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firesideme · 2 years ago

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Chapter Six

You wake as you feel Yeosang move away, carefully tugging his arm that is trapped underneath your side. You lift yourself to help him, chuckling groggily.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Mm… What time is it?”

“Morning. The others should be here soon.”

Yawning, you kick your feet onto the floor, wincing as a shaft of light catches your eyes. “I suppose we need to tell them everything we talked about last night.”

Yeosang smirks shyly, leaning in to kiss your neck. “Everything?”

You shiver. “Not everything.”

Yeosang helps you work on their stage outfits, the act of focusing hard on a task making the hours pass waiting for the others to turn up more bearable. You don’t let yourself think about how pointless completing your work might be, it’s too painful. When they do arrive, there is none of their usual energy, replaced by an atmosphere of fatigue and anxiety. They too, seem to sense something is different as they come to arrange themselves in the seating to wait for you and Yeosang to speak.

“We have a lot to talk about.”

With Yeosang, you explain your discoveries, witnessing the shock and confusion in each of them as they realize something as simple as their age had been misunderstood, assumed, and with that, the eventual understanding that none of this is explainable by normal standards.

“The festival is in a few days,” Jongho says to no one in particular. “Are we still doing it?”

“Can I say something first?” Wooyoung raises his hand. “I got a call from the city. They want me to visit the company in a few days.”

“Are you going to go?” Seonghwa asks.

“I don’t know… With everything going on, how can I trust that any of it’s real, or that they’ll even remember me?”

“I don’t think we should be splitting up,” San offers. “Not now.”

“No. Wooyoung, you should go because of everything that’s going on.” Hongjoong rubs his thumb over his lower lip, thinking. “Is this happening everywhere else? I’ve been thinking about that recently. If we find out, we might get closer to answers.”

The group agrees on that logic, though no one is happy about the decision as it leaves Wooyoung to handle things on his own.

“And what about this hourglass thing?” Yunho says. “It’s too out of place to be meaningless.”

“Here.” You pull it from your bag and the eight of them stare at it. It’s about a foot tall, the delicate glass hinged to a ring of metal attached to a gold stand decorated with further, small metal rings. Fine golden sand trickles into the bottom section after Yeosang turns it, but nothing happens. Turning it, shaking it, rubbing it, has no effect.

“And ideas?” you ask.

No one does.

Seonghwa takes a turn spinning it. “If this was a storybook, turning it would do something magical. Maybe it’s just a normal hourglass?”

“It can’t be,” Yunho says. “It’s too strange.”

Hongjoong nods. “Keep thinking about it, everyone. And as for the festival, I say we do it.” You see the determination burning in his eyes, drawing in the rest of the members. “I don’t care if the whole world is falling apart.”

He turns to look at every member of the group, smiling at their expressions of determination.

Rather than letting the fear get to them, the desperation makes them dance even more captivatingly and you have a hard time keeping your attention on your work. But, there is another reason your eyes keep being drawn to their formations: what if they start forgetting that too? As the days pass, you notice little things that tell you that the progress of their memory loss isn’t slowing down. They forget what time you’re supposed to meet, the name of their siblings, pets, they’re late to practice, forget what they’re saying mid-sentence. It happens so often that eventually, no one has the strength to bring it up. As a group, you’ve accepted that it’s happening, and you carry on regardless.

Again, without having to discuss it, you’ve taken to spending your nights in the factory with Yeosang. You feel the hurt deep within your chest when, every so often, he looks at you like he can’t remember you. The expression always clears after a moment, but you know the day when it won’t.

The day before the festival, you make the final adjustments to their costumes. You call them in between practice breaks to fuss over the details until everything is ready for a full dress rehearsal. With you as their sole audience, you watch from start to finish, keeping an eye on how comfortable everyone is, what needs to be adjusted, what’s working and not working. They all look incredible, and for the first time, you come to appreciate the unique beauty of each of them individually, but, as always, it’s Yeosang you can’t take your eyes off. It almost feels unfair to the others as you know they’ll ask for your feedback, but you don’t want to look at anything else. The way he keeps his eyes on you as he dances, sweat beading over his skin, mouth open in a pant, makes anything else impossible.

As you predicted, they rush over to you when they finish, though the comments you give fall flat. Lingering between the nine of you is the knowledge that it probably doesn’t matter how perfect they are, or how beautiful the costumes if you’re doomed to be forgotten. But, somehow that knowledge only makes you more determined to see this performance through. Like Hongjoong said, even if the world is falling apart around you, you’re going to face it on your terms.

Another night is spent in each other's arms, tangled together in the limited space of the couch. It seems like hours before you fall asleep, however, as every time you think of the festival, your heart races as if you’ve come to the edge of a cliff and looked down.

The hourglass sits on the coffee table, glinting blue as the light of the moon shines through a hole in the roof.

“Talk to me,” you whisper, wishing with your whole heart. That voice has to know more than you. It has to have answers. “Please, find a way to talk to me again.”

Of course, that voice might not have meant you well, but something about the way he sounded has you convinced that’s not the case. It was the voice of someone who had been shouting your name over and over, and then realized you’d finally heard them. You have to believe they want to help you.

The day of the festival, the world is quiet.

The others arrive, wearing strained expressions, trying and failing to muster some enthusiasm. You think it’s a miracle that they’ve all showed up on time, that they’ve remembered the festival at all. Perhaps because it’s been the only thing in their heads for days, it’ll be one of the last things to be forgotten.

Your stomach is churning with nerves as you approach the school, holding Yeosang’s hand as tight as you can. Yunho and Wooyoung try to recreate the usual banter, but their jokes fall flat. Even Hongjoong has no words of encouragement, though the determination hasn’t left his eyes for a moment.

The roads are busier than usual with families and students heading to the school, but you can’t help but feel that the atmosphere is wrong. This should be a day of celebration and fun, but it’s as if the town is sleepwalking through it.

You feel encouraged when you see that the schoolyard is decorated for the festival with a huge yellow banner over the gates, food stalls and stands offering carnival games creating a walkway to the main stage. Already, people are walking around, buying snacks from the stalls, playing games, or chatting in small groups.

“Come on, come on,” Wooyoung says. “We need to get ready.”

He leads the way behind the stage. The students and volunteering staff greet you politely and continue with their preparations. Hongjoong gives one of the volunteers the cassette tape with their songs, and a note with instructions about when to play them. All that’s left is to help them all into their stage outfits, giving each of them words of praise and encouragement. As you make last-minute repairs to San’s first stage outfit, he keeps his eyes on the floor. “My mom didn’t recognize me yesterday,” he says. “She didn’t scream like you would if you saw a stranger in the house, she just looked confused that I was there at all.”

“Oh, San…”

“And on the way here, I got lost. I don’t mean that I got turned around or anything, but I was heading in the right direction and then suddenly I was at the start of the street I had just walked down. I had to use a different route altogether.”

“We’ll find a way to stop it.”

He looks at you, tears in his eyes. “I don’t want to disappear, Mono.”

“Me neither, San. We’re going to stop this.”

“Is everyone ready?” Hongjoong says, standing on his tiptoes to do a headcount. The group comes to stand in front of him. You hang back, but Yeosang pulls you forward with him.

“Alright,” Hongjoong says, showing his teeth in a grin. “You guys don’t look half bad. Well done, Mono.”

You incline your head, cheeks flushed while the boys pat your back and echo Hongjoong’s praise.

“We’re going to kill it,” Hongjoong says. “Have fun out there, I’m proud that I get to perform with such a talented group.” His eyes fall on Yeosang. “And thank you for forcing us off our asses. You and Mono are the reason we’re here.”

One of the volunteers appears, telling them they have thirty seconds until they have to go on. You think you’re probably the most nervous, unable to understand how they can be smiling at a time like this. You make one final check of their outfits, leaving Yeosang for last.

“Wish me good luck?” he asks, putting his hands on your waist.

You smile as he pulls you in for a kiss, ignoring the others' over-the-top reactions. “Good luck.”

At their cue, they walk up the stairs to the main stage and you run out to the yard so you can find a space in the crowd. Maybe because you’re so nervous for them, but you don’t notice how quiet the crowd is until the boys’ have got into formation, waiting for the music to start. You feel yourself getting angry at the lack of reaction; aren’t you supposed to cheer when someone comes on stage? You look at the face of the person to your right, and a shiver grips you at the sight of his expression. He’s blank as a canvas, and as he notices you watching him, he asks, “Is it the school festival today? Who’s that on stage?”

The music still hasn’t come on.

The school’s bell chimes from the clock tower, making you yelp in surprise. As you run backstage, it occurs to you that it shouldn’t have gone off at all: it’s well past midday. Something is very wrong.

You find students and staff wandering around the backstage tent, or just staring blankly at their half-finished tasks. The sound system is close by, the volunteer Hongjoong gave the cassette to hovering with her finger over the button. She doesn’t react when you press it.

The first song starts and you run back out into the crowd, but you stop in your tracks. The energetic music plays, but again, the crowd is motionless, expressionless. You look to the stage and see the group grind to a halt, looking at one another in confusion.

You grip your stomach, thinking you might be sick: they’ve forgotten, haven’t they? The routines they’ve practiced so hard- they’ve all been forgotten. Pushing past the gormless people in the crowd, you come to the foot of the stage. Yunho sees you first, staring down with tears in his eyes. “I can’t remember it. Why?” The second song starts and you watch his thoughts play out in his head. Hope that he’ll be able to remember, then despair when he realizes he can’t. “This can’t be possible.”

Hongjoong gathers himself and herds the others offstage. The crowd doesn’t react, just continues to stand there, wondering what they were doing in the first place.

#ateez #yeosang #jongho #wooyoung #hongjoong #yeosang reader #yeosang x you #yeosang x named reader #seonghwa #san #yunho #mingi #suggestive content #fanfic

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mochegato · 3 years ago

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Even the Losers

Chapter 1

“You can do this Marinette,” Adrien whispered encouragingly, echoing the mantra she’d been whispering to herself for the past two days. She could do this. She could manage. This was for Max. She could handle it. He couldn’t be here but she could. She could be strong for him. She gave Adrien a shaky smile and nodded. “We just have to find him and we can leave,” he reminded her.

Marinette took a breath and let it out slowly. She’d dealt with far, far worse than a few judgmental, heartless asses who had no real interest in her. But seas of artificial smiles had always unsettled her and currently she was surrounded with so much artificial sweetness she felt like she was walking through a kid’s cereal aisle. That added onto her already existing anxiety had her ready to bolt at the slightest provocation.

She ran her hand over the skirt of her dress, letting the feeling of the fabric and the knowledge of all that had gone into it soothe her. She was especially proud of her dress and the work that had gone into it. It was a black so dark it almost appeared to draw in the light around it. A mesh with strategically placed blood red decorations overlaid the dress, hugging her bodice until it reached her hips then dropped into a flowing skirt that ended just before it could pool on the ground.

