had all begun, shackled her to the same chair she had watched over so diligently. Eija barely registered it.

Surely, Loki was hundreds of star systems away from here now.

Surely he was safe.

When the pain did come, it filled every fiber of her being, burning through her body as if she were nothing but dry kindling. Her vision bled white. Her screams ripped her throat raw.

They asked no questions. She was relieved for that at least, because her every coherent thought shattered to pieces long before it could reach her lips.

She understood now why Loki had cried for his mother. She would have too, had she a mother to cry for. Instead, she just cried.

Eija wasn’t certain how much time had passed before he arrived. It could have been hours, it could have been months, but at some point when she dragged her aching head to look up she found Lord Thanos staring down at her, the stony weight of disappointment heavy on his features.

Gamora stood next to him. She spared a glance at her former sister, softer, sadder, almost sympathetic, before she turned back to her father.

“Sir, the Jotun is out of tracking range. There’s nothing we can do at this point.”

Out of range.

Eija thought of Loki, raven hair streaming in the breeze behind him as he pulled himself out of the craft, safe on some green, luscious, faraway planet that the Black Order could never reach. She smiled, blood dripping from her lips.

Thanos’ expression remained immovable.

“Well, child,” he finally said, looking down at her as he caressed the glinting hilt at his waist. “Look upon this mess. See what you have done. Are you happy now?” He reached out with his other hand, tipping her chin up towards him with a single finger, as if the mere thought of touching her disgusted him. “You look happy.”

Eija felt a laugh tickle her throat. It came out as more of a cough, blood and bile staining her tongue. Still, she could not bring herself to stop smiling.

“I am happy, sir.”

It was true. A beautiful warmth flooded her aching chest. She laughed again, closing her eyes and letting the feeling wash over her.

She was still laughing when the blade severed her throat.

#lucywrites19 #loki marvel #loki fanfic #loki x ofc #happiness #cozy writes

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nazyalenskyism · 4 years ago

Text

Alone Together

Summary: After observing the same mysterious stranger from afar at party after party, Zoya finds herself swept into a familiar sort of dance, but for the first time in her life she finds herself faced with an equally capable partner. A/N: This fic is based on song, if you send me an ask with a prompt and your guess, I'll write a short fic for whoever gets it right first! This has been sitting in my drafts for a very long time, I really hope you like it! Ao3: Alone Together There he was again, a flash of gold on the edge of the dance floor, a smile as bright as his hair illuminating the room. Keeping an eye on him over the rim of her glass she pondered for a moment, she had been coming to Morozova Foundation events since she was a child, at one point she’d been the belle of the ball, a prodigy touted around by the great entrepreneur himself. ‘ My talented pupil,’ was what he used to boast, well as much as his stoicism would allow. Zoya had once let herself be examined by a ballroom full of strangers, all clamoring for a look at her, trying to see what set her apart. At least until someone shinier had come along, that was. Then she’d been discarded as easily as yesterday’s paper and slowly she’d begun to see what he really was. A master manipulator, he’d played her for the fool she was, taking the only things she ever truly loved.

This stranger had begun making appearances at not just Morozova Foundation events, but at every event with even the slightest connection to the man. Usually this wouldn’t set off her alarm bells, many familiar faces would make the rounds at multiple parties but they were all Morozova’s mother’s age, usually none were as young as her and if they were then they belonged to a big name family. This man had no name she knew of, yet, and the way he worked the room, charmed the guests left and right was in a way not unlike her own. Zoya was entranced by the way he worked each table he sat down at, turning the grumpiest people she had ever encountered into putty in his hands. As intrigued as she was, she wasn’t going to let a pretty boy in a fancy jacket distract her from the task at hand. The man she had been conversing with all night, Mr.Kirigin had come back from a phone call and said nothing as she smiled sweetly, leading him to the quiet hall just outside the main ballroom. Kirigin was supposed to have information as to why Morozova had cancelled his appearance tonight at the last second, and lucky for her, from the second she stepped foot into the ballroom, the fool’s eyes had been transfixed on her.

Zoya pulled him towards an alcove in the wall between two ornate paintings, the gold of their frames reminding her just how gaudy this place was, how rich Kirigin was, he was throwing this party for Morozova’s foundation and money was clearly not an object. Yes, she was here to get information, but she wasn’t opposed to leaving with a little bit of financial compensation for her time either. She leaned back against the wall, watching Kirigin move towards her, fully enthralled by her and she nearly laughed, all men were really the same.

“What a beautiful time tonight has been, Mr.Kirigin.”

“Thank you, it took many endless nights of planning, or so my assistants tell me,” Zoya resisted the urge to smash his toes under her heel, what an ass.

“I would really like to thank whoever made it possible,” she slipped closer to him batting her eyelashes demurely, “I was looking forward to meeting the legendary Morozova too, why wasn’t he in attendance?”

“He said he had urgent business,” Kirigin moved as if to touch her hair, but Zoya grabbed his wrist instinctively.

“Where did he go?” she said abruptly, forgetting herself for a split second, just as someone coughed nearby. This hallway was supposed to be empty.

“I-- I don’t…” Kirigin took a step back, the trance quickly washing away. Shit, she couldn’t let this opportunity go to waste.

“Do you know when he’ll be back?” She made her voice honey sweet but the man still shook his head, taking another dazed step back from her when his phone buzzed, as if it fully snapped him out of it. He vanished back into the main ballroom as Zoya cursed to herself, how could she have let him get away so easily, she had been so close.

“Get it together,” she hissed. “Stop making rookie mistakes.”

“Talking to ourselves, are we now?” She whirled on her heel, she’d recognize that lilting voice anywhere, that bastard.

“What do you want?”

“Nothing, I’m just admiring the view.”

“That’s the best line you can come up with? How do you get the ladies to fall for that?”

“It works just fine, it doesn’t hurt when it comes from a mouth as pretty as this.”

“Trust me, it’s not pretty.”

“How long did you spend staring at my lips before arriving at that incorrect conclusion?”

Zoya scowled, “I don’t need to stare, I just assume every part of you is as insufferable as your personality.”

“How would you know my personality if I’ve never had the pleasure of talking to you?” He was next to her now, perfectly polished and dashing except for one stubborn strand of curled hair that only added to his boyish looks. She refused to think about how it made him all the more endearing, instantly understanding why all the rich women fawned over him. He was young, handsome, charming, witty and handed out compliments and praise in a way that was so sincere, no one could ever doubt his intentions. She had been watching him, not that she’d admit it but she was no fool, she couldn’t let some stranger waltz in under her nose and steal what she’d worked so hard for.

“I can sense inanities from miles away, and it seems your head is full of them.”

He pulled a face and she thought she’d finally wounded him into leaving her alone but the next thing she knew he was offering her his elbow with a gallant smile, “shall we take a walk?”

The estate was decorated lavishly for the party, not a single thing looked out of place. The gardens were strung with lights, even the tennis courts hadn’t been spared, with large outdoor tents concealing them from the French doors of the ballroom. Neither of them spoke as they made their way to the dancefloor, the guests had all moved back inside, the night being too chilly for their expensive fashions. Zoya let her mind wander as she kept up with the stranger's long strides— she’d refused to take his arm, she didn’t get that intimate until a man was giving her something worth more than a law school’s semester’s tuition. Then of course in the days following, he would never hear from her again. This man was clearly wealthy, though he spent time catering his attention to rich folk he evidently didn’t need it. You could often tell someone’s status based on the way they handled themselves. Most people didn’t practice as much as she had, from age 9 learning to carry herself as a queen would so that no one would ever doubt that she was anything less. The stranger had the posture and pose of a rich man’s son but there was something more to it— a light swagger-- as if he knew something no one else did, but he was perfectly fine being alone in that knowledge. A type of confidence she saw the partygoers try to emulate but something that they never could quite live up to. It was the ease of a man who had learned how to be free but a bird who was trapped in a cage again, desperately trying to get back to the skies.

“Can I have this dance?” The hall was packed, but most people were seated at the moment, only a few couples hurrying to the dancefloor before the next song started. She really didn’t want to dance with him, but she had lost her best chances tonight due to her own impatience and there was nothing left for her here. A woman the stranger had been chattering away with earlier in the night waved them over from a nearby table before she had a chance to respond, however.

“Mr.Lantsov, why haven’t I seen you on the dance floor yet, you said you were an excellent dancer, yet…” she trailed off as she finally noticed Zoya standing next to her precious, Mr.Lantsov, now where did she remember that name from?

“Yes ma’am my partner and I were just on our way there, as long as she agrees to dance?”

“Why wouldn’t she?” The woman glared at Zoya in a way that communicated that this man was the most desirable person at the party and she’d be a fool to turn him down. As stubborn as she was, she did not want to come across as a fool tonight.

“Dancing is a dangerous game, Mr. Lantsov,” she said, her eyes flicking to him to make sure he understood what she was saying. All he did was wink coyly at her before nodding to the woman and leading Zoya to the dancefloor. Fantastic.

“So, Miss…?” he began, taking her hand in his while the other wrapped around her waist, pulling her in close. She tried to repress the slight shudder as his fingers brushed against her exposed back. If she had planned on dancing today she definitely wouldn't have worn a backless dress. Although she couldn’t deny that he was handsome, at least she was dancing with the best looking person in the room… well, second best . She was showstopping and that was why all eyes were on them as she slipped her free hand onto his shoulder, curling against the smooth material of his jacket. Saints, his suit was at least three thousand dollars, his watch at least two thousand, and she didn’t even want to look at his shoes but she knew they probably cost more than her car.

“It’s none of your business.”

“Well, Miss ‘None of my Business’, what brings you here tonight?”

“Ooh, none of your business.”

“Are you having fun?”

“None of your business.”

“Intriguing! Is there anything that is my business?”

“No. Aren’t you tired yet?”

“No,” he grinned roguishly, “I don’t tire that easily.” Zoya turned her face quickly so he didn’t catch the blush colouring her cheeks. Thankfully he just kept talking. “Since you insist on being so mysterious, why don’t you ask me about myself?”

“Okay,” she looked up at him, how was he so tall? Even in her heels she had to look up into his eyes, eyes that were a brilliant emerald green with flecks of bronze. Before she forgot herself, she managed to grind out, “why are you here?”

“My family is expected to attend functions like this.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He let out a laugh as he spun her, gracefully catching her against him before they resumed their steps. They were nearly flush now, she could feel the heat radiating from him as he leaned in, “ let’s say, an old friend usually attends these sorts of things and I’m hoping to run into him.”

Zoya tried to bite back her surprise, could she be thinking of the same person? “And what did the old friend do to you to earn your visits? I’ve seen you at every event I’ve been to this month.”

He paused for a second as if weighing just how much he wanted to reveal to her. Good, at least he seemed to have a brain in that big head of his. “ I’ve been at university for the past few years and I came back once I heard he was planning on taking something of mine.”

“Oh, so not so much a friend, more like an enemy?”

“I don’t have enemies, Miss None of My—“

“Nazyalensky,” she supplied absentmindedly, she wanted to hear more of his story.

“ Nazyalensky… I don’t recall hearing that name before.”