She fought the urge to fiddle with the belt in her nervousness. She couldn’t show weakness like that, not here. She looked up at Adrien again in search of an anchor to reality. She took in his expression and had to stifle the laugh that resulted. He had his own artificially sweet smile on but his eyes quite clearly begged for a quick death. He glanced down to her and nudged her discreetly, his artificial smile becoming wide and real. “Shhhh,” he hushed her under his breath. “We’re trying not to attract attention to ourselves, remember? We’re ghosts.” He looked around to make sure nobody was looking at them.

Marinette immediately quieted, her face becoming somber. She did remember. In and out. That was the goal. Her goal. Knock the man on his ass with Max’s accomplishments, then never see him, or anyone else in this room, other than Adrien of course, ever again. They were supposed to be like ghosts. There but not. Her eyes scanned the room looking for their target.

Adrien’s eyes immediately softened and filled with regret. “Shit, Mari. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

“No,” she looked up at him with an artificial smile of her own. “I know. It’s fine. It’s not your fault.” She scanned the crowd again, cursing her height, as she had many times in her life. Even with the six inch, death defying heels, she still barely reached Adrien’s eyes, let alone give her any kind of advantage to see the crowd. She needed some kind of vantage point but unfortunately, the only high point in the ballroom was the stage, which she couldn’t utilize if she was going to follow her Ghost policy. “We might have more success if we split up. Let me know if you find him.”

Adrien squeezed her arm quickly before nodding. “Good luck.”

Marinette shot him a genuine smile. “You too. May the Luck be with you.”

Adrien laughed and shook his head. “I never should have forced you to watch that movie.”

Marinette grinned back. “You never should have forced me to watch the prequels. The original ones were just fine.” Adrien narrowed his eyes at her but let it drop in favor of disappearing in the crowd to find their target.

Marinette followed him with her eyes until she couldn’t see him anymore then took a deep breath to brace herself. Her eyes immediately started darting around and her fingers started dancing. She needed something to occupy them or she was going to start attracting unwanted attention.

She noted a bar close by and made a beeline for it. She waited politely for the bartender to notice her, her fingers tapping anxiously against the bar while she waited. She froze when she heard a gruff voice next to her. “Did you sneak in here?”

She turned to the voice and blinked a few times. “Excuse me?”

“You’re anxious and jittery. Afraid you’re going to get kicked out?” the man elaborated.

Marinette studied him for a moment trying to figure out why he looked so familiar. “No,” she started slowly, trying to give her brain a chance to answer the puzzle. “Just not a fan of events like this.”

The man scoffed and nodded in understanding. “Cheers.” He raised his glass for her to clink his but she held out her hands with a sheepish look, showing she didn’t have a drink yet. “Well, that’s a crime. Nobody should have to endure one of these without a drink.” He motioned to the bartender and got an immediate response. “Another for me and a…” he motioned to Marinette to give her order.

“Oh, champagne, please,” she finished with a smile for the bartender. That’s what was socially acceptable at events like this, right? Champagne.

The bartender looked to the man for confirmation. The man nodded. “And a champagne for the woman.” Marinette scowled at the bartender causing the man to laugh. “He’s just worried that you’re underage. You look awfully young. You’re not, right?”

Marinette’s glare softened in realization. “Oh, that makes sense. No, I’m not. I forgot the legal age here is higher than in France.”

He nodded and looked at her critically for a moment before offering his hand. “Jason.”

Marinette immediately reached out for his hand and answered with her name before her brain registered the name he’d given. Jason. Jason Todd. Bruce Wayne’s son. She pulled her hand back quickly as the realization hit her and focused on leveling her breathing. She grabbed the champagne glass more violently than necessary when the bartender set it down in front of her and immediately downed the entire glass, only coughing a bit as the bubbles tickled her throat. Overall, champagne was not the best drink to chug. “Another, please,” she croaked out.

“You know, there are better drinks for that, if that’s what you want to do,” Jason grinned, laughing at her.

“Wasn’t the plan until it was and then that’s all I had,” she croaked out, her voice still hoarse from the bubbles. She kept her eyes focused on her empty glass as she spoke, almost afraid to make eye contact with him as if just seeing her eyes would be enough to blow her cover.

Jason chuckled and nodded in understanding. “Don’t suppose you’d care to dance?”

Marinette whipped her head to him and stared incredulously, forgetting her previous reservations. She only moved again when the bartender set the new drink down in front of her. “Um… no… thank you. That doesn’t seem… I don’t think my date would be comfortable with that. Good luck getting drunk enough to handle tonight though.” She gave him a weak smile and raised her glass to him before moving into the fray again, now armed with a socially acceptable fidget toy.

It took five minutes of avoiding wandering hands and leering looks but with a little luck and some prodding from the goddess hiding in the folds of her skirt, she was finally able to stumble on M. Lucius Fox, Director of Research and Development for Wayne Enterprises. He was in a conversation he was not remotely interested in with some vapid business exec who was just as interested in M. Fox. Not that M. Fox’s disinterest was clear. He was very polite and good at covering his boredom, much more so than his conversation partner, but she’d been at enough stuffy, snobby parties with Adrien, Felix, and Chloe to know the signs.

She took another breath and squared her shoulders, going into Ladybug Mode; calm and confident, completely assured of herself. She was on a mission. She had a goal and a plan to accomplish it, and once she had a plan, she had a direction and purpose, and with those, her insecurities fell away. With M. Fox in her sights, she could see the pieces and the way they fit together. There were no more doubts. She set her glass on a passing waiter’s tray and made her way over to M. Fox.

“The elusive M. Fox. It is a pleasure to meet you,” Marinette purred, coming up next to him with a charming, real smile.

“I didn’t realize I was hiding,” Lucius responded with a polite smile of his own.

“Must just come naturally. Foxes are known to be crafty.” Marinette looked around them and motioned toward the dancefloor. “Would you care to dance, M. Fox?”

He shook his head deferentially. “Are you sure there aren’t other people here you’d rather dance with?”

Marinette smiled conspiratorially and leaned closer to him, making sure to keep a respectable distance. She did NOT want to have her banter confused with flirting. That was not the strategy she had devised. “That would defeat the purpose of coming here. I came here specifically to speak with you.”

Lucius looked down at her analytically, trying to figure out what her angle was, but took her hand and followed her onto the dancefloor. “And what did you want to speak about, Ms…?”

“Dupain Cheng. Marinette Dupain Cheng. It’s nice to meet you M. Fox. I wanted to speak to you to sell my friend Max Kante.”

Lucius’ eyes widened almost imperceptibly as the music changed. After a beat, he chuckled. “I’m not in the market to buy anyone, but thank you.” He settled his hands on her mid-back and hand for their dance.

Marinette chuckled good naturedly along with him. “Sell his talents, would be a better way to say it.”

“And where is Mr. Kante?” Lucius raised an eyebrow at her, curious why the young man didn’t bother to come himself. “Why are you presenting his talents instead of him?”

“Finals. Had the incredibly bad luck to have a Friday at noon final. I mean at least it wasn’t at 19h, right? Can you believe they have those?” She scrunched up her nose in playful disgust. “But still means he’s taking it right now. And for his last final of his career. I mean… probably. Knowing him, he might get another PhD at some point. My finals and presentation ended last week. M. Wa…” she took a steadying breath and looked back up with a strained smile hoping he wouldn’t notice the stutter. “M. Wayne even visited for it. That’s when the idea for this came to me. So while Max studied, I plotted.”

“So why me then and not Mr. Wayne?” Lucius asked with a curious interest.

Marinette froze for just a second. Hardly enough for anyone to notice. Her mind raced to calculate the appropriate response to that question, a satisfactorily casual yet intelligent response. “M. Wayne isn’t in charge of research. You are. Not to mention, I highly doubt the CEO would be involved enough in the research and development projects to know what was going on. You I take as a man who knows what is going on with all your ongoing projects.”

He nodded. She wasn’t wrong, or normally wouldn’t be. Mr. Wayne usually was not involved in any projects and with the exception of one particular project they were having issues with, he wouldn’t know the particulars. “A very dangerous and elaborate plan. Why didn’t you make an appointment with me? Or just stop me on the street?” he prodded, hoping for her thought process.

Marinette laughed lightly. “I don’t imagine I would have had a chance in Hell of making an appointment with you in your office. I have no standing, no name, no significance that would have attracted any PA worth their salt’s attention. I would have been pawned off onto a low ranking employee to handle, if I was handled at all. And something like this needed to be taken to you.

“As for running into you on the street, I can’t imagine you would have responded positively to getting accosted on the street. You seem more than capable of handling yourself with grace in the face of a pest. I doubt I would have gotten more than a few words in. At a gala however,” she grinned conspiratorially at him. “Societal convention. Almost absolute certainty of at least one dance where I would have you one-on-one for a few minutes. Hostage audience. Figured I could use it to my advantage for once.”

Lucius smiled back at her ingenuity. “There’s an application process he could have gone through,” he noted.

Mari nodded and looked out to the crowd, scanning it. “Right, applying to M. Fedor Rabler,” she said distractedly. “He did that.”

Lucius nodded in understanding. Their application process was tough. Lots of amazing candidates didn’t get through. He had to respect her devotion to her friend, to risk coming here and potentially making an enemy of Wayne Enterprises if he’d been that sort of man. His eyes turned sympathetic. “I’m sorry he was passed over.”

“You know, I’ve noticed Elspeth Cole puts forth a lot of inventions and extremely varied ones at that,” she continued as though she hadn’t heard his consolation. “Most inventors, you can see their process, you can see how they got from one invention to the next, but hers… they’re so varied. It’s almost like they’re coming from completely different people.” Lucius watched her carefully, waiting to see where she was going with this. “That’s them, isn’t it? Dancing together. Awfully close for purely colleagues.”

Lucius followed her sight line to Ms. Cole and Mr. Rabler dancing extremely closely. Not obscenely, but perhaps a bit closer than was normally acceptable at a society event such as this one. “It’s hardly incriminating that two people with expertise in electrical engineering would get together,” he said slowly.

“Max is amazing. Brilliant,” Marinette said, seemingly not noticing her non-sequitur. “He created an AI that helped the Parisian superheroes locate and defeat our supervillain at only 14.” Lucius’ brow rose. That was certainly promising. He wondered what would have caused them not to take such an applicant. Surely there was some sort of embellishment there, but as he studied her, she seemed entirely genuine.

“He’s being scouted by several high profile companies including Lexcorp and Palmer Technologies.” She turned her attention back to Lucius, a curious pout on her lips. “But not Wayne Enterprises.” She looked away with clearly forced casualness. “Lexcorp and Palmer, they’re offering pretty impressive packages. Not as good as he deserves in my opinion, but I may be a bit biased. Wayne Enterprises however… nothing. Not even an offer.

“Now, I don’t really have a dog in the fight… other than wanting my friend to be safe and treated with the respect he deserves. But Palmer Technologies gets blown up by a villain or its inventors kidnapped far too frequently for me to be comfortable with my friend working there. And Lexcorp…” She looked down as if in thought before looking back at him again with a determined look in her eye.