“You probably forgot,” she said hurriedly, “I’m at every party and you’ve only just come back to town.” He didn’t need to know that she had only started using her last name again after her aunt died, hearing people associate her with her aunt’s maiden name had hurt too much. It helped that Morozova had only ever known her with that surname, it helped her disappear into crowds that had once marvelled at her and her skills. She’d stayed away from the social scene for a few years, watching from the outside, learning and perfecting her craft so that she would one day be ready to take him down.

“I remember most names and faces,” he mused, “and I would definitely remember someone as beautiful as you.”

Zoya rolled her eyes, she wasn’t that easy to woo. “I’ve been away from the scene for a while too, I’m also looking for an old friend, but he’s never here.”

“Who’s your friend?”

“You wouldn’t—“

“Trust me, he interrupted, “I would.”

“Morozova,” she blurted out, biting her tongue at how easily she’d let him uncover her secret. She needed to know if that’s who he meant too, and there was something about him that made him seem so sincere.

A shadow passed over his face and Zoya realized he hadn’t been expecting her to say that name. “Funny, he’s my ‘friend’ too.”

“Oh,” she mouthed softly, trying to step back as the music ended, but Mr. Lantsov kept a firm hand on her waist, his other hand slipping up to brush a loose lock of hair behind her ear.

“Perhaps we could speak outside?”

Zoya shook out her head, he may have dazed her for a second but she needed to call the shots again. She took his elbow as he released her tentatively, “lead the way, Mr. Lantsov.”

They had found their way back outside and Nazyalensky had yet to let go of him, her warm fingers pressed into his arm. He was fully aware of what she was doing, she had realized that since they had the same enemy, she could put on an act like she did with the people inside and get the information she needed from him. He admired her skill, most others didn’t get this far on tricks alone which meant that she had to hide something else as well. He also knew that as adept as she was, she hadn’t quite pinned him down yet. For one, he had seen her assess his worth, scanning him and figuring out the price tag of each item, but unfortunately for her, at the moment he was only worth a little more than the clothes on his back. From observing her at the last few events and staying at her side this night he found that he quite enjoyed being in her company. She was quick and clever, not unlike himself, and she knew just how to move, just what to say to get people to give her what she wanted, but as they conversed he found himself believing that she wasn’t putting up as much of a front with him. Perhaps it was a tactic to lower his guard, or maybe he only wanted to think she was being truthful for his own sake. He’d been at this game for a very, very long time and he was beginning to wonder what it would be like to not have to run alone for once.

“What did you think of tonight’s party? Even if you didn’t get exactly what you came for?”

“Maybe I didn’t get what I came for,” she said slowly, turning to face him, “but maybe I found what I needed.” Nikolai had to admit that she was very good at that, and had he been anyone but himself he would’ve gladly thrown himself into the grand fountains if she asked. Unfortunately for her, well maybe both of them, that’s not what he was looking for tonight. He simply smiled at her, taking the second before Nazyalensky spoke again to admire the way the silver moonlight illuminated her dress, creating a shimmering aura around her. She did look even more ethereal in the moonlight and even he was beginning to question his own ability to resist her.

“Well,” she drawled, finger running down his chest, “what do you think?” She looked up at him through thick lashes, the endless blue of her eyes threatening to drown him if he didn’t pull himself away.

Instead, he leaned in further, “I think,” he breathed, “that you’re playing a game I’m used to winning.” A genuine gasp flew from her lips as he grasped her wrist pulling it out from behind his back to reveal his wallet between her fingers.

“Nice try,” he smiled, “but I’m not that easy.”

“Oh yeah?” she scoffed, pulling at his lapel unceremoniously, her ornate sapphire hairpin tumbling into her awaiting palm. “You’re not the only one with tricks up your sleeve.”

“I figured,” he pulled a large ruby tie pin from her inside her sleeve, each of them pulled out hidden treasures from the other, stumbling a step back when they realized they were both equally good at their game of choice.

“Have you ever considered a partnership, Nazyalensky?”

“In your dreams, Lantsov,” she leaned in, “you couldn’t keep up with me.” Her lips brushed against his skin with each word, slowly trailing down to the corner of his mouth, “even if you tried.” Turning on her heel, she was gone in a flash of silver leaving him alone in the tennis court, with nothing but the feeling of her lips grazing his skin.

“Hello?” The phone calls had begun a few weeks ago, the morning after he had been marked with red lipstick over his cheeks and a truth stamped over his heart. Nazyalensky’s calls had only been a minute long and every other day at first but now they were sporadic, more than five times a day at all hours of the night. Nikolai tried to ask what she was up to, all he ever wanted was to know more about the alluring woman who wouldn’t leave his mind. But to his dismay, every time he surrendered a story of his own she repaid him with a sentence or two at most, and it was usually about what she’d eaten for breakfast. As much as he enjoyed hearing himself talk he was captivated by the images the calls planted in his head, Nazyalensky soaring down a coastal highway in her convertible, the top down and her hair caught in the everpresent wind that seemed to cocoon her every movement. All he could think about was himself in the passenger seat, her sharp words cutting him before her soft lips healed them with a kiss. He was a mess.

“Are you going tonight?”

“I RSVP’ed but I’m not sure, I heard Morozova won’t be attending.”

“Get your suit pressed,” she snapped, “you’re picking me up at 7 and you better not be late.”

“I’m picking you up, oh however did I get so lucky? But he’s not going to be there tonight, we should spend the evening strategizing instead.”

“First off, there is no, ‘we,’ Lantsov, get that through your big head. Secondly, he will be there tonight.”

“My sources are never wrong, Nazyalensky, if they say he’s not coming--”

“He’ll be there,” she jutted in. “He’ll be there because I’ll be there.”

He froze, an uncomfortable weight setting in his chest. What was that supposed to mean?

“ Seven, Lantsov.”

“Seven,” Nikolai agreed.

The glimmer of streetlights danced against her hair, illuminating the shimmer of Nazyalensky’s vibrant orange dress, the fabric catching her every movement and he swore his heart had stopped when she first stepped out to get into his car. She had been quiet the entire car ride until now, “are you done staring yet?”

“I wasn’t staring.”

“Sure you weren’t, and I don’t look magnificent tonight,” she replied, tossing her hair over her shoulder, the tension easing between them as they fell into the easy back and forth that had become nearly natural. “Your car isn’t what I was expecting.”

Nikolai raised a brow, “what were you expecting?”

“Something flashy and obnoxious, I don’t know, a Bugatti?”

“If I had a Bugatti do you really think you would’ve found me with your hairpins up my sleeve?”

She cut him a disbelieving glance, “I don’t know what to make of you. You say so much about yourself and yet I feel like I hardly know a thing about you.”

He let out a measured breath, she already knew more than anyone else did, she was wrong about that, yet this tale stuck in his throat unlike all others. “I wanted something with as much character as me,” he began, “after my issues with Morozova, this was one of the few possessions I still owned.”

“What do you mean?”

Nikolai drew in a breath, if he had any hope of understanding what she’d meant on the phone earlier, he had to be willing to show her his hand, as much as the stubborn, lonely part of him protested, he knew he wanted to do this. “My family is wealthy. They have traditional values like the rest of their friends, ideas about passing their dynasty down to their eldest son, that type of thing. Or it was. I’ve always known that the people who rely on my family’s services deserve more than them, they don’t care about helping them, not really. I’ve spent years, since I was a boy trying to be better, trying to make myself into someone who could take care of the legacy properly. It was working, I thought they were going to agree. I went away to university for a few years, tried to help in new ways, from a distance, but when I came back, there was nothing left.” He glanced at Nazyalensky and she only cocked her head at him, waiting for him to continue. He’d never told anyone this story before, and he still wasn’t sure why he was telling her, someone whose name he didn’t even know.

“Morozova, an old consultant slithered his way back into their lives the moment that I left. He knew my older brother wasn’t clever, was easily manipulated, and so that’s what he did. He and my brother turned the favour his way, cheated me out of everything I had fought to earn, and convinced the board that Vasily should get to take over, with Morozova pulling all the strings of course. When I heard word of it, I came back immediately, but it was too late, they had written me out of almost everything. I was left with no money, no power, nothing. All the plans I had came crashing down and now, I know that if I can get rid of Morozova’s influence, my family might see sense.”

They sat in silence until Nazyalensky spoke again, “that’s more… noble than I was expecting.”

“I might look like a feckless rogue but I’d like to think that I possess an endearing quality or two.”

“You seem like you’re anything but feckless, a rogue, however? That seems much more likely.”

He winked, “for you, Nazyalensky, I could be as roguish as they come.”

She turned away quickly but Nikolai didn’t miss the pink flush in her cheeks at his words, grinning to himself. Although he had just revealed his biggest secret, he didn’t find himself particularly regretting it.

They continued in a comfortable silence until a loud ring cut through, a few blocks from their destination. “What’s up, Tamar?” he asked, accepting his friend’s call on the car’s display. Yes it was an old car with character, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t spruced up the technology to his liking.

“He’s not here,” she replied, Nazyalensky’s head snapping towards him at this, her eyes darkening.

“What do you mean? I thought he was supposed to be there?”

“He’s in Italy, he’s not coming.”

Nikolai let out a sigh as his partner’s head fell back against her seat, her fingers curled tightly into her palms. “Thanks, Tamar, I’ll talk to you later.” Another wasted opportunity, and he had believed Nazyalensky when she had insisted on Morozova being there. He knew there would be other chances, but it felt like he was running out of time, that if he didn’t hurry Morozova would find him out and try to finish him for good.

A sharp hiss from Nazyalensky drew his focus to her, and he saw that her unfurling palms were scored with crescent shaped indentations, the result of her nails pressing into skin. As she began to curl her fingers inwards again, his hand shot out, stopping her with the press of his palm against hers. The red light before them allowed him the briefest second to realize what he’d done, pulling his hand back to the wheel. “I—” he began, only to be cut off before he could apologize.

“Morozova, he had this school that he started when he was young, barely older than the students himself. He cultivated talent. Pitted students against one another and chose the best ones-- the ones most useful to him, and would take them under his wing.” She was staring straight out the windshield, her gaze distant, her eyes hollow. “Can you guess what I was?” She let out a humourless laugh. “I was talented and would do anything he asked without hesitation. He used that and when someone who suited his needs better came along, I was thrown aside, as if I’d never mattered. Not just me, it happened to us all. I don’t want to ruin him for my own hurt, but for theirs too.”

Her eyes met his in the front mirror and he nodded at her to continue. They had been driving in circles as they’d shared their stories, and he wasn’t going to stop until he heard the rest of hers.

“The reason I stopped being his favourite was because a new student came along. And whenever she called, he would come. Maybe a small part of me thought that since my name was on the list, he would come tonight. Is that foolish?”

“No,” Nikolai returned with quiet honesty. “It’s not.”

Her eyes seemed troubled as they met his again, but her tone was cool when she spoke. “Zoya. Zoya Nazyalensky.”

“Nikolai. Nikolai Lantsov.”

“Nikolai,” she hummed, pulling out the syllables, as if testing the feeling of his name against her tongue. “ Nikolai .” Saints, he didn’t think that his own name had ever sounded sweeter. “What do we do now, Nikolai?”

“We wait, and we try again. Now that we’re working together we can come up with a better plan and make this work.”

“Okay,” she nodded slowly, “but what about tonight?”

“I could drop you back off at home? There’s not much use going if Morozova isn’t there.”

“I share a too-small apartment with a couple who is disgustingly in love and it’s date night, I think I’d rather not.”

“And I share a too-small houseboat with a set of twins who wake up at 4am to do combat training in the living room.”

“We could keep driving,” she suggested, her voice low, fingers dancing over the dashboard as she awaited his reply.

“We could keep driving,” he agreed, trying to keep his focus on the road as Zoya’s head came to rest gently against his shoulder. Nikolai knew this particular luxury would cost him, but he couldn’t find it in himself to mind.

“Zoya Nazyalensky and Nikolai Lantsov.” His voice was filled with a quality she’d never heard before but found that she quite liked. It was a mixture of indolent arrogance and jauntyness, a rare combination, but she supposed nothing was too out there for Nikolai, the last few months had been filled with him surprising her daily. Whether it was stories of his past, or his friendships or exploits, she found herself listening raptly, as if she couldn’t turn away. And she didn’t want to. His stories painted the world in a way that made her hunger for more. In a way that made her believe, for a few silly seconds, that she could get on his boat and sail away from it all. And then he would drop her off at her apartment and the second she walked through the door, the magic was shattered and she remembered that she existed, not in the textured fantasy world spun by Nikolai’s silver tongue.

With a quick glance at their invitations and a wave, they were making their way to table 2 as instructed. Zoya’s arm was looped lazily through Nikolai’s, but they were both on high alert tonight. They had received personal invites to tonight’s function, and while they were planning a much longer game than springing on Morozova today, they had ultimately decided that their strategy would be to convince Morozova that they didn’t want to strangle him on the spot. Easier said than done, her fingers were itching to wrap around his greasy throat, and they’d only just gotten here.

Whether he would buy it or not was a whole other question, but their plan relied on him being cocky enough to underestimate them or to want to keep his enemies close. Drifting through the crowd, Zoya was able to pick up more than a few of the whispers at tables, each one making her want to roll her eyes a little bit more than the last.

"She’s the girl who locked Nikolai Lantsov down.”

"I heard she blackmailed him into taking her to parties.”

“I heard her parents are forigen millionaires and the Lantsovs who are in crushing debt want to be bailed out.”

“I heard she’s the lost twin to the princess of some country or the other and they need his money to keep up their lifestyle.

“I heard that she knows black magic and seduced him into being devoted to her, that he spends his weekends feeding her grapes like she’s a queen.

Zoya leaned up, her lips brushing his ear, “that’s my favourite one.”

She watched him hold back a laugh, “if you wanted me to feed you grapes, you could’ve just asked.”

“Who cares about grapes, are you or are you not going to fund my jewelry-hungry long-lost twin sister?”

He gave her an incredulous look, “with what money?”

Biting back a smile of her own, they settled at their table, Nikolai’s knee brushing hers as it jounced underneath the table, more whispers flooding over them now.

“Nikolai Lantsov used to ask every single lady to dance with him before the party was over, even the old ones.”

“Nikolai Lantsov used to come over and sit at our table for hours and listen to our stories.”

“Nikolai Lantsov used to be the most eligible bachelor in town before she came around and locked it down.”

“Did you hear that, Lantsov?” she mused, leaning over to adjust his crooked bow tie. “Apparently I’ve locked it down.”

He let out a huff, “apparently?”

Zoya rolled her eyes, tilting his mouth down to hers, smiling at the glint in his eyes as she murmured, “definitely.” Definitely locked it down.”

Nikolai awoke to a hand flopping against his abdomen halfheartedly, what on Earth?

“Come closer,” a tired voice groaned, “what good are you if you can’t warm the bed.”

He shuffled closer, “you’re sure there’s no other reason I’m here?” he questioned.

“No.”

“An interesting way of getting me into bed but who am I to question your methods?” Nikolai teased, grinning at Zoya’s look of annoyance. It was first thing in the morning and he considered himself nothing if not a man of routine, and a part of that sacred routine involved annoying Zoya into affection as soon as she woke up.

“As if I’d ever let you into my bed,” she growled, flipping her back towards him.

“That’s interesting considering how I’m in your bed right now.”

“Oh that can be easily fixed,” she nudged him off the edge of the bed, relishing the groan of impact as he hit the floor.

Nikolai sighed, figuring that he very well couldn’t spend the day lazing in bed with Zoya anyways, as much as he wanted to. He found his clothes flung in opposite sides of the room, putting on a piece at a time until it came to his shoes.

“Have you seen my loafers?”

“You’re so annoying,” Zoya replied, her voice muffled from the pillow she’d thrown over her head in an attempt to drown him out.

“Does that mean you haven’t seen them?”

“Your shoes sound as pretentious as you.”

“That’s not helping,” he muttered, spotting a wagging tail with a familiar looking shoe in his mouth. Nikolai couldn’t believe that this was his life now, half dressed , trying to extract his ridiculously expensive shoes from his girlfriends’ dog’s mouth while she laughed from above.

“Give it back.” The puppy refused to relent, disappearing back under Zoya’s bed, undoubtedly gnawing on Nikolai’s leather shoes even more now that he’d dissented. “Well, I guess I can’t leave now that the dog’s got my shoes.”

“Goodbye Nikolai.”

“Zoya, your dog has fully destroyed my shoes.”

“Oh no,” she groaned, “his taste is as shit as yours.”

“Good thing I keep another pair here,” he sighed, glaring at the dog. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” he murmured, kissing a chaste kiss to her hair. This was their routine now, nights spent planning and talking, falling asleep on the sofa, waking up to the cold, Zoya back in her bed, with Nikolai’s arms wrapped around her.

He had already reached the doorway when he heard her speak. “Or,” Zoya’s voice was quiet, almost hesitant. “You don’t have to leave.”

Nikolai paused, “what are you asking?”

“I’m asking you to stay.”

The words were sweet music to his ears, but he wanted to check she was certain. “Are you sure, Nazyalensky?”

Zoya turned onto her side to face him, her midnight waves cascading over her shoulder, her bronze skin glowing in the lazy late morning light. Nikolai was sure that he must have died and been taken to paradise. How else would he be fortunate enough to have woken up entangled with the sight before him?

“Stop staring and get in,” she grumbled, “before I change my mind.”

Nikolai slipped back into bed, letting out a sigh as the covers enveloped him again. He would much rather spend the day here, like this.

“Get your frozen toes off of mine!” Zoya hissed, cutting through his moment of quiet.

“They’re not that cold,” he groaned, pressing his nose to her cheek as she tried to squirm out of his grip.

“Why is your nose cold too?”

“That’s what you get for hogging the covers.”

Her eyes flashed dangerously, “I don't hog the covers!”

“Of course you don’t,” Nikolai soothed, pulling her to him as she rested her head against his chest. “You’re an equitable bedmate.”

“Damn right.” she huffed, her eyes starting to sink closed already. “I’m the best.”

“How long am I allowed to stay this time?” Nikolai murmured against her hair, unsure if the response would be the same as always, the usual until the morning. Something had changed, and he didn’t want to shatter the precarious nature of today’s agreement, but he had to know.

“How about forever?” Zoya mumbled, half asleep. “Forever.”

Nikolai’s heart had likely come to the conclusion months ago, but it was then that his head caught up. This was it for him, he didn’t think he would ever love again, not after this. Forever sounded like the perfect amount of time.

“Forever,” he agreed, slipping into sleep after her.

#zoyalai #zoyalai fic #my writings #nikolai lantsov #zoya nazyalensky #kos #king of scars #tgt fic #kos fic

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emerald-amidst-gold · 3 years ago

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Writing Tag Game

Thank you so much for the tag @noire-pandora! <3

Time to show people just how much of a baby I am in the fanfic world~! >:3

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

A total of ten! Mainly because I lump drabbles together for easy access!

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

....273502 words so far. :3 I like words. Words are good. Words are friends.

3. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Emerald Eyes Amidst Golden Vows (the very first rendition!) - 48 kudos

Emerald Eyes Amidst Golden Vows - Bound Brighter - 24 kudos

A Dragon’s Hope - 15 kudos

Dragon Drabbles - 13 kudos

Poetry of Wolves - 11 kudos

(Honestly, the progression of style change in each of these fics is terrifying to me. I look back on the last one, and I’m like, ‘Oh my god.’ X’D)

4. Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I do, on occasion, respond! Though I may use a lot of words while writing, when it comes to communication? I suck. XD But, I do get extremely, extremely excited whenever I see a comment in my inbox, and I do go back and re-read them when I’m feeling down about my writing! I usually respond when a person asks questions, but I try to read them as rhetoric since I don’t want to spoil too much! X3 So, to everyone who has left me comments on my fics: THANK YOU. I do really appreciate and adore them. :3

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

Many of my short fics (those ranging from one to two chapters) all end relatively happy. I like angst, but I also enjoy making characters that are usually somber and stressed a little lighter. :3 If we want to get technical, then the first several chapters of my main fic all have rather angsty endings because the beginning of Fane’s journey is...heh. It’s not easy, and it’s not supposed to be.

Although, now that I look, a very old fic of mine called ‘A Dragon’s Guilt’ has a rather angsty ending. Basically, Solas’ frescoes in the rotunda send Fane into a momentary spiral, and it was me playing with Adamant possibilities before he was ‘set in stone’. Panic attacks and mixed memories galore! :D

What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

*rifes through my fics* Uhhhh... All of them? :3 Okay, okay! No, if I had to choose it would have to be...one of the short stories in ‘Dragon Drabbles’. It’s a four part story (and my first hand at smut >:3) that’s titled ‘Existence is Not a Sin’. It starts off angsty, but by the end it’s so sweet, so sickeningly sweet that I’m like, “...How did I write this?” X’D ...I’m actually thinking of re-writing a lot of my previous fics just to see if I’ve improved with writing! :D

Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you’ve written?

I do not write crossovers, but I’m open to the idea! Sadly, my brain hyperfixates on one thing at time, so my imagination is limited. X’D

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

I haven’t, and I’m very grateful that I haven’t. To be honest, when I started writing and posting, I expected to get hate (prepare for the worst, you know?) because I was doing something that wasn’t really the ‘norm’ for a lot of people. After all, people are entitled to their own interpretations and mine some times don’t link up with someone else’s. I understand that, and I respect that, but some people...don’t offer the same courtesy. All I’ll say is, if you don’t enjoy my content, don’t read it. We’re all adults, so shrug your shoulders, say, “Not for me”, and move on. Just know that if you do leave a hate comment, you will receive no reply, no fuel. So, don’t waste your time and don’t waste mine. Simple as that. I’m here to share and make people smile, not argue. :3

Do you write smut? If so what kind?

I have. Once, and I for the life of me can’t figure out how to do it again. X’D I’m very into soft intimacy; gestures and actions that speak a thousand words. Close positions (missionary, straddling, etc.) and a lot of eye contact with some healthy crying in the mix. *winks* I’m kind of inching towards a theme of ‘body worship’ when it comes to Fane and Solas because those two.. *sighs* They really need to shown that they are beautiful people; inside and out.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I have not. Thank God. XD All I’ll say is this though, you steal my fic, my son and claim them as your own? *gets close to the screen* I will track you down and demand a talk. Don’t steal other’s hard work. Don’t. Writing is not easy, and it takes weeks, months, years for authors to pump out their inspiration, so don’t steal that labor just because you want to say you could. Same goes for drawings and pieces of art. Don’t.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

I haven’t! English is my first language, but I understand some French! :D

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No, I haven’t, but the idea is intriguing to me sometimes! I’m just a tad unreliable due to how my mood ebbs and flows. I have very long dry spells. X’D

What’s your all-time favorite ship?