“You know, I get a feeling sometimes. I can’t really explain it, just get a feeling about people or things. I’ve found it’s best for me and the people around me if I listen to that feeling and that feeling tells me Lex Luthor is the last person who should be trusted with a brain as brilliant as Max’s.” She looked back over to Mr. Rabler and Ms. Cole. “That same feeling told me Max shouldn’t trust the application process for Wayne Enterprises.”

She looked back at Lucius with an apologetic smile. “No offense. So, I convinced Max to make a small part of his submission just a little off. Just a bit. Enough that even an expert could miss it, but if it’s wrong the project could never work. It took a lot of convincing to get him to do it. He refused to believe he had anything to worry about in Wayne Enterprises with its stellar reputation.” She scrunched up her face in annoyance. “But that feeling, you know? I couldn’t get over it. After a lot of work, I convinced him there was no harm. After all, if he was hired he could fix it. If he wasn’t… well, you shouldn’t be using what he presented anyway, right? No harm, no foul as you Americans say.”

“No,” Lucius agreed. “That would be theft and completely against WE policy and standards. In fact, we should not be asking applicants to submit anything like that in the first place.”

Marinette smiled and nodded approvingly. “I’ve heard rumblings, or rather Max has, of WE getting into transmutation of materials. Just can’t get that algorithm right though, can you? Algorithms are hard. Just a little off and nothing works.”

He stared at her. That was a secret project. Other departments in Wayne Enterprises didn’t even know about it. “I can’t comment on ongoing projects.”

“I never did show you what Max is capable of, did I?” She gave him a bright smile and reached down to press a disguised button on her belt. Lucius tensed and cursed himself for exposing himself to whatever she was about to do. A wave of emerald green washed over the front of her bodice as the blood red decorated mesh overlay turned into a brilliant emerald green that reflected the lights now rather than absorbing it.

Lucius’ eyes widened in surprise, a feat very few had been able to draw out of him. “He designed the fabric?” he whispered out. He reached out tentatively to touch the fabric at her shoulder.

Marinette grinned brilliantly at his reaction. It was no less than Max deserved. He’d worked incredibly hard on it. “He did,” she nodded in confirmation, “and the software that controls it. The whole dress can change but we’re kind of surrounded here and I didn’t want to attract too much attention.” She let him touch it for a moment before pushing the button again to turn it back into the black, then allowing him to feel the mesh to confirm it was the same fabric. “He has ideas for changing the texture as well, but limited resources you know? Something I’d hope wouldn’t be an issue at WE.”

“How does it work?” His eyes were still focused on the fabric at her shoulder. He took a quick look at the rest of the bodice, but quickly snapped his eyes back to her shoulder. The neckline was conservative, but it was still rather unbecoming to stare at the young woman’s chest.

Marinette laughed. “You’ll have to ask Max that. I just designed the dress. I don’t really understand the mechanics behind it, but he does. I doubt Ms. Cole can say the same.”

Lucius stared in awe at her shoulder before looking back up to her eyes and nodding in understanding. “Interesting. I’ll take that under advisement. Maybe we should be scouting you as well.”

Mari laughed. “No, thank you. I’m not an inventor. I’m a designer. But I appreciate the interest.”

Lucius nodded and led her off the dancefloor with the end of the song. “Inventor or not, we can always use someone with intuition, intelligence, and ingenuity like you’ve demonstrated.”

Marinette gave him a brilliant, somewhat familiar smile. “That’s very flattering. Thank you, M. Fox. But tonight is about Max. I have my own, separate plans for my future.”

Lucius nodded in understanding. “Our loss,” he answered sincerely. “If you ever need any help or advice, please feel free to call me. I’m sure Mr. Kante will have it soon enough and can pass it onto you.” He looked back down to her shoulder again. “If I may…” He motioned toward her shoulder.

Marinette laughed. “Of course. I understand how truly impressive it is. It’s been incredibly inspirational, thinking of the options.”

“And what did your intuition tell you about tonight?” He looked up to meet her eyes, curious about her answer.

Marinette’s face went slack for a moment before she pasted on a bittersweet smile. “That it would be costly but worth it.”

Lucius quirked his head to the side. “In what way?”

Marinette shook her head absently and took a sudden interest in M. Fox’s tie. “I’m not sure yet.”

Mr. Fox’s eyes softened. “Would he be available to meet on Monday?”

Marinette grin and snapped her eyes up to him. Mission success! Max was going to get his interview! “He can be.”

“I’d actually like to speak with both of you, if you don’t mind. In my office at 10 Monday?” he offered.

Marinette faltered. “In Wayne Enterprises?”

Lucius chuckled. “Naturally.”

Marinette swallowed heavily. “Why don’t we meet somewhere else? Early morning coffee perhaps?” she offered instead with an artificial smile. “Here’s my card. Have someone give me a call or text and I can arrange it. He’s scheduled to fly in tomorrow morning. He was supposed to meet with Lexcorp Monday morning, but he’ll be at coffee to meet you instead.”

Lucius smiled back at her as he slipped her card into his pocket. “I greatly appreciate your candor and support Ms. Dupain Cheng.” He took her hand in both of his to shake it. “I cannot tell you how good it was to meet you. And if you ever get one of those feelings about me or Wayne Enterprises, let me know, okay?”

“Lucius.”

Lucius froze at the cold voice, not accustomed to that tone of voice directed at him. He looked over curiously and missed Marinette freezing before pushing another button on her belt.

Chapter 2

Tags:

@maribat-bdbwm

#maribat #bio dad bruce wayne #roynette #Even the Losers #mbdbwm2021 #prompt -#meeting for the first time

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j0ne-jjk · 3 years ago

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Sex with the Members

Pairing: OT7 Characters: Seokjin, Hoseok, Taehyung, Jimin, Yoongi, Namjoon, Jungkook Genre: Smut Rating: M

I originally put this together for an adult BTS group in another location online and it was so popular there, I wanted to post it here for posterity.

As a reminder: these are OPINIONS. I do not know the guys, nor do I claim to have any actual knowledge of their intimate styles. So if you don’t like it, don’t come at me.

Seokjin

Jin ultimately wants to ensure his significant other feels safe, comfortable, and desired. He makes it his priority to communicate to his partner how beautiful he finds them.

Jin would be kind and gentle, enjoying slow, sensual love-making over rough and fierce sex. He is constantly checking in with is partner, making sure they are doing okay and still feeling good.

Eventually, he would recognize that he has a praise kink - both for giving and receiving.

Though not a deal-breaker, Jin would prefer his partner be shorter/smaller than he is so he can feel physically protective.

To Jin, sex is just another way to express his love to his significant other. He would be willing to explore different kinks, seeing that as a time to create a deeper, more meaningful, trust-filled bond with his partner.

During kink exploration, he would realize that he likes being choked, so that’s fun...

Jin’s moans would be loud and slightly nasally. Lots of romantic pet names. He would love to hear his significant other’s moans as well and would encourage them to make noise.

SEX PLAYLIST: sweet, sappy, Korean ballads.

Hoseok

Hoseok is made of pure sunshine and is always ready with a smile and gentle, encouraging word for his significant other. He would love the times they can laugh together until their sides ache. Hobi’s primary love language is Quality Time, and he would thrive on evening walks along a quiet riverbank, hand in hand, stealing kisses in the privacy of a grove of trees.

In the bedroom, his sunny personality would continue to shine. Hobi would shower his partner with praise and find little opportunities for giggles throughout sex (slight tickling kink??). He would enjoy making up cute nicknames for his partner and himself in addition to the cute, sappy classics like “jagiya”.

Hoseok is naturally humble and selfless and prefers to focus on his partner’s pleasure first, while forgetting about his own. When his significant other makes a move to return the favor, Hobi would break out in his signature heart-shaped smile, eyes twinkling with affection.

Now, our sunshine isn’t necessarily vanilla. Don’t forget, this man is hella flexible, fit, and has killer dancer’s hips. Hoseok would use all of these to his advantage to alternate between pounding into his partner and rolling his hips at just the right angle to hit their sweet spot.

Hobi’s moans would start out surprisingly low, back in his throat but move higher and more desperate as he gets closer to his release.

SEX PLAYLIST: 90s rap.

Taehyung

Taehyung is a Daddy Dom, no doubt about it.

He’s strict, regal, classy, and expects a well-mannered sub. Taehyung would be called Sir and would call his sub kitten or little one.

He likes seeing his sub in rope or leather bondage and sometimes blindfolded. Taehyung enjoys using toys and light degradation (though nothing too extreme of course, he’s no savage). He will train his sub in edging and orgasm denial, loving the feeling of complete control that he has over them.

Taehyung would be relatively quiet in the bedroom, more focused on giving instruction and listening to his sub. His moans would be deep and gravelly, much like his singing voice.

Like any good Dom, Taehyung understands the importance of good aftercare and always tends to his significant other after sex, ensuring they return to a safe emotional space. As soon as the scene is over, Taehyung’s personality changes from demanding Dom to cuddly bear, ready to care for his darling.

Outside of the bedroom, Taehyung is attentive and doting to his significant other. Of course, he can also be slightly pouty at times, but that can always be fixed with well-timed snuggles, hugs, and forehead kisses.

SEX PLAYLIST: moody jazz.

Jimin

Listen to me when I tell you: Jimin is a freak in the sheets. It is a fact and no one can tell me otherwise. Some days he would want to be in charge, telling his partner exactly how to please him (power bottom, anyone?), and some days he would be the picture perfect pillow princess.

Jimin would be willing to try pretty much anything, as long as it wasn’t gross. If he was with a girl, it wouldn’t be long into the relationship before Jimin would bring up his interest in pegging and strap-ons.

Not shy, Jimin is the kind to send suggestive messages, nude photos, and even videos of himself playing when he’s away from his partner.

He also loves getting head. Jimin will use his puppy eyes to ask for a blow job at the most inconvenient times. All he needs is a dark corner or broom closet and fifteen minutes and he’ll have his partner convinced and on their knees for him in no time.

Though his hands are small, he knows how to use his pretty mouth to get his significant other off. Jimin is a fan of teasing and overstimulation (best of both worlds?) and is more than happy to spend quality time with his mouth between his partner’s legs.

Jimin’s moans would be loud, clear, and high, just like his voice. He would babble praises and curse continually, begging his partner to keep going as he nears his climax.

SEX PLAYLIST: dirty, sexy pop music.

Yoongi

It’s no secret that Yoongi is introverted but desires deep emotional and physical connection. He takes his time getting to know his significant other well enough to reach the point of physical intimacy.

PDA is kept to a minimum, with the exception of hand holding- Yoongi loves holding hands. His large, piano-player hands fit perfectly around those of his significant other, his thumb rubbing gently over their knuckles, fingers squeezing occasionally as a soft reminder of, “I’m still here.”

The best date is an evening in the Genius Lab, sitting side by side, shoulders touching, taking frequent kiss breaks (it “helps with the writers block”, he claims). Since music is the most important thing to Yoongi, sharing it with his partner is almost as intimate as physical contact. The first time Yoongi shares a new, unfinished song with his significant other, his hands and sweating and his body is trembling like the first time he had sex.

In the bedroom, Yoongi is attentive, intentional and deliberate. He takes his time to learn everything he possibly can about his partner’s body and pleasure. Sex is slow and sensual, with both bodies pressed fully together to feel as much skin-to-skin contact as possible.

Yoongi would be relatively quiet during sex, more likely to let out deep gasps and low groans. Occasionally as he reaches his high, his voice cracks in a particularly high-pitched moan, causing a blush to spread across cheeks. Being more of an auditory person, Yoongi would revel in his partner’s moans, encouraging them to make noise.

Though he appreciates a good blow job, Yoongi actually prefers hand jobs because he can still kiss his partner.

And of course, I’m not going to let you forget about that Tongue Technology...

SEX PLAYLIST: underground Korean rap.

Namjoon

Namjoon’s main desire is to express his love for his significant other. Whether it’s a sweet mid morning text, a surprise lunch delivery, or (an attempt at) freshly baked cookies, Joon is always looking for ways to show his partner how much they mean to him. He’s the epitome of romantic.

With Namjoon, it’s not “sex” but “making love”, and it is sure to be romantic and sensual. Joon wants to make sure his significant other feels beautiful, and enjoys body worship, both given and received.

Kink exploration is somewhat rare, but Namjoon will try things out if his partner asks. He draws the line at anything that causes pain because it worries him to think that his clumsiness could surface, causing real harm to his partner.

Aftercare is as important as the actual sex to Joon. He wants to bathe or shower and then cuddle while either talking quietly, watching a movie, or going to sleep.

Namjoon’s moans are deep and low, and during intimacy, his speaking voice is so deep it almost disappears. He speaks in both English and Korean, and groans out so many curse words, it’s almost like he’s invented some of his own.

SEX PLAYLIST: 90s R&B and slow jams.

Jungkook

Jungkook sheds both his oversized clothing and bad boy stage persona in the bedroom. Always the maknae, he would want to be taken care of during sex. He would love being called “baby boy” or “baby bun” and thrives on praise. Degradation and harsh words would crush him and ruin the mood almost immediately.

Sometimes bratty (by choice, of course), Jungkook would occasionally inform his significant other that “Kookie needs to be punished.” His favorite punishments include edging and orgasm denial, spanking, and choking.

Of course, he did work hard for those muscles and has a strength kink for sure. One of his favorite positions is holding his significant other up either pressed up against the wall or with their legs wrapped around his slim waist, while slamming into them.

Oral is another favorite activity, and Jungkook absolutely loves eating his partner out. It makes his heart so giddy to know that he is the one completely responsible for the pleasure his significant other is feeling. Getting head often makes him cum embarrassingly fast, turning him into a blushing, whining mess.

Jungkook would be very vocal during sex, begging, moaning, and whimpering. His sounds would be high and sweet, with lots of heavy breathing and gasps included.

SEX PLAYLIST: Ariana Grande or dark, moody music.

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tomatograter · 4 years ago

Note

Do you have any tips on anatomy or dynamic poses? I just really love your art and how fluid it is!

I'm bad at doing art tutorials but things that helped me specifically on that area are;

Prioritizing flow (and the line of action) over anatomically accurate shape; as absolute legend ciro put it really well on this thread made to respond to more or less the same question

Think animation smears, movement before mimesis of the realistic form. More stylized traces benefit heavily from this! But lets say you're also doing some mostly stactic action without a lot of "movement". In that scenario, ive found that thinking of the same principle (flow of the whole instead of the singular piece) can also help if you focus on the characters weight distribution and try to minimize the amount of straight angular lines in your art. Even on things like arms and backs, there's a slight curve instead of a ramrod straight line. It's the juxtaposition with a more loose corresponding line that makes it seem snappy, mid-movement, "bendy". Think about the figure as a whole and be conscious of how the outline loops around itself-which side is the snappier one and which is demonstrating the elasticity of the form. Im gonna take another pic from ciros twitter bc i went to look for the tutorial and found it (sorry king)

This is gonna look confusing at first but bear with me. Check out this image:

Looks like a fucking mess right. Now let's isolate the elements:

IN GREEN: here you have the bendier, more complex lines, the ones doing the loops and informing the shape.

IN RED: Directly In Contrast to the green lines, we have these TAUT ANGLES, not quite completely straight but just enough to give the impression of the figure being pulled every which way, like the meat of dracula boy is being tugged to one side and thus the other is gonna be a bit more modest, having less to work with. Specifically on his face, they even switch sides!

You can find even more contrast points inside that picture but I'm doing this on my phone so I'm only pointing out a few. (Like look at the shape of the hand sitting on the table, theres a complex curved top angle and a taut, lower arm-hand line.) This is definitely an animation-oriented principle instead of a Bellas Artes principle, so id reccomend paying attention to shapely animated things (mostly highly stylized ones, like cartoons not every style does this!) to get your eye trained on that. Try to break down pictures to see how that distribution is being made! Be conscious of the general idea when practicing your poses! There are exceptions to every rule and you shouldn't stress about doing this like math at every turn, but it really helps to 'loosen up' your drawings.

Also to add up on the "movement" thing i tend to sketch loosely and fast out of practice, and only polish it with subsequent re-sketches. Some artists get bogged down by this practice so its not like im reccomending it, but it works for me and i like lineart when its all about doing sweeping gestures and swirls and shit.

i’m gonna put some progress pictures under the cut!

I did this on my phone. there’s my dirty secret i don’t give a shit about how my sketches look.

lets like polish this thing with 15 layers now untill i get it where i want it (i do color blocking on this stage because i also love color distribution art is just about what you like doing tbf)

you’ll see that the Actual Lineart looks fairly different and i thought some movement was lost (A gamble that is always made when you’re trying to “solidify” or overpolish things, but you win some you lose some. I was able to find the mid stage of the jaderadia piece too so here it is

aaaand since i also have this saved here’s two pieces where one was more fateful to the sketch while the other was all just direct lineart bullshit

hopefully this helps

#my art #oekaki #dirkjake #arajade

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gretchensinister · 3 years ago

Text

In Which I Write About August

August preoccupies me with thoughts of itself. It is and is-not. It is summer’s poltergeist.

Inside air-conditioned stores, pumpkins and ghosts and skeletons are taking up residence. Back-to-school has already happened. Outside, the implacable heat of summer wraps around my limbs. It will not be hurried on. It is not waving a tender farewell. It is the climax of summer and not the denouement.

Under the bright blue sky I melt, I burn, and August says, you always forget it feels like this.

It is a queer month. It is so much, and yet, what is it? On calendars, the month of August always seemed to be given some peculiar afterthought of a picture. June is iconic summer, July (here in America) can claim more-or-less overt independence day imagery, and then—then there is August. It’s literally back-to-school month, but such imagery belongs to September and is unlikely to be relinquished. I have seen sailboats given to August more than once, and this was always a mystery to me.

August feels…unwatched. Mid-month, students go back to school, and the spaces occupied by children in the summer can now be filled by other things. The heat keeps many others indoors, and outside, under the sun, the green things keep growing. It is not the tender riot of earlier months. August is a month of giants, of flowers that seem to appear huge and baffling overnight. Previously tame yards and beds overflow with towering blooms and I think, can that really grow here?

Can that really grow here? There is no denying it. And then the gardens, the fields! Stand back, they say, stand back. Now is neither the time for control nor killing. Our excess will be welcomed when it is time for the harvest—but what am I writing? The gardens and fields know nothing of harvest. I know of harvest, and I know that excess now is essential to life later. The plants know that now is the time to grow tall, for fruit to grow heavy and massive. There is so much life in August, even if the grass crunches a little more than it bends, even if there’s more gold and that pale ghost brown among the green. Harvest and all its deaths are for later.

Yet August is not without its darkness, without certain hints that make the jack-o-lanterns in the stores seem not quite so premature. Night’s tide has been flowing back since the solstice in June, true, but in July it was so very far out, still. The light still lingered. It was possible to get lost in a day and have gloaming not yet begun when you found yourself again. In August there is a change. The dominion of heat and light cannot be denied; summer’s potency has yet to ebb, and yet darkness is given its share of each day. The light does not linger as it did. If you get lost in an August day, bewildered by the heat or blinded by the sunshine, it is more likely than not that your equilibrium will only be regained (if it is regained) upon the sun leaving the stage for the day. September holds the equinox. August is part of the same balancing act of light and dark as October. The side with more light, but it is a dance again, not the unchallenged rout of July.

And when there’s a place for the dark again, there’s a place for monsters again. I think in August the monsters are sleepy, just waking up from hibernation, from non-existence, from wherever they were before the year turned again and spaces opened up for them once more, under trees and in the forgotten corners of cities and in minds that simply do not do all their work in the day.

I have an impulse to clarify what I mean by monsters, here, and I don’t know if I should give into it, or if I do, if I will be successful. Am I talking about actual creatures, hairy and scaly and with mouths full of teeth? Not really, though I would expect such things to appear more frequently in August than in June. But neither am I talking of only the ideas of such things.

The reality of August and the reality of monsters are both questionable. Life and work seem to go on as usual, the children are contained again, but outside is the kind of heat that people write about when they want to write about the heat driving someone crazy. And even when the heat mellows in the ever-growing night, that’s just another opportunity for unreality. It discourages sleep, draws people out of doors toward��what? There shouldn’t be anything in the night that wasn’t there in the day, and yet there is. There’s something. It’s tempting, it’s frightening, it may be the person who went outside in the night heat to begin with. It may be a monster.

At this point I think you may need to be me to completely understand what I’m talking about when I talk about monsters. That’s all right. Ambiguity is one of the tells of my monsters.

Why do I go on so about this month, this heat, the darkness that may or may not contain monsters? I was born in August, so I suppose that could excuse my mythologizing of it, but I don’t think this impulse needs any excuse. If you’ve lived through the Augusts I’ve described, how could they not take on a little mythologizing? The Augusts I’ve lived through have all been strange days, days where sometimes the heat rippling from the tops of cars is the only movement, nights where the month moves along in a sudden, disorienting lurch. What happened? What happened?

August is a time of waiting and a time of now. What I am waiting for, and what becomes manifest, comes from the sky.

Burning blue skies are not August’s only heavenly face. The ephemeral mountains of thunderheads billow into August days and they make me feel like angels should, like dragons should. Between the first note of petrichor in the air and the irresistible downpour, there will only be a few breaths. I take deep ones. There is so little to be done in an August storm, so little that needs doing. The warm water comes freely, powerfully, and the thunder with it is joy, always joy, the terrifying joy of the uncontrollable. But the joy echoes like the thunder itself. I know I don’t stop myself from laughing when the storm passes on, leaving me drenched and blinking rain out of my eyelashes under the sudden return of the sun. Am I supposed to just go on with my day after that? But I do, because it is an August day, and I cannot expect events to proceed in a way that helps me maintain my equilibrium.