Solavellan! >:D While I write solely M!Lavellan/Solas, I do support all genders and orientations for the ship! Because I didn’t get into the ship because of what I saw, it’s what it meant to me.

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

*side eyes my main fic* LISTEN. It’s coming! I swear. I’m just having intense writer’s block with my main fic, and I’m not sure why. That’s why I’ve been messing with prompts and drabbles. X’D There’s also my modernAU, too.. *sweats* TIIIIIME! WHERE ARE YOU?!

What are your writing strengths?

Describing emotions. I like emotions. Emotions are nice. :3

What are your writing weaknesses?

Dialogue. Mainly because Fane...doesn’t speak much at the beginning of his journey. He’s very curt, short, so I have hard time incorporating other’s reactions to him. I’m getting better though, I think! :D

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I’m for it! Sometimes that little splash of altering dialect can draw someone in and establish a connection! Language connects us, and it’s never too late to try and learn so as to reach out to another! :D

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Dragon Age, my beloved~

What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

A short story of mine called ‘Blood in the Snow’. It was one of my very first fics and it was the first time I was like, ‘This Lavellan is my muse. I can do so much with him.’ It was just so fun to write a vulnerable moment for Fane, but still keep him locked up. ...It was also where I went, ‘Oh. This is Solavellan Hell. I wasn’t meant to go there, but I DID.’ X’D

Tagging: @oxygenforthewicked @little-lightning-lavellan @dreadfutures @the-dreadful-canine @rosella-writes @aymayzing @drag-on-age @varric-tethras-editor and anyone else that’d like to play! (no pressure, of course! <3)

#did i get a little harsh with a few of the questions? perhaps~ >:3 #art theft and hate comments are touchy subjects for me XD #art can be critiqued but it has to be productive or at least civilly worded #don't come at someone just to make them feel like shit #and shall i say; i've only been writing fanfic for a year #A YEAR #not even actually #*looks back* ...#my first fic was in december of last year so yeah. not even a year yet #*laughs nervously*#tagged #about me

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yuta1forme · 4 years ago

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like magnets | ten

summary: in which you and ten are up and coming choreographers who are forever at each other’s throats. but maybe fighting is just an excuse to get close.

pairing: ten x reader

genre: angsty fluff

warnings: some swearing, alcohol mention, loads of bickering

length: 4.3k

tag list: @sly-merlin @animegirl366 @yonoohcore

He’s confident to the point of arrogance. He knows exactly how to get under your skin. When the pair of you start fighting, all the other dancers make their way out of the studio, not wanting to get involved in another explosive Y/N-Ten showdown. He counters your every suggestion. He always has more critique for your performances than praise.

And yet, he is the best dance partner you could ever ask for. He matches your poise with his passion. In dance, you both have found a middle ground.

When Ten first joined the studio you really wanted to like him. He was a young, up and coming dancer from Thailand. What you had not seen coming was that besides being the same age, you and Ten had precious little in common. The day you first met Ten, you had decided in less than ten seconds that you two would never, to put this lightly, become the “best of friends”.

You had entered the break room of the studio that day, late and soaking wet because of the heavy downpour that had begun the night before. Hungry and disgruntled, all you had wanted to do was to grab a steaming cup of green tea and the last of your favorite jelly doughnuts. Only the thought of those jelly doughnuts had you hanging on during your hour and forty-five-minute long journey to work this morning. They were your emotional support food, your one and only indulgence. After almost three years at the studio, all the other dancers knew not to touch your jelly doughnuts. All except for the bucket-hat wearing Thai newbie who clearly hadn’t gotten the memo.

“Those were my doughnuts”, you had barely managed to huff out, focusing your mind on not raising your voice or worse, bursting into tears.

Now, if he had just apologized for eating them without asking you first, you both might not have started off on the wrong foot. No, the fucker just shrugged and said, “Didn’t see your name on them”. No shame in his eyes, not an ounce of regret in his voice. The powdered sugar from your doughnuts still around his mouth and dusted over his all-black ensemble. That fucker.

“So people just waltz into a room and eat someone else’s snacks where you’re from?”, you asked, your pitch becoming shriller with annoyance.

“No of course not. Because where I’m from, people don’t leave their snacks where everyone can see them, without putting their name on it first”, he replied, cool as a cucumber.

Taeyong had entered the break room at this point. He took one look at the powdered sugar on Ten’s face and the eyes-gonna-pop-out expression on yours and connected the dots. As one of the senior choreographers in the studio, Taeyong had developed a sixth sense for sniffing out conflicts before they broke out.

“Y/N! I see you’ve already met Ten! He’s the new dancer from Thailand. Ten this is Y/N”, Taeyong had prompted by way of introductions, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge and inching closer to the door he had entered from.

“Oh, you’re Y/N. The one who choreographed the last Pink Cashmere comeback, right?”, Ten had asked, suddenly sitting up straight. Seeing that your conversation was turning civil, Taeyong had left the room just as quietly as he had entered it.

“Yes, that would be me”, you had responded. That was your first time working with an idol group and was a milestone in your career. You had spent weeks running on pure adrenaline and Americanos (and the occasional jelly doughnut), spending day and night listening to the new comeback track, reviewing concept photos and looking up old performances to get their style down just right. When you watched the girls perform the choreography for the first time, you were so immensely proud of yourself, you hadn’t stopped beaming for days.

“I should’ve known it was you, it had your signature footwork style all over it”, Ten had said, nodding his head slightly. You had felt flattered at that, surprised that anyone had even picked up that you had a certain trademark in your choreography.

“But, I thought it was too showy if you know what I mean”, Ten had continued, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair, a slight frown on his face.

You were almost embarrassed at how much his words affected you. While you were used to internet trolls taking jabs at your work, it was something entirely different to hear full-blown criticism from your peers. As the youngest choreographer in the studio, you rarely got challenged when it came to choreography, with most of your colleagues wholeheartedly encouraging you to spread your wings and grow no matter the outcome. It probably was not intentional on their part but it had become a fear of yours - what if nobody would outwardly challenge your decisions because they thought you were too weak to handle the truth?

Still, you felt a need to defend your creative decision. You needed to stand up for yourself. “The girls are great dancers and I thought a more challenging choreography would push them out of their comfort zone. Sooji and Maya were actually part of a hip-hop dance crew pre-debut. They were itching to try out a new concept”.

“But why not use more formations in the dance? It’s an eight-member group. You could’ve used that to your advantage”, Ten had countered. He made a good point. But you didn’t want to concede to him. Who did this man think he was? Walking in here and questioning your vision as a choreographer?, you though to yourself.

“Most of the other girl groups that came back around that time had similar songs but only Pink Cashmere had a distinct choreography. I wanted to make their choreography memorable”, you had said.

Ten had remained quiet for a while. “I didn’t think of it that way”, he had replied, a thoughtful look on his face. “In that case, I think you succeeded at whatever you set out to do with that choreography. It was definitely memorable, Y/N.”

He turned his gaze up towards your face and flashed you a sweet smile. He looked like a whole different person, almost innocently brushing powdered sugar off his cheeks like a mischievous cat who had just been caught doing something he shouldn’t have done.

Your whole first interaction with Ten had confused you. First he walked in acting like he owned the place, critiquing your choreography as if he was a veteran dancer. But then he had just as easily praised your abilities. But at the back of your mind you had this nagging feeling that whatever Ten had said to you was not in an effort to undermine you, unlike some of the backhanded compliments delivered by your peers. He had criticized you because he thought you could take it, because he thought of you as an equal. And you kind of enjoyed that.

Arguing with Ten became a part of your everyday routine thereafter. So did labelling your snacks with your names and leaving passive-aggressive messages on post-it notes.

At nineteen, you gave up a full-ride scholarship to a prestigious law school in your country and moved to Seoul with a single suitcase and your old school backpack in hand. Your family had threatened to cut off contact with you if you left the country, but you left anyway; Your passion for dance was stronger than your fear of losing them. Dance was your first love. You lived and breathed it. Like hell were you giving up on your first love that easy.

You worked odd jobs during the day and filmed original choreographies for your YouTube channel during the night. After struggling for over a year, your hope slowly dwindling, you got a notification that changed your life. Kim Jongin, one of South Korea’s ballet prodigies had shared one of your videos on Twitter. Your subscriber count had quadrupled overnight, with hundreds of thousands of commenters dubbing you a “prodigy”. Fate brought you to Jongin, who then introduced you to Taeyong, who brought you to SM studios.

It was a dream come true - for years you had only struggled, floating in dark and murky water, swimming forward towards a hazy future. Now, you had thousands of fans, dozens of supportive friends, and a solid foundation from where you could dream. Your friend Hendery liked to joke that you would need more than twenty-four hours a day if you wanted to do everything in your planner. And truth be told, he was right. You had given up a lot to pursue your dreams. Given up on your family, most of your friends, your home country. You wanted to make sure it was all worthwhile. So you wanted to spend every day making the most of the opportunities that you now had. You went to bed each night with a head full of ideas and woke up every morning with the fire to bring them to life.

Of course, dedicating your life to your craft came at a cost. The rest of the world had not stopped moving just because you decided to make dance your life. This dawned on you one rosy Valentine’s Day evening, when you, date-less for the fifth year running, quite naively decided to scroll through Instagram. Amongst the sea of pink, flowers and picture-perfect happy couples were two faces that made your stomach instantly drop - your ex and a stunning woman posing for the camera with their fingers intertwined. On her ring finger, a diamond the size of a blueberry.

You remember the day you broke things off with your ex like it was yesterday. You were at the airport, waiting to get on your flight to Seoul, positively buzzing with nerves. You had waited until you were seated on the plane to send your ex a rather heartless text message saying you were breaking up with him to find yourself and that it was best if he forgot you. Very dramatic, even for you. But you were nineteen and had just watched ‘Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind’. In return he had left you an equally dramatic voicemail, pleading with you to not end the relationship and proclaiming that he would never stop loving you. You had all but laughed at his message then.

You weren’t laughing anymore though. He was happily engaged, while you were lonely, lying in bed on Valentine’s day in a pizza grease-stained sweatshirt. You had spent the last few years working relentlessly which had given you a career that you could be proud of, friends you could rely on. But besides the occasional fling here and there, you didn’t have much in terms of a romantic life. You guessed you deserved this, that karma had finally caught up to you. Didn’t stop you from feeling like shit though.

So you did what you always did when you felt particularly shitty. You went down to the studio, turned the music on full blast and dove right into a new choreography. You were freestyling, too lost in the moment to hear the door creak open.

“I gotta hand it to you, Y/N, that was pretty impressive!”, a male voice exclaimed. You had spun around expecting to see Sicheng or Hendery at the door. Instead, you were met with a tired but rather amused looking Ten.

He was dressed in a white silk shirt and a pair of black slacks. You noticed the roses in his hands, slightly wilted but still beautiful nonetheless. He was clearly dressed up for a date. He looked striking as always but you didn’t linger too long on that, thinking that it was your romance deprived mind projecting thoughts onto the first attractive male it saw.

“What are you doing here? It’s Valentine’s day, don’t you have a crowd of screaming fans to attend to?”, you asked sarcastically.

“One date. And they stood me up, actually”, he replied with a bitter smile. He must have been quite upset if he didn’t have a snarky response for you.

You were truly taken aback. Ten? Getting stood up by someone? Ten, who could charm the socks off of anyone he set his eyes on, getting stood up on Valentine’s day?

“But how?”, you blurted out, instantly regretting it when you saw the quizzical look on Ten’s face. Yet you foolishly continued mumbling, or rather digging yourself deeper into a hole.

“I mean, you’re just...so...you”, you said vaguely gesturing at his whole form. From his boyish good looks to his ability to sweet-talk, Ten’s charms were undeniable. Ever since he joined the studio, the number of signups for the afternoon classes had doubled. Dozens of people would come to the studio every day, just to catch a glimpse of him. And he indulged them all too, flashing them his signature grin or paying them a cheeky compliment. If only you weren’t all too familiar with the way he could run his mouth during an argument, you too might have fallen for his charms.

“Sorry to disappoint you, Y/N, but I’m not quite the Casanova you expected me to be. But I will take that as a compliment”, he said with a wink that had you resisting the urge to roll your eyes.

“Still doesn’t explain what you’re doing here though”, you mumbled out.

“I like to choreograph at night. I think I’m my most creative after midnight. Besides I just got my heart broken and I should channel that emotional energy somewhere right?”, Ten said feigning nonchalance. You could tell he was genuinely upset from how his night had played out and couldn’t help but sympathize with him.

“Well, I’m here for reasons along similar lines. You could join me? Help me choreograph this new freestyle piece I’m working on?”, you had asked.

Ten cocked his eyebrow at you, clearly not expecting you to extend an olive branch to him in this manner given how you were still being snarky with him five minutes ago. But he accepted your offer nonetheless.

You both entered your element pretty quickly, letting the music move your body freely. You worked out a simple choreography, cheering for each other when you came up with a particularly impressive move. You were having fun, even though you wouldn’t admit it to yourself. At least you hadn’t thought of your ex in the last couple of hours, mind completely occupied with the thought that you and Ten surprisingly made good dance partners. Perhaps the friction between the two of you translated to great chemistry when you were dancing. Taeyong would be pleased to know that.

“I’m beat”, you exclaimed, slumping down on the floor after the final round of practice. Ten sat down next to you, resting his back against the mirrored wall. The pair of you sat wordlessly for a few minutes, letting your heartbeats slow back down. You lay flat on the floor, too physically exhausted to move. As soon as you closed your eyes, your traitorous mind brought back the images of your ex’s engagement and you groaned loudly.

“Long day?”, Ten asked, giving you a slightly concerned look. You just chuckled bitterly in response.

“Want to talk about it?”, Ten pried in an almost uncharacteristically gentle voice. You wondered if he had ever spoken to you in that tone before.

“I don’t know if we’re close enough to have little heart-to-hearts yet Ten”, you replied. There was an invisible wall between you and Ten that you were just not ready to tear down. The thought of sharing embarrassing details about your love life with someone you could consider a frenemy at best, too jarring. You didn’t miss the way Ten’s shoulders slightly slumped at that. You hadn’t meant to sound harsh, yet you felt somewhat guilty.

“But…maybe we are close enough to have a drink together?”, you asked, suddenly emboldened by a rush of confidence that confused even you. You took his cheeky smile as a yes.

You spent the rest of the night drunk and giggling with Ten. The thoughts of your ex were long forgotten. Perhaps you could learn to do more than merely tolerating Ten’s presence. Perhaps you could learn to enjoy his presence too.

Soon it became a ritual - if you and Ten were the last ones left in the studio, you would grab some beers and head to the roof. It was such strange departure from your usual selves that you often wondered why it was so easy for you to enjoy his company sitting under the stars like this when you would be at each other’s throats the rest of the time.

Over time your conversations had gone from discussions about art, to plans of travelling the world, what you were currently binge-watching on Netflix, and everything in between. Still, there were some topics that you both steered clear of - talk of family and love lives was seemingly off the table.

Until one night after a couple of drinks, when Ten pulled his phone out to show you a picture of two women, one older and one younger. The striking resemblance between the faces in the photo and Ten confirmed that they were indeed his mother and sister. His sister was clad in a dark blue graduation gown and his mother was holding a beautiful bouquet of light pink roses.

“She graduated last week, my baby sister”, Ten said practically glowing. The proud look on his face was a testament to the close relationship he had with his sibling.

“You must miss her a lot”, you said, voice barely a whisper.

“All the time. My family are my biggest supporters. I don’t think I would have had the courage to move out here on my own if it weren't for their encouragement”, Ten answered.

You hadn’t spoken to your family ever since you came to Seoul. In the past, the longing left a pressure in your chest that sometimes made it feel like your throat would close, choking you on your guilt. Now, it just left you numb.

“What about you?”, Ten asked, cautiously prying into your personal life.

“What about me?”, you countered, diverting your gaze away from the man sitting next to you, instantly wary of how much you wanted to share about your past.

“What about your family? Your old home?”, Ten asked.

It couldn’t hurt sharing with Ten, right? It’s not like what he thought of you really mattered to you. Right?

“I actually don’t keep in touch with my family any more. They weren’t too keen on me becoming a dancer. It’s been, what, three? Three and a half years since I last saw them. When I first left home for Seoul”, you said, trying your hardest to suppress any trace of emotion in your voice. You kept your gaze focused on the city skyline ahead of you, too afraid to turn and see the expression on Ten’s face. You wondered what he thought of you, whether he thought you were stubborn. Worse yet, whether he pitied you.

After a few moments, Ten broke the silence. “I guess sometimes, not having a family is better than having one that doesn’t love you for who you are. Don’t get me wrong, I can’t possibly know how you must have felt, all these years. But I want you to know that the people who love you now, love you without any agenda. Not because they are related to you by blood, not because they are obligated to love you. But because they just love you”, Ten said, eyes shining with an emotion you didn’t know how to react to.

“And they could be your family too”, he finished in a voice that was so warm, so gentle, you wondered if this really was the Ten who stole your jelly doughnuts when you first met.

You were speechless, processing his words for what felt like hours but was probably just a few seconds. Then you did the only thing your impulsive mind could think to do - you leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. In response, he wrapped you up in his embrace. You stayed still, focusing on the faint scent of his cologne on the sleeves of his hoodie. You breathed out a thank you, soft as a whisper. Whether or not Ten heard you, he moved his left arm slightly, gently stroking your hair and continued to chatter on about some entirely different topic.

You knew that once the sun came back up and both of you returned to your lives inside the studio, this little moment would not be brought up in front of anyone else. That moment was just for the two of you to share and bury deep within your hearts.

You knew you were in too deep one day when Ten gave you a friendly smile in passing while making his way to the break room, and you felt your cheeks and neck heat up. You had finally let the Thai dancer charm his way into your heart.

Typical Y/N, you thought to yourself, Falling in love with any cute boy who gives you attention. But he wasn’t just any cute boy. It was Ten. Ten, your frenemy turned close confidant. Ten, who would send you pictures of cute animals he saw on the street just because you once told him you wanted to adopt a cat. Ten, who took you dancing to a club in Hongdae when you were feeling low and all but carried your drunk ass back to your home. Ten, who over the last couple of months had heard every single one of your deepest insecurities and had still chosen to stick by you. Ten who had just left a box of jelly doughnuts in the break room, next to a post-it note with your name on it. To make matters worse, you were supposed to start working on a new collaboration together this week, a contemporary piece set to an R&B slow jam. How were you meant to work with him all week when you could barely make eye contact with him? You had to physically restrain yourself from facepalming.

You spent the week, evading conversation with him beyond work and some small talk to fill the silence. But none of your usual banter. You had even turned down his suggestion to grab dinner together several times that week, to the point that even typically non-confrontational Sicheng had picked up that something was off.

“Why have you been avoiding Ten all week? I thought you guys had given up fighting?”, Sicheng asked after he cornered you one day.

“Avoiding him? Now, why would I do that when we’ve been working together all week?”, you had chuckled nervously, desperately looking for an out from this conversation.

“He’s been sulking around since Tuesday, Y/N. He said he doesn’t know what he did to upset you”, Sicheng had asked you sharply.

The guilt in your eyes must have been apparent because Sicheng dropped his voice into a gentle whisper for what he said next.

“I know the two of you are as good at dancing around your feelings as you are at dancing on stage. But maybe try talking to him, Y/N? I think right now, you two might have more in common than you think”, Sicheng told you as he gave you a knowing look.

The day of the performance shoot came and there was a noticeable awkwardness between you and Ten. You decided to cut the tension by apologizing to him, citing the nerves for the performance as the reason you had been on edge the whole week. Whether or not Ten believed you, he accepted your apology and wrapped you up in his arms. You wished you had psychic abilities so you could read his mind. Did he have the same butterflies in his stomach right now?

As soon as the music started any nervousness you felt around Ten melted away. Dancing with him was like second nature to you by now. The song started with you on stage alone, dancing under the single spotlight illuminating the stage. You could see him out of the corner of your eyes, following your every move and observing you with nothing short of adoration. You left the stage for Ten’s solo and you could feel the goosebumps on your skin from watching him perform. He was absolutely stunning, moving fluidly through the movements as though he was painting with his body on the canvas of the stage. You joined him on stage for the chorus, dancing apart but facing one another as though mirroring the other’s movements. Through the bridge you inched closer and closer to one another. You felt your heartbeat beginning to rise from the proximity.

Both of you could communicate with each other with your eyes alone. You danced perfectly in sync with one another, pulling apart only to fall right back into each other, just like magnets. So different yet inseparable. You could see it in his eyes, when he looked at you, that the emotion in his mirrored yours. You knew you weren’t imagining it when he audibly gasped as you melted into his embrace for the final move. His heartbeat was racing a hundred miles an hour, just like yours. The pair of you stood there, lips just a few millimeters apart, breathing deeply as the studio erupted into thunderous applause. You were no longer afraid to admit to yourself and to the world, that you had it bad for Ten Lee.

And when he kissed you on the rooftop that night, you knew that he had it bad for you too.

#ten #ten scenarios #ten angst #ten fluff #ten imagines #nct #wayv #nct ten #wayv ten #nct scenarios #nct imagines #wayv scenarios #wayv imagines #nct angst #nct fluff #wayv angst #wayv fluff #moonrise

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twilightofthejedi · 4 years ago

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fic: this city screams your name

written for the 2021 chayenzo community fanfic challenge by @the-chayenzo-community (again)!!!

dialogue prompt:

"happy birthday"

read on ao3: here

episode 16 spoilers!

It has been a long day.

Vincenzo stands in front of his unit in Geumga Plaza, the faded numbers 606 the only thing written on the dark wooden door. It’s nearly midnight, and he is exhausted. He could go inside and decompress the way he usually does, alone, with comfortable clothes, cheap food, and relaxing music.