But the last thing I want to say about August and its skies are the times when the rain does not come, when the ever-earlier night has settled in, with vast clouds concealing any alleviating moon or stars. Breathless nights, they are, and they hold what to me is the quintessential August light, even beyond the overwhelming day. I speak of heat lightning, those two words holding so much of August’s strange power. I admit I do not know if heat lightning is a true phenomenon, where the heat of the day engenders spontaneous lightning (without the partner of a rainstorm) at night. But heat lightning is what those distant flashes were named to me when I was small, and so those words have rung in my head ever since. Heat lightning. Always far away. The thunder it causes faint and low, if it can be heard at all. Uncanny. Sublime. An unfulfilled promise of rain, a fulfilled promise of wonder in the dark. Heat lightning. I want to bottle it in my August-born heart.

Maybe the wanting means I have.

Or maybe it just makes me a monster.

#august #rambling

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youarejesting · 4 years ago

Text

Hope in the sheets.7

[Masterlist]

Beta: N/A Pairing: Hoseok x Reader Genre: Friendship, Comedy, Soft boy, Fluff, SMUT, Friends2Lovers, Words: 4.4k

Summary: You held many titles: his neighbor, colleague, wing-man… well, more likely a wing-woman, yet most importantly, you were his best friend. You had been friends since you were born. Between the two of you, you were younger; barely, but he never let you forget it. He always seemed to ruffle your hair and tease you, which could get rather annoying but he made up for it by treating you to things.

What if a drunken one night stand between you and your best friend Hoseok leads to more complicated situations? Your reckless twenties are cut short as you find yourself suddenly responsible for something a little more.

Warning: mentions a sex tape, mentions a birth tape

[First] [Previous] [Masterlist] [Next]

“Ah! Ah! Ah!” This videotape felt dirty, Hoseok wasn’t sure why, but he was sweaty, his heart raced, as he tried to look anywhere but at the screen. The woman on the video kept making noises and heaven forbid he look between her legs. Was it warm in here or was it just him?

“As you can see the birth canal opens up wide to let the babies head come down and out and the shoulder here is the widest part, so you have to be careful to listen to your body otherwise you may tear, so here we go these are the final pushes and then the baby will slip out—”

“Hoseok, Hoseok wake up!” You called alarmed, Hoseok opened his eyes to see you and the birth class instructor standing over him.

“Don’t worry love, there is always one in every class who faints” The woman handed over some ice, “Put this behind his neck it will help slow his heart rate, nerves sometimes get the better of the soon to be dads”

Sitting up Hoseok sat up a little embarrassed, “sorry, I didn’t mean to faint”

“No, Hobi, it’s okay I feel nauseous as hell after that video too. That looks scary as hell I don’t think I can do it” you whined. “This class traumatized me more than it helped, and what do we get a couple of cookies and some watered down juice.

“You are so strong and I think you can do it?” Hoseok tried to reassure you and you scoffed.

“If you're so confident you push the baby out.” Hoseok paled again swaying on the spot and you laid him back down. “You are properly scared aren’t you?”

“I am horrified,” he laughed, “I am a big chicken”

“Honestly, I am scared too but I don’t get a choice Hobi, this baby is inside me and it has to get out somehow." you shiver after confessing the fear that had been building in the back of your mind. “If I wasn’t afraid of surgery I would install the old side door”

The gesture of a flat hand across your stomach made Hoseok smile sadly. He took your hands in his.

“I’m sorry that you have been dreading this. I will try to be someone who can eliminate your fears, little darling momma” he kissed your head. The instructor called everyone back to the mats and began explaining how to wash a baby and how to hold a baby for the first time.

It was a fun class but you were happy to get home and rest, biding Hoseok good night. He went quickly to his house where Jimin was sitting waiting for him with a hanging clothes bag.

“What were you so busy doing that I had to pick up your dry cleaning?”

“Y/n’s birthing class” Hoseok's face turned grave as he adopted a serious tone. “Jimin, don’t ever go to a birthing class. I don’t think I can unsee what I saw.”

“Haha, I’m not that silly, I know where babies come from. I am glad I am a man who likes men, so I will never step foot in a birthing class unless you pay me a large fortune. I mean I could watch someone give birth for money."

Hoseok shivered, making Jimin laugh at his expense. “You look pale, so let's change the subject. I bought Yoongi's old van. He sold it for some new equipment. That means I can get rid of the junk van I was driving before.”

“Can I have your old van?” Hoseok jumped on the opportunity.

“Uh sure, but I think it’s more money than it’s worth, you can have it for free because it needs new everything.” He shrugged “I was just going to make it scrapped metal”

“Yeah I can fix it up, I got some money lying around.” Hoseok yawned, “anyway thank you so much for getting my suit. I have my first day of work tomorrow, so I should go to bed early”

“Alright, but tomorrow night celebratory drinks for your first day?” Jimin clutched his shoulder.

“Of course,” Hoseok laughed, waving goodbye and carrying the suit to his apartment.

“Hey man, how was your day?” Jimin shouted from his newly acquired van from Yoongi. “Get in, we can celebrate tonight”

Jimin drove Hoseok home under strict orders to grab a nice change of clothes so the two could get ready at his house and go out celebrating Hoseok’s new job. Hoseok took the stairs two at a time leading to his apartment, his hand brushing past your old door. He missed you. He missed having you at his work, at his home, at his leisure. You two were inseparable and yet torn apart by the stages of life.

Hoseok had assumed you both would be single and somewhere in your mid-thirties you would just get married to one another for convenience. He grabbed some clothes and found the blacklight outfit you had bought for him, he pushed it aside trying to move on for just a moment.

Instead, he grabbed a classic black button-up and a pair of black dress pants. He placed the items in a bag and headed back down to Jimin waiting excitedly in the driver's seat. He drove them across town singing along to the radio and pulled into the driveway of a beautiful home. Jimin was a sugar baby and so he accumulated a lot of money with ease.

Jimin picked up the package by his doorstep curiously and read the name, his face broke out into a smile. Opening the box he found a beautiful pair of earrings. Hoseok paused, knowing Jimin had been talking about these types of earrings for a long time, but these ones looked handmade and a little cheap, not from a brand-name store like most of Jimin’s other clients would buy.

“They are so cute,” Jimin smiled, lifting the note, reading it aloud. “I don’t have money, so I don’t ask for much, it would just be a waste of your time. Even with this, I still want you to know that I think you are really sweet the way you always help others and never forget to share compliments to those who catch your eye. I will never forget how kind and funny, you are especially at work. The way you run your fingers through your hair unconsciously, how you pout when you think, the way you can glide across the dance floor with drinks without spilling anything. You disappear behind the bar with the cutest laugh and I am completely in love with you.”

“You have an admirer,” Hoseok looked over his shoulder at the letter before asking, “I wonder who it is?”

“I am not sure who it could be?” Jimin frowned, taking the box into a spare room filled with gifts. “They seem really nice”

Once the letter was placed carefully in the room, Jimin stepped out and decided to get dressed for the night. He paused in the doorway walking back and taking the earrings. “Even though they are cheap I think I should at least wear them.”

The two got changed and Jimin posed, “take a picture of me looking over my shoulder, so I can post a picture of the earrings on my Insta”

Hoseok picked up his phone and stepped behind Jimin, ready to take the picture of Jimin’s bare shoulder, earring, and side profile. He stopped when his phone came up with the stupid storage message.

Storage full!

You can free up space on this phone by managing your storage in settings.

“I can’t take a picture,” Hoseok sighed. “My phone storage is full”

“It’s okay, I should put on a bit of makeup to make the picture really pretty. While I do that, use my computer to plug it in and delete stuff. You can save the rest onto a USB, which you will find in the top draw. The USBs should be empty.

Hoseok watched Jimin stroll into the bathroom and thought he might as well take care of this storage issue on the phone. Plugging the device in, Hoseok began going through and deleting memes and stupid screenshots he no longer needed. He went through saving many photos of you, and videos the two of you shared together.

That's when he came across the picture of the two of you dressed in your black light outfits. Both of you looking happy together in the mirror. Hoseok saved the photo to the USB. The next was a blurry picture on the dance floor, he didn’t need that.

Deleting a range of blurred photos, Hoseok kept swiping through them until he came across a video of you and Hoseok walking home. He heard you giggling and unconsciously smiled. He honestly was so in love with you.

There were a few more blurred videos and then there was a video of you two laying in Hoseok’s bed. His heart started to race as he watched you lean down and kiss him in the video. Hoseok couldn’t remember any of this.

The next video was of you removing your dress but it continued, sometimes the phone was just left on the bed face down, at other points, it was lifted and Hoseok heard himself talking as he pointed the camera at you underneath him. “I love you.” He had filmed you while you two were having sex, “I love being inside of you too.”

Hoseok felt a little guilty, while you two were drunk he took a video of you both, not only that but he felt as if he took advantage of you. The next video was taken from behind and Hoseok felt ashamed of himself for the stirring in his pants.

“Are you watching porn?” Jimin laughed from the next room, confused as Hoseok switched to the next video. The two of you were cuddling on your side, Hoseok being the big spoon.

Hoseok's face fell. What had he just watched? His head was reeling with so many thoughts that he couldn’t process them fast enough. He understood that it was you in the video, and you were with him. It was that night. Were you his dream girl? “I slept with Y/n?” He blurted and like being hit with a truck he came to a shocking revelation. Hoseok shot to his feet and spoke out loud hoping it would help him make sense of the situation, “Am I, I think, I might be the father?”

“Oh, Finally!” Jimin shouted, his voice carrying into the office. “I have been waiting for you to figure it all out”

“What do you mean?” Hoseok said his stomach was feeling sick, he didn’t know if he wanted to vomit or cry. The betrayal setting in, “How did you know? DID SHE KNOW?”

Jimin stepped into the room, his lips pressed together in a thin line, with a look of pity on his face confirming Hoseok's suspicion. Hoseok got up, his eyes flashing around the room in a panic. He pushed past Jimin and grabbed the old set of keys from the countertop. Hoseok escaped and drove fast. He didn’t have a destination in mind but after a few minutes of driving he ended up at a park by Han River.

Shutting off the engine, Hoseok let his hands fall from the wheel, his head resting back against the seat, letting out a loud guttural shout. He let the tears fall freely as his sobs racked his body, every breath catching in his throat as if he was choking.

Hoseok wanted to scream, he wanted answers. They all knew. You knew. He thought he was your best friend, someone he trusted with all his secrets, and yet you kept something this big from him. The sick feeling in his stomach grew as did his anger and frustration with the situation.

How long were you going to keep this from him? When the baby was born? When the child was eighteen? Never? He had a right to know but all he wanted to know was why.

He left the vehicle, his phone ringing with your number but he turned it off. He walked to the nearest bar somewhere dark and quiet and he drank until he couldn’t see his hands.

“Hey mate you have to go, come on get up.” The bartender said, nudging him with an exaggerated sigh, “Mate can I call someone to come get you?”

“No one, my best friend is a liar, she is pregnant and didn’t even tell me it is my child,” Hoseok mumbled into the table. The bartender sighed again reaching into his pocket, “Who do you want me to call mate?”