Or, he could use the key in his hand, and go to Cha-young’s house.

After they had started dating, on that day a few weeks ago when she had disappeared and made him go mad with worry only to show up later and give him a gift so meaningful that it had cut right to his heart, she had pushed a key into his hand. It was a night when they were sitting on the roof and staring out at the city laid out in front of them. They had been sitting on the edge of the roof, bottles of beer held loosely in their hands, when she had reached to her side to rummage in her bag. He had watched her with mild curiosity, but his mind had been too hazy to do anything other than take another drink from his bottle, and wait for her. Then, she had put the cool metal in his hand, and told him to come over whenever he wanted. He had been taken back, and even more so when she pulled him close and kissed him.

The rest of the night had been slightly blurry after that.

Now, he stares at the key, and thinks of the cozy house on the quiet residential street filled with pictures and memories and the very essence of the woman he loves. He turns around, and smiles to himself. He loves her, doesn’t he? Somehow, through the relentless legal battles and late night subterfuge and the devastating grief of losing his mother, he has fallen in love with Hong Cha-young. The realization fills him with something light, something he cannot remember ever feeling.

He makes it all the way to his car in the parking garage before he realizes that he has smiled the entire way there. Huh. So that was why Mr. Tak had looked at him strangely when he passed him in the hallway.

As he starts the car and pulls out of the garage, he thinks of a conversation that he had had with Cha-young. After unwrapping the record player and eating the salvaged ramyeon (after he had nearly burned it) at the low table in his living room, they had laid back on cushions to stare up at the faintly glowing stars on the ceiling, La Traviata’s first act playing softly from the record player in the background. She had seized his hand, bringing their entwined hands up, and pressed her lips to his knuckles. The simple gesture had ran a jolt through his body, and he had turned to look at her.

In that moment, there had been a thousand things that he had wanted to say, but what he had ended up saying was, “I haven’t been entirely honest with you.”

She had looked sideways at him, and had only raised her eyebrows.

“I have killed. Many times, in fact. I know I told you that I didn’t, that I was only a lawyer, but in Italy, I-”

She had cut him off by raising a hand. “Of course you have killed. Did you think I didn’t know what being second in command in a mob family meant?”

“Then what-”

“Do you think that you’re some fallen angel, and I have no idea? I can assure you that it doesn’t matter to me. I’ve done questionable things, too. Before Choi came to Wusang, I was the best out of all of them, and I didn’t exactly get that title through any righteous means.” Cha-young had shrugged then, an elegant, half-raise of her shoulder. “It doesn’t matter. What’s done is done. All we can do is move forward. Right now, we can use our considerable talents in subterfuge, manipulation and trickery and who knows what else you have in your arsenal to bring down people like Babel, Shinkwang Bank, and Wusang.”

He had nodded mutely because he had no clue what to say to that. How could he tell her that her seemingly casual words had lifted a huge weight off of his shoulders?

Now, he pulls onto her street, and as usual, it is dark and quiet. He thinks he may prefer the silence of her residential neighborhood to the nosiness and loudness of Geumga Plaza. As he gets down from the carlocking it absently, he realizes that her driveway is empty; she isn’t home yet. This isn’t abnormal; she had announced that she was going to be talking to one of her old contacts for information.

He opens the gate and lets himself in through the front door, tossing his suit jacket onto the low couch underneath the pictures that she hated but could not bring herself to take down. He sets his briefcase down on the kitchen counter, next to her own, and switches on the television to the news, watching absently as he prepares a cup of coffee. Before, she had drank instant coffee almost exclusively and kept nothing else at her house, but too many mornings at her house spent staring blearily into a cheap-smelling mug of instant coffee had driven him to go out and buy her a proper coffee machine with his favorite beans that had the entire house smelling amazing in the morning before they both had to rush out to the firm.

He watches the drops fall into the cup, and wonders absently about the barista that had made his coffee in Rome most mornings. The man had been excellent, so skilled at his art that Vincenzo had returned there day after day to the point that there was always a cup waiting for him by the time that he walked through the door. But then he had left the city he had grown up in, pursued by the family in which he had never quite belonged.

He looks around and realizes that he fits in perfectly in this house. It’s messy, and cluttered, and there are a ridiculous number of blankets on the couch, but it’s no longer just Mr. Hong’s house where he learned to treat hangovers the Korean way. It feels so intimately familiar that he could probably navigate through it in the dark (he probably has). Everything, from the outdated calendar (from three months ago) to the clock that chimes five minutes late, to the wall where there are now two hooks, for both of their car keys, feels like home, a home that has shifted, just a little, to accommodate him, like someone moving over on a worn couch and patting the seat next to them and saying come on in and make yourself at home.

He pads upstairs to her (their) bedroom where he has stashed a few changes of comfortable clothes for nights exactly like this one. He pulls on the soft cotton shirt and pants, and goes back downstairs to where the coffee is ready. While he drinks the coffee, he sends off a quick text to her asking if she has eaten yet. It’s a truly ungodly hour and any sane person would have had dinner ages ago, but once his Cha-young had a goal, she would stop at nothing to achieve it, and she would have probably eschewed eating to accomplish her goal for the night. Sure enough, she responds with of course not jagiya, who do you think i am, and he laughs quietly to himself as he gets up to rummage through her pantry for ingredients. He sees spaghetti in her pantry, tomatoes in her fridge, and a sweet basil plant on the windowsill, and immediately knows what he’s going to make her.

He’s stirring the simmering sauce when she walks through the door.

“Jagiya? Are you cooking?”

“Yes,” he says, turning around to look at her. She’s wearing dark blue today, with dark makeup and jewelry, and she looks like some sort of shadow wraith. He smiles at her, and she raises her eyebrows high, like she is mocking him.

“Are you cooking for me?” He laughs again, and turns back around to keep the sauce stirring. It’s truly strange how much more he seems to laugh around her. He’s set the spaghetti to drain, so all he needs to do once the sauce is done is to add the pasta. She comes up from behind him and wraps her arms around his torso, clasping her hands together. She puts her chin on his shoulder, and he leans into her.

They stand in silence for several minutes until he judges the sauce to be done. She wriggles her fingers at it, and he dutifully feeds her a spoon to taste, at which point she suggests, very seriously, for him to add ginger. He laughs, and moves to get the pasta from the sink, but she holds him fast.

“What is it?”

She puts her hand on the side of his face and turns it to the clock that runs late. It reads 12:33.

“It’s your birthday, jagiya. Wow, can’t believe the famous mafia lawyer forgot about his own birthday-”

“How did you know?”

He pulls her around to hold her looking into her eyes, a curious replication of that night they had drank into the night and she had hugged him to test if she had feelings for him. Her eyes dance and she turns her face up to his.

“I had Luca tell me. Turns out he can get by in English, which means you-” she pokes him in the chest- “are not going to have any secrets anymore! I will find them all out.”

“I’m not keeping any secrets from you, Cha-young-ah. Just ask me whatever you want to know. I will answer all eighty of your questions.”

She blinks at him. “Yah, why do you have to get all sentimental on me?”

“You were the one who conspired with Luca to find out my birthday, of all the things.”

She rolls her eyes at him. “I am going to faint with hunger. Feed me before I collapse on you.”

“As you say,” he says, leaning in to drop a kiss on her forehead.

Later, as he watches her inhale the food, food that he had made because it reminded him of the only home he had ever known before coming here, he wonders about his life. They still have so much work to do. They have to achieve the impossible against an entire system of corruption and injustice, but with her and the home that they have built for themselves, he thinks… no he knows, that they can do anything.

#vincenzo kdrama #vincenzo x cha young #vincenzo cassano #hong cha young #tvn vincenzo #my fic #my writing #i go feral for them

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simplybakugou · 5 years ago

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Dial Tone

↝ Following the death of your sister you have a habit of texting her phone number in an attempt to ease the pain you’re feeling. After some time, someone finally responds to your texts.

BINGO SPACE: Wrong Number

⋆ PAIRING: prohero!kirishima x fem!reader ⋆ WARNINGS/TAGS: slight angst; talks about the death of a loved one; fluff ⋆ WORD COUNT: 2818

A/N: yes this is another @bnhabookclub bingo piece lmao. this was inspired by the time that i received a text from a dad who had told me his late daughter owned my phone number and it broke my heart. i’ve seen similar stories to this on twitter and i wanted to do my own spin on it but through a fic!

thank you to the anon who requested for kirishima for this prompt! and the transparent kirishima cap in the banner is from the bnha bookclub google drive.

FULL BINGO MASTERLIST

✐posted 08.15.2020✐

The air felt heavy as it usually did whenever you visited that dark and eerie place the same time every month. The sky was filled with dark grey clouds and soft rain droplets began pelting your body as you clapped your hands and bowed your head in front of the tombstone. You rose to your feet, placing the fresh bouquet of flowers you had purchased in front of the urn beside the tombstone and dusted off the dirt on your kneecaps.

Each raindrop harshly attacked you as they fell as soon enough you were drenched as you walked towards your car, your tears melding with the droplets streaking your cheeks. Finally you arrived by your car, sitting in the driver’s side as the leather seat became wet from your body.

This time of the month was always the hardest for you, the suffocating feeling that always remained in your chest never left since you had visited your sister’s grave.

Nonetheless you knew you had to keep moving on, knowing that if you sat around with your thoughts you would just make yourself more upset than you already were. You started your vehicle and pulled out of the cemetery and onto the main road, making your way home.

Although it didn’t seem like it, life wasn’t always so miserable for you. There was a time when you were happy, a time where you could look back at with adoration.

When you were starting high school, you were attending the esteemed U.A. High, pursuing your dream of becoming a hero just as every other kid your age attending a hero school was aspiring to do. Your parents had both passed away in a car accident when you were young and you were left in your older sister, (S/N)’s care. She supported you all the way, acting as the mother and father you had no memory of but desperately wanted as you could only feel envious of the other kids who had their parents attend all of their ceremonies and functions.

But it wasn’t so bad, having your sister supporting you as best as she could to make do with the unfortunate situation you were both put in.

Although things were bright for a short period of time, you were granted a heartbreaking and life changing call one day after school. You were just about to finish up your first year at U.A. and if constantly dealing with the League of Villains or schoolwork wasn’t enough, you found out about (S/N) having a terminal disease.

The doctors gave you and your sister their condolences, explaining that (S/N) was undergoing a disease as a result of her quirk not being able to maintain her body as it was slowly killing her from the inside out. Since you were informed of this unfortunate event, you dropped out of the hero course in U.A., having to pursue a part time job on top of taking online classes to balance paying for your sister’s medical bills as well as wanting to still be able to have a high school diploma (even if it wouldn’t be as a hero).

It broke your heart to have to leave your friends and not be able to chase after your biggest dream but nothing meant more to you than your sister’s health. She had taken care of you for so long; now it was your turn to return the favor.

Although you had left U.A. High, your friends that you had gotten quite close to made sure to visit the hospital in which you were temporarily staying at from time to time after school. Sero, Kirishima, Mina, and Kaminari were the ones who visited the most and they would even get Bakugou to come along on certain days as well. It made you feel reassured to have people being there for you during a difficult time in your life.