“No need to call, I will go,” he said, pulling out his keys only to have them snatched from his hand. Hoseok turned to see Yoongi grabbing Hoseok’s things and thanking the bartender. “What do you want?”

“I got a distressed call from Y/n she is hysterical, I have checked in every bar and searched the nearby streets for Jimin’s old van. Yoongi threw the keys to Jimin who was waiting by the abandoned van and Yoongi scooped Hoseok inside.

Hoseok woke as Yoongi turned the key in the ignition they were headed for his home, but Hoseok had other plans. “You knew didn’t you?” Hoseok growled, “Take me to her."

“Not in this state?” Yoongi said definitely. “You are going to sober up, and then tomorrow you can speak with her.”

“You take me there right now, or I will get out of this car and go there myself!” Hoseok demanded, attempting to remove his seatbelt.

“Alright, alright sit down, I will take you to see her, but if you raise your voice at her I will knock you out and drag you back to your apartment." Yoongi turned to Hoseok with a menacing glare. "Do you understand?”

He nodded needing answers and he wasn't going to stop until you gave them to him. They pulled up outside your home and as he walked to the door he felt as if his legs were weak, ready to give way. He knocked with shaking hands.

He didn’t have to wait long for you to pull open the door eyes pink and swollen from your own tears.

"Hobi, I-"

"Please don’t talk, you had your chance. This whole time, and you didn’t… You didn’t tell me, little darling.” His voice cracked as he held up a hand to stop you, “it’s my turn to talk, you can listen to me.”

He watched you wipe the tears away, he wanted to comfort you, you were his closest friend. He loved you so much and couldn’t bear to see you upset. “You knew we had sex, you knew what we did and you hid that from me, you fell pregnant and you hid that from me?”

“I told you when I lost my virginity, I told you when I scratched my dad’s car, I told you when I took money from my fathers wallet, or when I stole your homework. I told you when I was moving from home, I told you everything good and bad.” Hoseok pulled out the phone and played the video, the sounds of you two together filling the air. “But you couldn’t tell me, your best friend, that we did this? That I might be the father of this baby?”

“Hobi, I wanted to tell you I was-” Your tears were relentless and it looked like the weight of the world was crushing you with guilt. You looked lost, he knew there must be so much you wanted to say and explain but the words escaped you. All you could think to do was apologize, like some sort of animatronic doll with one function.

“Wanted to tell me isn’t telling me,” he frowned. “Say it, is this baby mine?”

“Yes, you are the father?” You whimpered, holding your stomach. Hoseok didn’t feel better. He didn’t feel better confronting you or getting the truth. He didn’t feel better watching you cry. “I didn’t want to ruin our friendship. You are all I have Hobi, and I love you.”

“I thought I loved you too. I thought I really truly loved you, that even though I wasn’t the father, I would step in if I could. It turns out the woman I fell in love with is nothing but a liar.” Hoseok turned away unable to see your face contort in pain from the words he was saying, “I am disappointed in you. You said you wanted to grow up, but this is so immature”

Demanding to leave, Yoongi took Hoseok and headed to the van once more, hoping that the two of you could rebuild your relationship. It was painfully obvious that you both were painfully in love, so much so, that it was breaking your hearts more to fight with one another, than over whatever the fight was about.

You had spent the rest of the night crying until pure exhaustion took over your body and you fell asleep. No matter how many times you texted or called you got no response. You had left almost fifteen voicemails before you became too hysterical to speak. You were emotional and trying your hardest not to break down long enough for you to think things through.

It took four days and sitting in the bottom of the shower for ten minutes before you came to a decision. Even before Hoseok knew he was the father, you had planned to do it on your own. You weren't weak and you knew for certain that you would be okay. You had planned to raise this child as a single mother, you had hoped to tell Hoseok before all this happened, but you had planned for it just in case something like this did happen.

You could do this without Hoseok, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt, that you weren't mourning the relationship you had lost. You picked yourself up and put on a brave face crying only when you were alone as you single-handedly funded Ben and Jerry's company with the amount of ice cream you consumed.

You arrived at the next prenatal appointment. You watched all the couples cooing at their bellies and the little sonogram photos, as you sat alone quietly rubbing your belly and thinking how much you loved this child.

It strengthened your bond between you and your baby. You were working hard at your job, not ready to go on maternity leave as you didn’t know how financially stable you would be. You also worried because, without the distractions of work, you realized how alone you truly were and how much you missed Hoseok.

You wanted nothing more than to go back in time and take it all back. You wanted to get the courage and tell him. You would give anything to wake up beside him the morning after and just let yourselves deal with the aftermath.

Your mother's words echoed in your head, only able to be drowned out by the sound of your baby's heartbeat through the doppler, as the ultrasound technician measured your sweet little baby girl.

She had done no wrong and deserved only good things. It was on your way home from the scan that you decided to enter the baby boutique. You knew you were filling a Hoseok shaped void in your chest but you didn’t care, purchasing clothes, socks and shoes, and a tiny beanie all in mint green, white, or grey. At the checkout, you saw a small personal travel doppler for eighty dollars. It wasn’t as strong or as reliable as the one at the clinic but you bought it anyway.

It was the first thing you did when you got home, you put the gel on your stomach and pressed the doppler to your tummy, and listened to the tiny heartbeat and the swishing of the umbilical cord. The tears didn’t stop and that heartbeat in your belly was the mantra to which you swore to live your new life.

You were no longer living for yourself, you were living for your daughter, whom you loved so dearly. You stopped looking for Hoseok through the seventh and moved into the eighth month of your pregnancy feeling semi-okay.

Called by the marketing director to meet with the client, you followed him with documents, “Why did you pick me?” you asked

“You are the only one fit for this job,” He said, which made you feel odd, surely the pregnant lady wasn’t the first choice. However, you obeyed his orders, grabbed your coat, and followed to the restaurant where you were met with an unbelievable sight.

There was Hoseok standing by a beautiful woman dressed in a suit. Not only was it a punch to the chest, but it also left you self-conscious, resembling a chocolate egg. The way your body was so rotund did not do wonders for one's self-esteem.

Hoseok didn’t notice you until you stepped up to the table, your director announcing your arrival and greeting the young woman with a kiss on each cheek. “This is my hardest working assistant Miss Y/n,” The director said and you wondered again why he had chosen you to accompany him to the meeting.

“Well let’s get to business” the client smiled. You sat at the table and they brought out menus. “I will have the salmon en papillote, with a nice chardonnay.”

“I will have the same,” the marketing director said, attempting to look cool but you weren’t so sure.

“We will have the Steak au Poivre, I will take medium rare and she will have hers well done. What is in the side salad?” Hoseok asked and you looked up over the menu shocked by his audacity.

“We use a mesclun mix for its various colors and textures, with Lebanese cucumbers and avocado for a fresh and creamy taste and a drizzle of classic french vinaigrette” the waiter smiled politely.

“Skip the salads and instead vegetables would be preferable for both.” Hoseok closed the menu and looked up, the waiter looked at you for confirmation and you nodded handing over the menu.

“Have you two met before?” The client asked curiously and Hoseok shook his head, “It’s just you ordered for her?”

“She is pregnant so the best meat option is beef well cooked, and the salad would most likely make her sick due to the acidity in the vinaigrette.” Hoseok continued, “the vegetables, though plain, will be easier to handle and will benefit her better than a salad. It is something I learned in a birthing class once”

“Yeah, and you haven’t been back since.” You scoffed, drinking your water trying to calm yourself so you didn’t explode with anger.

“I didn’t think I had to, seeing as I am not the father of any children.” He said dryly back and you stood up throwing the napkin at him, tears welling up in your eyes. You didn’t care if he didn’t like you and refused to acknowledge your presence ever again, but saying that about your child was not okay.

“You take that back, Hoseok." You almost shouted but restrained yourself due to the setting, Hoseok didn’t appear to move and you tilted your head back and took a shaky breath. “I am sorry, it seems I am feeling ill, allow me to leave first”

You stepped out the door and headed down the road trying to find a cab when a hand grabbed your arm. Disappointed when it turned out to be the marketing director. “I rescheduled our meeting, I am sorry, you had to deal with something like this, it must be stressful being so pregnant”

He touched your belly and you were a little uncomfortable. This man was a little too interested in your pregnancy. At first, you thought he was just a nice boss who was looking out for you, but it was clear he had some strange thoughts running through his mind.

When he said he would drive you home, you told him you had an appointment. Even then he was determined to take you to the appointment, but you waved down a cab and jumped in quickly. You arrived at Jin and Tonic for a much-needed appointment.

“I want a drink” you sighed and Seokjin gave you water and you looked up seriously. I want an actual drink Jin, I am going through the worst year of my life.”

“Worse than the time you tried to become a volunteer at a homeless center, where some weird lady cut chunks out of your hair, so you had to shave it off?"

"Then you got into a fight with Hoseok because he drew an arrow on your head while you were sleeping and everyone called you Aang,” Jimin added as he shed his small jacket, showing off a pretty choker chain necklace with a rose pendant. “Cause you said that was the worst year of your life.”

“This is worse,” you said. “At least I was the one angry at Hobi and I forgave him quickly, now he is angry at me and even denied being the father of our baby. That’s not even the worst of it. My boss has some sort of pregnancy fetish and keeps trying to touch my belly and I am not here for it”

“Pregnancy fetish?”

“It’s not sexy, I am swollen from the neck down, I couldn’t see my feet this morning. I just hope I wore the same shoes. My bladder is so squished I am peeing all the time, I am hormonal and sweaty, and I can’t fit into my favorite pajamas.” The hysterical sobbing was muffled by the bar and it made Jimin giggle behind his hand. He walked around to give you a hug and Jin presented you with an ice cream sundae in an effort to cheer you up.

“Dance with me, pretty lady,” Yoongi said, finishing his drink and taking your hand. He led you to the dance floor where you were slow dancing like you used to. “You are still as pretty as always. Okay, you may not feel beautiful right now due to all those things, but I promise that you are.”

“Thanks, Yoongi.” You tried to get close enough to hug Yoongi but your belly prevented you from doing so, he stepped behind you and wrapped his arms around you slipping his hands under your belly and swaying. He was trying to take some of the weight to relieve some pressure on your back. “You are amazing,”

“I am, aren't I.” He laughed, swaying you softly.

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lena-in-a-red-dress · 4 years ago

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Notting Hill AU Snippet #12

Lena doesn't mean to tell Lex everything. But when he notices her shellshock when she visits the next afternoon, he asks in front of everyone what happened. And so, in front of everyone, Lena tells him. Everything. From Hampstead Heath to what Kara said in the bookshop to Lena's own answer, it all comes tumbling out.

Now, she stares as everyone stares back at her dumbfounded and carefully without judgement. Andrea wordlessly hands her a drink, and Lena sits with it in her hand, without the strength to drink it. Her body feels like rubber, exhausted and empty.

No one is willing to break the silence, and in the dearth of other voices, Lena's mind races. She'd made the right decision, hadn't she? She'd spoken the truth-- put herself first. It may not be what she wanted, but it was what she needed. To move on.

Move on to what, exactly? More hollow dates set up by Andrea and Lex and Nia? More tedious days spent alone in the bookshop with Winn, and nights spent alone in her flat with Querl?

She'd made herself available for a new relationship-- but would any relationship make her nearly as happy as she was with Kara?

"I've made the absolute wrong decision, haven't I?" she asks.

As one, her friends agree.

"Yes."

"100%."

"Absolutely."

Andrea meets Lena's eye. "Go," she says. "Before it's too late."

"Here." Lex tosses his car keys, which Lena catches in one hand. "Take the car. Go get her, tiger."

The drive is torturously circuitous, and by the time Lena parks illegally outside the atrium of the Ritz her heart is pounding in anxious anticipation.

"Is a Miss Poppins checked in?" she asks the front desk clerk. "I need to see her."

The clerk stares at her strangely. "No..."

"A Miss McPhee? Or Miss Banks?"

"No."

Lena's heart falls, but then the clerk leans forward conspiratorially. "But a Miss Bedelia just checked out, and is on her way to a press conference at the Savoy."

Lena stares at him, then leans across the desk to kiss him on the cheek. "Thank you. Thank you so much!"

She races out and guns the engine. She has a press conference to catch.

---

Lena enters the Savoy and heads straight for the ballrooms. Her confidence and determination is enough so that no one questions her presence as she slips in a side door to join the conference mid-question.

A sea of reporters sits in front of a small stage, which hosts a narrow table with Kara, her agent, and her publicist sitting all in a row. Lena's ears roar as she catches her breath, only just managing to catch the next question asked.

"Last year photos were taken of you in Notting Hill with a young english lady. What happened there?"

Lena freezes, her gaze darting to stage. Kara is quiet, reserved. Still, Lena doesn't see any panic as she responds.

"She was just a friend," Kara says, her voice gentle even through the microphone. "Still a friend, I hope."

Lena pushes through to the front of the standing crowd, and raises her hand. Whether it's her timely lift or her intense gaze towards the publicist, he catches her eye and nods. "You there, in the embroidered vest."

In the moment of quiet that follows, Kara looks up and falls completely and utterly still.

Lena clears her throat. "Yes. Miss Danvers, would there be any possible circumstances in which the two of you might be more than just friends?"

Kara holds Lena's gaze, as though shes afraid Lena might disappear if she looks away.

"I'd hoped there would be, but no... I'm assured there aren't."

"But what if--"

"I'm sorry, just the one question--" the publicist attempts to move on, only for Kara to overrule him.

"No, it's all right." She turns back to Lena. "You were saying?"

Lena struggles to keep her voice firm, even as all eyes in the room turn to look at her. "What if, this woman--"

"Luthor," a nearby reporter supplies. "Her name is Luthor."

"Thanks," Lena deadpans, drawing a chuckle from the crowd. She turns back to Kara.

"If it turned out," she continues, "that this Luthor lady were afraid. If she... realized she had let her fear speak for her, and possibly deny her the greatest happiness she'd ever find..."

Kara's eyes shine with building tears, and Lena feels her own tears rise in turn. She clears her throat, and tries again.

"If this girl, stood in front you, and asked you to love her... would you perhaps, then, reconsider?"

Behind the microphone, Kara's lips lift in a watery smile.

"Yes," she exhales. "Yes, I think I would."

Bubbling with sudden elation, Lena beams. She almost laughs, before she remembers herself.

"Thank you. The readers of Horse and Hound will be delighted to hear it."

Another laugh pulls from the crowd, and in the distraction Lena sees Kara lean in to speak low in her publicist's ear. When she leans back in her seat, finished, Kara shoots Lena a small smile.

"All right, Dominique, if you'd like to ask your question again."

"How long do you intend to stay in Britain, Miss Danvers?"

Still holding Lena's gaze, Kara lifts the very edge of her eyebrow in question. Lena nods. Only then does Kara's small smile grow into a beaming grin.

"Indefinitely."

previously / next

#supercorp #notting hill au

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the-witches-you-couldnt-burn · 3 years ago

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When it all falls down

Guys! I have 69 followers and I couldn’t be happier! Here’s the next chapter of ‘When it all falls down’ and I hope you enjoy it! There are some inspiration links to things I’ve described if you need visual images

Ao3

Story Masterlist

———————————

CHAPTER ONE: Everything I never wanted

The ballroom was lit with torches and shimmering crystal chandeliers. A buffet table lined one wall and the other held a stage with an orchestra. The doors were wide open but only a select few were invited. Those that chose to dance did so with ridged backs, like an invisible knife would stab them at a single misstep. Nobles gathered at tables conversing, smiles plastered onto their painted faces.

Guards dressed in dark navy and dyed leather lined each window and entry. They stood, watching the crowd, surrounding them, prepared and ready. It was dark out, the glass panes showed the opaque inky night.

“The king has yet to arrive to his own party.”

The man next to her snapped his head in her directions, eyes narrowing and his goblet brought up to his pursed lips for a sip. Swallowing, he cleared his throat, “You of all people should know that the king is dead.”

She turned away from the dazzling reception and sent him a smirk. “And you should know that I don’t believe lies.”

Before he could reply, two hands clasped his and the bride’s shoulders, his mothers head appeared between them. “Go dance!” She hissed, pushing them towards the stiffly dancing nobles.

Damian looked at Marinette who shrugged. As husband and wife they walked arm-in-arm to the dance floor, guests scrambled out of their way, an empty space was left for the couple. The two separated and turned to face each other with a bow. Mari picked up her skirts as she strutted, they both circled to their right slowly then to their left until they returned to their starting positions. Damian extended his hand and Marinette, with her free hand accepted it. The two closed the circle until they were standing palm to palm.

Now up close they could better view their partner in dance and life. The prince wore a black kurta pajama with a wrapped button neckline and gold embroidery. The kurta’s buttons were made of diamonds and it’s squared hemline stopped mid-thigh to reveal he wore white cotton pants underneath. His belt consisted of solid gold ovals, embedded with obsidian, opals and an emerald in each centre. A golden crown with another emerald rested on his forehead, it’s intricate moulding wrapped around his skull and the centre piece pointed downwards.

Marinette remembered her tutors teaching her about the Empire. The opals and obsidian represents a new era of the kingdom, it was the royal families signature colours. This was reinforced by their clothes only being at the extremes of the shade spectrum. And at birth each member is given a specific stone to represent their life and role within the kingdom. Lady Talia’s was Tiger’s Eye (quite fitting), and it seems that Damian was blessed with Emerald.

Marinette was dressed similarly to Damian. She wore her own familial colours, like Damian’s birth jewel, Marinette was given her own sigil. When she entered the order and rose through the rank, the elder guardians awarded her with the Ladybug mantle. Her wedding garb (along with all her other clothes) consisted of hues of red and black. Her cheongsam was sleeveless and it’s neck was high. At the nape of the neckline, similar to that of a cape, a translucent blue material stitched with shimmering silver threads trailed down her back. It fluttered as she moved, making her presence look ethereal and that of an Angel.

The main body of the dress was a deep red silk, that hugged her curves and the skirt slowly transitioned to black. The gradient was further detailed with small beads of sparkling black gemstones. It’s petticoat was made of the same translucent blue material and could be seen from a high slit. In the bodice of the dress there was another slit that went down her sternum, the skin of her chest peeking through on occasion.

Her waist length hair usually hung freely down her back unless she was in training, was now tied into a bun by multiple braids. Silver hairpins held the do together and they were inscribed with incantations of protection and luck. Although she was the Miraculous Order’s princess she didn’t wear the headdress they had given her, she felt as though she didn’t deserve it.

Two steps, two steps. Her skirts swished with movement, the noise of the clicking beads filled her ears. The two were the focus of the entire party, as it should be due to the fact that this was their wedding reception. The violins high pitched cry signified the climax of their dance, Damian held his arm out and spun her before drawing her back into his embrace. This dance, much like their marriage was nothing more than an obligation to their clans.

As the music died down, the young couple were ushered into their new living quarters. The room was moderately sized and minimalistic style of furnishing, coloured a deep blue with gold trimming. Other than the front door, there were 3 others leading out of the room. The first being next to a curtained window, it lead to a balcony with granite carved railings. The second lead to the bathroom and the third linked another smaller bed room to theirs. When the couple discovered the smaller room they were confused, but Lady Talia quickly provided an explanation.

The connected room was for their future heirs.

The newlyweds froze at the older woman’s declaration. They struggled to process the depth of her words. Oblivious to the awkward atmosphere she created she swept up her skirts and pranced out of the room, leaving two sets of eyes trailing her figure.

They distracted themselves by unpacking the trunks containing their belongings, neither had much. This was because of being constantly on the move (Marinette) or not being allowed to have materialistic pleasures (Damian). Blue eyes avoided green and vice versa. Once complete they prepared for slumber, but there was one issue to be addressed... the consummation of the marriage.

Tremors shook Damian’s hands at the realisation of what was expected of him. She saw his shaking form, the elders had always complimented her observant nature. He hid his distress poorly. “I can sleep in the other room if that would make you more comfortable my prince.” Her soft voice was sincere and free from any jest that it held from earlier this evening.

He looked towards her, his exterior hardening, protecting himself against this stranger. “No.” He gruffly replied, “I’ll take the other room.” A smaller room meant less places for enemies to hide. Yes the smaller room would fit him better.

He turned towards the door but her statement halted his movements. “I do not wish to tie you down with these bonds of matrimony. As long as no harm comes to the Order or I, you can do as you please.”

He made no move to turn, only shifting his head to stare back at the small figure that sat upon the too large bed. “Why are you offering this?”

She couldn’t provide him with anything more than a small smile, upon closer inspection sadness was clearly evident within her eyes. “If we cannot marry for love then we should at least marry someone we do not hate.” She said before laying underneath the blankets, her eyes fluttering shut as her head hit the pillow.

For a moment he stayed there, standing; but eventually he made his way into the conjoining room and bedding down for the night. If he had stayed living with his mother he probably would have deemed her as weak and insufficient to be his bride as soon as she joined him at the altar. But his time with his father and siblings had shattered that perspective. Her words repeated within his mind, ‘If we cannot marry for love then we should at least marry someone we do not hate.’ There surely was a hidden meaning but Damian was too exhausted from the day’s events to scrutinise. If that is her wish then he would gladly accommodate it.

Taglist:

@thesunniestdays @jayjayspixiepop @toodaloo-kangaroo

#maribat #mlb x dc #dc x mlb #marinette x damian #damian x marinette #damian wayne x marinette dupain cheng #daminette #When it all falls down #arranged marriage au #royal au

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ihearthes · 4 years ago

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Author: @ihearthes Pairing: Harry x Unnamed OFC Rating: Light Smut Word Count: 3500 Inspired by: @wanderlustwaving and “The Lady or the Tiger” by Frank Stockton

His eyes dart around the bar, seeking her. She has to be here. It’s tradition. Their tradition. January 1st. Every year. Sunset. Anguilla. The Four Seasons.