But as the years passed and your previous classmates graduated, their frequent visits turned to occasional texts here and there as their lives took a full 180 as they were thrusted into the craziness that comes with being a pro hero. You understood the position they were in and would often watch the news with your sister, feeling proud as you heard story after story of your friends saving people during their times of need.

Unfortunately with time, (S/N) lost her long battle with her terminal disease and even though you knew it was bound to happen, there was no way you would ever be able to subsidize the pain you were feeling following her passing.

For the longest time you felt alone and there were times you still felt bedridden with sorrow and desolation, still feeling the pain of your sister’s passing as it had only been a year since her death.

In order to feel somewhat at peace, you would still text your sister’s old phone number everyday. When you were still in school and she was looking after you, you had to let her know if you were eating, what time you got home, and things in this similar nature as (S/N) was often working and wanted to check up on you when you were home alone. This became a force of habit and you didn’t want to stop, using this new texting method as a way for you to settle your own mind and give yourself some peace by not breaking this procedure that your sister had you do.

You would even call her phone every now and then, wanting to hear her sweet voice through her voicemail. It was silly, you knew it was, but this was the only thing that was keeping you sane. When you lose someone you love in your life, someone who was by your side at all times, they don’t dissipate in thin air right when they die. You lose them slowly. From when you wake up and realize breakfast isn’t ready or when you realized you didn’t have anyone to talk to, that’s when it hits you. Your sister was gone and now you had to learn how to live without her.

You pulled into the parking lot of the bookstore, letting out a sigh as you exited the vehicle. The first day of every month for the past year since your sister died you would visit her grave for a little chat. It gave you a peace of mind to be able to speak with her in what seemed like the closest thing to “a talk in person” as you could. Sometimes texting her number or listening to her voicemail on repeat wasn’t enough.

“(L/N)! You’re here!” Aiko, one of your employees, exclaimed as you walked inside. “I thought you weren’t going to come in today.”

You shrugged, slipping off your soaked coat onto the hanger by the front desk. “I didn’t feel like staying home alone so I might as well sell some books instead.”

Aiko nodded, getting up to put back some misplaced books that customers had strewn around randomly. You sat down as she went to the back, leaning back in your chair as you stared up at the ceiling.

The emptiness inside you, a feeling that you had grown accustomed to by now no matter how much it hurt, felt stronger than usual that day. You pulled your phone out from your pocket, sending a quick message to your sister to let her know you had gotten to work safely. Within minutes, just as you were about to put your phone away and get to work, the usual “delivered” sign under your message changed into “read,” indicating that someone had seen your message. That’s weird… maybe a glitch?

Still it was unsettling so you decided to call (S/N)’s number, waiting patiently as the phone began to ring. With each ring your suspicions lessened as you assumed the read receipt was a mistake. Just as you were about to hang up, you could hear someone pick up their phone from the other line.

“Hello?” A man’s voice asked from the other side and you nearly slipped off your chair from shock, not expecting to hear a live voice. You immediately hung up, looking back at your sister’s number as you were completely discombobulated from what had happened. You assumed that one of these days (S/N)’s number would be given to another person but you still were taken aback to hear another person’s voice.

***

The events from the day before were quickly vanished from your mind as you had to tend to customers right after the mysterious man picked up your call. You returned home, already tired from visiting your sister and working the whole day didn’t help with that. You even sent the number a message about what you had eaten for dinner, the lack of a reply making you forget once again.

In fact, you couldn’t even remember what had happened yesterday as you absentmindedly texted (S/N) as you usually did.

Y/N: I’m heading out. Hopefully today will be better than yesterday. Love you and I miss you!

Just as you hit the “send” button for the message, realization sets in as you wanted to smack yourself for forgetting that another person had gotten the number. Right when you were about to send an apology message, the unknown man sent you a message back.

MAN: Um… Who is this?

You were quick to write up an explanation.

Y/N: Sorry, my older sister used to own this phone number. She used to make me text her whenever I ate or left the house so I got used to sending these messages. She passed away a year ago and I still send the texts. I’m sorry for bothering with these silly texts. You won’t have to deal with them from now on.

You sent your explanation, deciding to delete the messages and shoving your phone into your pocket. It was nice to maintain this habit of yours while it lasted but it was time to let bygones be bygones. You didn’t bother to read the man’s response as you left for another day of work.

***

The rest of the day passed like every other day did, slow and filled with your own loneliness. You bowed to and thanked your last customer of the day and let out a big sigh as you began closing up the shop, putting away any books dispersed around the shelves and taking the cash from the register.

You turned the small TV in the corner off as well, smiling at the sight of Bakugou and Kaminari finishing up a mission and successfully catching a villain as they were acknowledged for their bravery on the news. You couldn’t express how proud you felt when you saw your friends, or any of your classmates really, on the news for their achievements as they continued to save as many people as they possibly could.

Just as you were grabbing your things to leave, your phone buzzed on the table. You glanced at it, furrowing your brows at the sign of your sister’s name, which you still hadn’t removed from your contacts, sending you a message.

MAN: Did you eat dinner?

You were beyond puzzled. Did he mean to send this to you?

Y/N: I think you have the wrong number…

MAN: You’re the one who sent me a message about my number belonging to my sister, right?

How odd… It wasn’t a mistake then.

Y/N: Yes, that’s me. But why did you ask if I ate dinner?

MAN: Oh well I saw your text from two nights ago talking about what you ate for dinner. At first I didn’t think about it but then you explained why you texted this number and I just wanted to know if you ate dinner? Since you usually let your sister know if you did.

You smiled at the message. Whoever this man was, he seemed genuine and considerate.

Y/N: You’re very sweet. You don’t have to worry about those texts I used to send. It was a force of habit and I won’t bother you with them again.

He almost immediately responded.

MAN: Don’t worry about that. I’m gonna take that as you didn’t eat dinner.

You didn’t reply initially as you were trying to figure this guy out and before you could muster up a response, he beat you to it.

MAN: From your area code you must be from Musutafu, too. This might be a lot but do you want to grab some dinner? There’s a great place on the intersection by U.A. High School.

The request was definitely an odd one. You’d never been asked out in this manner, then again it was rare to be asked out like this, but you didn’t want to say no. The mystery man seemed nice and it would be good for you to actually make a friend instead of being alone all day long. If it weren’t for Aiko or your customers, you probably wouldn’t meet another human at all.

Y/N: That sounds nice. Can we meet in an hour if that works for you?

MAN: Sounds good! I get off work then so I’ll see you soon.

***

It got colder just an hour after you closed the bookstore. Miniscule snowflakes fell from the sky, littering the roads and the outside with a white blanket. You waited outside the restaurant that the mystery man told you about. As it was close by U.A. you and your close friends would stop by after school so you knew exactly where he was talking about. You smiled as the memories of the times you spent with your friends whom you missed dearly flooded your mind, reminding you about how lonely you truly were now.

A shiver went down your spine as you rubbed your arms in an attempt to warm yourself up. You checked your phone for the time, realizing that he was an hour late. Maybe he got busy at work, you told yourself as you let out a sigh, preparing to leave and go home.

“Hey!” A voice called out from down the road. You turned to the source of the sound, squinting through the snowflakes as you identified a man waving at you with his blinding red hair being the one thing that stuck out like a sore thumb.

As he got closer and closer and you got a better look at his face, your eyes widened as you realized who the man was. “Kirishima?”

Kirishima stood in front of you, giving you a perplexed expression. Usually when people recognized him, they addressed him as Red Riot due to his popularity as a pro hero. But there was something about you that seemed so familiar, something that he couldn’t quite figure out. “Do we know each--” He stopped mid sentence as his eyes grew into the shape of saucers. “Y/N?!”

Before you could say anything else, Kirishima’s face lit up as he was stoked to finally see his old friend again. “How have you been? You look great! Even better than how you did back in U.A.!”

“T-Thank you.” You grew flustered, not expecting to be praised in such a manner. “So you’re the one who got my sister’s number?”

“Yeah. I had to get it changed after a fan ended up leaking my number and I kept getting a ton of messages from random people,” Kirishima said with a laugh, rubbing the nape of his neck sheepishly. His expression faltered into a more serious one as he glanced down at you. “And I'm sorry to hear about your sister. I know she meant a lot to you and I should’ve visited you guys more after graduation.”

You shook your head, a small smile on your lips. “It’s okay. I know you’ve been busy being a hero and all.”

He looked down at you, taking his scarf from his neck and wrapping it around yours. You looked up at him, moving to remove the fabric from around your neck. “Oh no, it’s okay. You don’t have to—”

“You look cold. It’s the least I can do for making you wait so long.” Kirishima smiled, wrapping the end of the scarf over your shoulder once more. “Well I’m glad to see that you’re okay. To be honest I did miss you after all this time.”

Kirishima opened the door to the restaurant, gesturing for you to go in. “Come on, we can catch up over dinner.” You grinned, entering the building as he followed suit.

You couldn’t remember the last time you felt genuinely happy like this and you couldn’t ask for a better person to bring back the happiness that you had been lacking in your life for quite some time.

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cpcoulter-official · 4 years ago

Text

Stayed in the Drafts

It was just…that laugh was so familiar.

The sunshine was pouring into his bleary eyes and the world wouldn’t focus. And he’d heard it in his ears, clear as day. And he wasn’t one for hallucinations, but it was convincing enough to wake him. And when he tried to see through the beams, he saw a smile, golden eyes full of mirth, and tendrils of wet dark hair dripping down to him.

“Wake up! Oh my god, Carmen’s going to find you in my bed…!”

And then the world shifted.

Sebastian pulled himself up from bed and rubbed his eyes, feeling like they were full of sand and bad decisions from last night. He could still smell whatever wine he had last night on his pillows, he figured this may be a bad way to start a day. But who would tell on him? He was ‘accompanied’ by people of legal age.

He looked to his right, past the overly cheery sunshine, and to the clock on his bedstead that said quite clearly the time and date today. The days seem to crawl, and he blearily realized that considering when he lost consciousness last night, he’d only gotten about five hours of sleep.

A glove without a mate was dangling from the drawer.

Grasping for his phone, he stared into it seeking answers, and only found a lot of angry texts from Reggie (“Where are you?!” “You could at least call me back!” “You better be on time tomorrow, I’m not kidding!”), incoherent replies from friends (“You’re insane!” “How did you even get that bottle, haha!” “Gotta do this again, I’ll bring that model you like!”), and the day’s news.

He shut his eyes and leaned back on the headboard. This wasn’t the worst way to start the day, but he often wondered if there were better ways to do it.

He absently typed,

Are you haunting me?

Pausing, he set the phone down. That wasn’t the right word. It shouldn’t be the right word, and it wasn’t. Haunting was for the dead. And the one he was addressing wasn’t. Thank god.

But no one had seen him.

But he was okay.

Where was he? And why does he hear his laugh again? After trying so hard not to?

Ding!

A bleary glance revealed a text from Alphonse. “Take me to school.”

“Yeah, okay.” Sebastian sighed and got up.

Standing outside his parents’ house, hands in his pockets, and wearing sunglasses that weren’t his, Sebastian huffed and shifted on his heels. He wondered what was the point of him living in the apartment if they were just going to call him back home every other day. He’d wanted to live there on the pretext of learning how to live independently, but given that hardly any upkeep of the apartment was done “independently,” he knew that his parents must have only agreed so that someone was living in the property and that it would ease some of the tension growing at home.

He remembered feeling some amusement that his parents still cared enough to not want their children to see that they were having issues with their marriage. And it didn’t help that he’d become so largely apathetic that he couldn’t even bring himself to care what they planned to do, and it was obvious.

That he knew, that they knew he knew, and they knew that he didn’t care. And it made them a little uncomfortable that he cared so little.

Maybe he was the one doing the haunting.

Sebastian didn’t even know when it started—when he started to not care. Things just…got away from him. Maybe it was the lifestyle or him knowing that they expected nothing from him (unlike Reggie, who they expected everything from, and Al, who they expected to be a sweet boy forever).

But he didn’t often care about much, because it had no repercussions on him.

…or at least, most of the time, they didn’t.

Why do you like wearing old fashioned sunglasses anyway? He put his phone away as soon as he’d typed it. He knew the answer. He could hear the voice answering him plain as day. “It’s a classic, wouldn’t you French boys know about style like that??”

“What are you doing, Bastian?”

He looked up to see Alphonse standing there, in uniform and coat, staring at him with his serious little face that was no longer so sweet, like a little church cherub. He was growing. Sebastian smiled. “Hey.” He nodded to the car as the driver opened the door. “Get in.”

Alphonse stared at him with some suspicion before scuttling along out the gate, climbing into the car. Getting into the car after him and the door slamming shut, he absently nodded to the driver to indicate that they could go.

His little brother was digging into his bag for something, and quipped at Sebastian, “You took your time.”

“Why do you need me to take you to school?” Sebastian asked with a sigh as he stared out the window.

“Because Mama took one car, she’s going to Centre Pompidou, and Papa and Reggie took the other,” Alphonse huffed, pushing Sebastian’s bag away. “You didn’t bring anything for me?”

Sebastian smirked. He drew his hand out of his pocket and held out a bagful of soft caramel squares. Alphonse lit up for an instant before grabbing the bag. “You used to carry more around.”

“The other one who likes it isn’t here,” Sebastian remarked softly as he watched his brother take one square to eat in the car. “Aren’t you getting too old to be this intense about candy?”

“You’re never too old for that,” Alphonse replied between chews, opening a book.

To his right, he heard that laugh again and it made him look up. But outside, there were just people on their way to their lives. There was nothing but the sound of people walking, noise of traffic, doors of shops—

“We need to get more of those, your brother likes them!”

He closed his eyes quickly. It has to be the hangover. He didn’t often do this twice in one morning. He’d been so good at trying to forget.

But after he saw the news…

You really need to stop leaving your influences for me to clean up.

The glove without a mate. The sunglasses. But he couldn’t hit ‘send.’

“Why didn’t they take you to school on the way?” Sebastian asked, and it felt less like a question and more like running away from his thoughts.

“That’s what you’re for,” Alphonse replied simply.

It was strange; just last night he’d seen all these outside scenes before. These places were familiar to him as they always have been, after living in this city long enough. Just last night, he’d been across most of them, with his friends—and were they his friends?—living the luxurious, over-the-top lifestyle he’d been so accustomed.

But now, as he watched a familiar street go by, a nice café with a breakfast that he enjoyed, he thought he could see pictures of himself and someone else, from a time that wasn’t as long ago as it seemed.

He wanted to shut his eyes from it, but he saw pictures in the black every time he did so.

And he could still hear that familiar laugh that woke him. In fact—

“Jeez, get it together, will you? Why are you so hung up on this?”

He looked up quickly when the laugh rippled, distorted, along with a familiar voice, from inside the car. And he saw Alphonse watching something on his phone. “What is that?” he demanded.

Alphonse looked up and stared at him like he was crazy. “YouTube.”

On the little screen in his hands, in living color, was a boy he recognized more easily when the lamp lights blazed on him in the evenings at the city of lights. It looked like some kind of interview for a movie he’d done. The smile was brilliant on his face and his laugh shattered in the weak audio of the phone.

Sebastian ripped his eyes away immediately, focusing on the world outside. And the streets. And the sights. And the shops. Anything.

He’d been doing so well, keeping to himself, keeping to the deal. The occasional text where they don’t respond to what the other says. Everything else stayed in the drafts. He was keeping to the deal.

For once.

“How is he doing now?” Alphonse asked.

“How would I know that?” Sebastian replied tightly.

“He’s your friend, isn’t he?”

Sebastian glanced at him and let out his breath, pulling out his phone to browse. “I’m not his… No.”

Alphonse stared with the same suspicion again before resuming what he was watching. Sebastian desperately wished he had headphones.

Are we friends?

But that one stayed too.

He dropped off Alphonse at school. As for himself, he felt no reason to attend. It felt a lot like the void was calling, and all he needed was a high place right now.

Reggie seemed incapable of looking at him without some kind of judgment. Right now, in spite of the fact that they were supposed to be having a meal together, he mostly felt like he was getting appraised.

“How was school?” he prompted.

Sebastian rolled his eyes, knowing full well that he didn’t attend, and knowing very well that Reggie may already have an inkling that he didn’t. “So-so.”

“Haven’t you anything interesting about it to say?”

“No,” Sebastian replied before a sip of coffee, and apparently, that was the full sentence of it.

He wondered if Reggie would press on, or if he, like his parents, may have somehow given up on him. It appeared it would be the latter, as after a glower, Reggie resumed eating. In spite of appearances, Sebastian actually liked the companionable silence that he had when eating with his brothers. The rest of his nightlife was typically loud.

He glanced at his phone, and remarked, “I’m on time…but mama and papa aren’t.”

“More’s the pity,” Reggie snorted. He shifted his food around. “You haven’t been yourself lately.”

“What would you know about that?” Sebastian smirked.

“What I mean is, you’ve been a little more…distracted than usual,” Reggie side-eyed him. “And here I thought that we’d seen the last of your distractions back in December.”

Alright. Sebastian put his fork down, wiping his mouth with as little menace as possible. And Reggie seemed pleased, even when he tried to rise from the table. “Sit down, Sebastian.”

“I’ve places to be, honestly—”

“You’ve nowhere to be, sit down.”

Sebastian remained standing, glaring at him. And he glared even more when Reggie snatched the sunglasses from the table when he meant to reach for them. “Give those back.”

“Sit.”

“Now.”

Reggie leaned back and tucked the sunglasses to his side of the table, gesturing for Sebastian to sit in silence. The stare-down between the two of them would’ve made other patrons of the restaurant uncomfortable, were the two of them not ensconced in a private area.

Clenching the napkin in his fist, Sebastian sat back down and opened his palm to his brother. Reggie did not return the sunglasses.

“If you’re having problems, you’re supposed to tell us,” Reggie told him with maddening calm. “You don’t think we don’t know what’s going on with you?”

“I know that you know, I had the assumption that you really don’t care or you wouldn’t let me.” Sebastian’s smile was far from genuine.

“That was our mistake, apparently. Are you really just going to get drunk and party all night every night until you turn eighteen? Haven’t you any plans for yourself? What you’ll be?”

“Shall I be like you?” Sebastian asked with the same tight cheer. “It seems so much more fun than what I’m doing now.”

“You’re not even in college yet.”

“What makes you think I won’t go to college and do exactly the same thing?”

“Oh? With the way you treat your schoolwork?”

“You have nothing on me.” And he knew they didn’t. He made sure they didn’t. He was excellent when he had to be. And the rest of the time…

Reggie observed him for a moment, then continued as he ate. “How about the arts, Sebastian? You seem to be quite good at that. You write music. You’re good at singing. Have you tried that direction?”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow, not having expected this approach. “…that’s a direction? An option?”

“It’s certainly one better than the road towards alcoholism.” Reggie scooped up the goblet of wine that was freshly poured. “No, he won’t be having any tonight.”

“I know what I’m doing,” Sebastian glared as the waiter departed.

“Do you?” Reggie sipped the wine himself and sighed. “I just think that you’re wasting your potential. Whatever that potential may be.”

“Why do you even care?” Sebastian asked.

“Because though it may surprise you, I do give a damn about what happens to my brothers,” Reggie replied coolly. “Especially ones who are going through something I can’t understand, because he refuses to tell me.”

“I’m not going through anything,” Sebastian replied with gritted teeth.

“That’s not what Alphonse says,” Reggie remarked with a raised eyebrow. “That’s not what your actions say either. And it is not…” and he very carefully placed the sunglasses with a clack in front of Sebastian, “…what I saw in you in your room that night.”

Sebastian stared at the sunglasses. He heard it in his ears, as he did in the nights when he tried to sleep; the news report with the sirens and the reporter. The news that the boy whose laugh he still hears in his ears had been—

He closed his eyes, trying not to see again.

When he opened them, he saw Reggie staring at him.

He grabbed the sunglasses and fled.

…are you okay?

Even as he stared at the words on the phone, he didn’t think it was worth sending. It was a stupid question.

He leaned back on the sill of the apartment and stared out into the lights of the evening. The view wasn’t terrible. But it hurt to see. He loved it all the same, but it still hurt to see for some reason.

He should’ve figured a while ago that there was no getting away from it. He had done his best and everything he could to look away. He had tried to get on with his life. He didn’t even think they were still friends at this point, even though he’d sent a gift once.

And he had to admit, that in spite of his best efforts, it didn’t work. Nothing ever worked.

None of the deals and promises ever worked out.

The key in his palm was warm by now, and he found himself smiling as he looked down at it. It wasn’t the first time that he wondered if he should’ve thrown it into the Seine. Carefully, he set it down on top of his piano keyboard.

There were traces everywhere that he hadn’t put away.

He flopped back into bed, ignoring the prompting texts of his friends, asking where he was. Closing his eyes, he tried to not imagine. That was the worst part: no matter how hard he tried, he kept wondering what would’ve happened. And then the next part of the haunting, which was what he would do…if he’d see him again.

Wasn’t that the most frightening part of a facing your fear? To see exactly what had been lurking there? What he had been trying to turn his eyes away from all this time?

Would the person on the other side even want to look back?

I’m tired of seeing you everywhere.

It was funny. Because he said those same words to him last December, when his posters were everywhere for that movie he was promoting.

But like some of the things that they’d told each other through the course of that time…it was just another thing that he probably didn’t mean.

Ding!

He sighed and checked his phone with the intention of deleting all his friends’ texts. All they ever did was use him for bottle service or get into VIP or catch all the models, and it was likely it was just more whining about not seeing him or asking when he was coming or—

“Bastian, Papa is going to be sent on a diplomatic meeting of some kind to America. Come home tomorrow, they want to talk to us.”

Sebastian stared at that text for a very long time. Then he looked back up at the ceiling, willing it to give him answers.

But it seldom did when there was no alcohol involved.

That laugh echoed in his ears.

Or maybe it was just someone in the streets outside, strolling down the pavement, arm in arm with someone they were smiling at as they vanished into the lights.

Sebastian sat up. Slowly, he typed out a message.

He smiled.

He pressed send.

#daltonfic #side-canon #post-siege #sebastian smythe #pair: this is not a love story

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