Harry had booked this table nearest the bay a full year ago, confirming it in mid-June and again in early December. Sitting silently, his eyes shaded behind his sunnies, he watches the giant ball of fire as it descends into the water. Less of a sizzle than one would expect. Each sip of his Casamigos Blanco over ice is perfect. The sky lights up with oranges, reds, and yellows that are reflected on the clouds, resembling the Monet painting San Giorgio Maggiore at Dusk which he had viewed in Cardiff. A second version hangs in Tokyo at Bridgestone Museum, and he had been lucky enough to see it once.

The longer he watches its descent, the more he realises that this sunset is different from the paintings he’d seen. His fingers itch for watercolours or acrylics even though he knows his amateurish strokes would never capture the beauty. Last year, the sunset had been underwhelming, the clouds obscuring rather than reflecting the colours. Their first year, he had been unable to believe what he was seeing. It had been stunning with the reach of the palette across the sky, like tendrils of smoke straining to hug the entire planet. Now he captures his journal from the extra chair, opening it’s leather binding to a blank page. Flipping back to the beginning of his journal, he finds a sketch of her leaning on the railing -- drawn from memory years after their first meeting. His mind casts backwards to the non-date that had launched this annual trip.

“Wow.” The voice belongs to a woman who steps to the railing next to him, leaning forward and twisting her head to take in the full sunset. Glancing at her, he does a double take as he recognizes her. Holy shit. She’s even more stunning in person.

“Oh, I’d give it a solid 8.5,” Harry’s calm voice is the opposite of his turbulent emotional state.

“Seriously? It’s much closer to a 9.2.”

“You’ve lost your mind. It’s worthwhile, but not a 9.2,” he scoffs, shifting his body slightly closer to hers. He turns toward her, planting a single forearm on the railing as he observes her in her floral sarong that matches her bikini top. Her hair is bundled lazily on top of her head, and her tanned feet are encased in strappy sandals. Surreptitiously, he takes in her curves while she’s examining the sunset.

Twisting her head quickly, she catches his eyes on her ass. Rather than blushing, he smiles at her instead, well aware that the dimple is doing it’s job appropriately. The live steel drum band starts a new song, and she boldly turns to him, holding out her hand. “Dance?”

He doesn’t respond verbally. Grasping her fingers, Harry wraps one arm around her waist, stepping into her and leading them in time with the music. When he twirls her rather expertly, she laughs, planting a hand on his chest and gazing up at him with what appears to be a phony bashfulness.

“I didn’t know you could dance,” she laughs.

“Clearly you’ve never seen me live on stage,” Harry smirks.

She clucks her tongue, “Oh, but I have. I said what I said, Styles.”

Looking away from her, he can’t help the smile that breaks loose. Damn, she’s got moxie. And it’s intriguing and beguiling.

“You’re here alone?” he wonders, his eyes roaming the outdoor space. It’s filled with strangers -- to him anyway.

“Tonight only. Yes.” She twirls him, and he grins at the move.

“Me too.” The soft words are spoken into her ear as he’s drawn her closer. “I like to spend the first night of the year reflecting on the previous year.”

“Isn’t that what New Year’s Eve is for?” she wonders, her voice breathy.

“Nah. That’s for drinking and celebrating with friends. Today is for reflection -- looking backwards and forwards simultaneously.”

“Planning to conquer the world this year, Mr. Styles?”

“Indeed.” Arching an eyebrow, he mimics a cartoon villain, drawing his pinky to his mouth.

She slaps at his chest, and he desperately wants to kiss her in that moment. After all, they are flirting, aren’t they?

“Are you going to offer me dinner?” she asks boldly. “And take me to your room afterwards?”

Woah. Definitely gutsy. “Depends,” he whispers as he spins them both around once more while the band winds down.

“On what?”

“On what kind of sushi you prefer.”

“Ah!” There’s a gleam in her eye that he can’t resist. She’s playful and not shy about being the seductress. Harry finds the combination heady. Waving her hand in dismissal as she turns towards his table, “I usually try whatever the newest offering is -- especially if it’s fresh from those waters.” Fingers waggle in the direction of the bay, and he wants to grasp them out of the air and wrap them protectively in his own hand.

Instead, he applauds the band before following behind her. At the table, she drags her chair from the opposite side of the small round table until she’s sat beside him. With his questioning glance, she again gestures towards the bay. “I’m not going to miss that sunset just so I can stare at your pretty face.”

Rather than sketching the sunset, he attempts to paint the current sight with words. Everything he writes seems trite: clementines, flames, majestic, radiant, blush, hearth.

Where is she? Yes, it had been a year since they had spoken, but surely she would have sent a message if she weren’t planning to join him? Why hadn’t they exchanged numbers? Followed each other on Instagram?

But he knows why. The mystery. The transcendental experience. The enchantment of meeting once a year, incognito, in this particular and magnificent place. No knowledge of each other outside of this 24 hours that belongs to them alone.

Which is ridiculous. Because he certainly knows who she is and follows her career. And he would be astonished if she didn’t also pay attention to his. A few times this last year they had coincidentally been in the same city simultaneously, and he had seriously debated trying to locate her. Contact her manager maybe. Or put out feelers that would certainly have stretched to her ears like an old-fashioned game of Chinese Whispers (which of course isn’t what he should call the game now; it’s racist). The message, though, would have been garbled but sufficient for them to meet up.

Every time, he refrained. Their unspoken commitment was to this place and this one day a year. Now he regrets not making contact. Had she decided that one day a year wasn’t worth the effort? Was she even now canoodling with someone else? There hadn’t been rumours of any recent love affairs on her end, and he snatches his phone anxiously to search her name just in case she connected with someone during the last week.

Picking up his now-empty glass of tequila as he scrolls through his phone, Harry draws an ice cube into his mouth, swirling it on his tongue to relish every tiny bit of the liquor there. The burn has vanished as it’s taken him nearly an hour to drink one tequila. No record of any new beaus. Maybe he should follow her now on social media? DM her? What would he do if she didn’t show? How much longer should he wait?

“Oh yum! This roll is even better than last year’s.” She proclaims as she rushes to grasp the last bite of the Ceviche Roll.

“Hey! That was mine!” Harry protests, laughing as she stuffs the full piece in her mouth.

“Order more,” she mumbles around the rice, fish, and seaweed flavored with citrus and cilantro.

“Nah, I’ve got a different appetite now,” he murmurs, watching her lips as she chews the sushi.

Freezing, her eyes rush to his, and she slowly finishes the sushi she’s been eating, swallowing slowly. He wishes that she would move her chair to his side of the table like she had the previous year. This time, they’re seated on opposite sides of the table, but at an angle where both can watch the setting sun.

“What?” Her look has made him nervous. “You’re not going to tell me you’re seeing someone, are you?”

Her hair twirls as she shakes her head. “No. Broke up with him last week in anticipation of this.”

Having sipped his tequila, Harry chokes at her words. Coughing, he grasps the table with both hands. Holy fuck. She didn’t really expect him to --

“Kidding!” Her giggle lights up her eyes, bringing a light blush to her face. She’s truly stunning. Maybe even more than last year.

When her foot, sans sandal, caresses his calf under the table, he knows that the night is going to be filled with sex. Fun, hot, brilliant sex that will last most of the night. Hmm...perhaps it would be best to fortify himself for their escapades. Raising his hand, he flags down the server.

“Sir?”

“Another Ceviche Roll, por favor. Plus a bottle of Casamigos.” He pauses as her foot makes its way further up his leg, and he wonders if she’s going to slide under the table completely. “Send it to my room, please.” Voice catching as her toes make contact with his crotch, he demands, “Put it all on my tab please. I’ll settle up later.”

With a nod of agreement, the server disappears. Quickly Harry rises, adjusting his slacks as he glances around the room.

“Let’s go,” his voice rumbles.

“But H -- the sunset,” she whines.

“My room has the same view,” he insists, holding out his hand which she grasps. Gracefully sliding her foot back into her sandal, she rises and glides behind him towards the elevator.

His stomach rumbles at the thought of eating, and he debates ordering food. The sushi at the sunset lounge is always fresh. In the past, though, they’ve enjoyed the dishes together, trying new ones every year. Dejected, he places his glass harshly on the table, his disappointment at her absence radiating across his psyche like the colours of the sunset.

“I would say it’s a solid 8.5,” her voice sounds from over his shoulder, and he twists in surprise. Like the sunset beckons the stars, she summons happiness to his soul. He scrambles to rise, kissing her on both cheeks, his lips lingering each time. Not too long, though, in case others are watching and photographing. Which he always assumes these days. Fans. Paps. No privacy exists anywhere.

“Hi,” he whispers, grateful for her presence, but unable to say the words that would tell her how worried he’s been. That might reveal too much of his emotions. And his heart.

Fuck. When had his heart gotten involved? And why hadn’t he realised before this particular moment?

“You agree?” she smiles, gesturing to the sunset.

“I would say it’s a 9 or maybe even a 9.2,” Harry smiles, his dimple making an appearance to rival the sunset in front of them.

“You finished your drink,” she nods at his empty glass.

“I started early.” It’s a lame excuse, and he knows it.

His annual partner tilts her head in his direction. “Or maybe I’m late?”

Not knowing how to respond, Harry waits, his fingers playing with the coaster underneath his drink, spinning it around, the glass slowly rotating with the cardboard circle with the restaurant’s name on it.

“I debated,” she whispers, “unsure if I should…”

The server appears, a smile on his face. His white trousers and white shirt are complemented by a blue scarf at his neck, his accent strong.

“What can I get you?”

Harry notices the man’s gaze on his companion’s breasts which draws his own attention to the bosom swelling around the buttons of her frock, which he just now notices has sunflowers across the lower half of the skirt. Was that on purpose?

When she exchanges a knowing glance with Harry and smoothes the fabric over her legs, it becomes clear that she knows exactly what she was doing by choosing this dress.

He shifts in his seat.

“I’ll have what he’s having,” she announces.

Harry reminds the server, “Two Casamigos on the rocks please. And your newest sushi roll with light brown rice please. Thanks.”

Nodding, his date agrees to the order, and he’s relieved that at least the basics haven’t changed in the last year.

“You were saying?” he prompts as the steward moves away from them.

“Oh,” she blushes, her cheeks tinging slightly pink. “I just...wasn’t sure…” She swallows, her head down before she makes eye contact with him, “that this was a good idea.”

Taken aback, Harry settles his bum more deeply in his chair, feeling blindsided by the comment, wishing he had his tequila to soothe him in this moment. “I see,” he mumbles.

“Harry --” she begins, and he waves a hand in her direction.

“It’s just casual,” he unceremoniously argues, “right?” But his heart clutches at the phrasing.

Her eyes drop to her lap where her hands are entwined. “Yes. I guess.” Her whisper makes him sweat. Fuck. Had she decided this was it? The last time? “It’s a pretty sunset,” she adds.

“Absolutely,” he concurs, anxious at what else she might say. Silence descends on the table much faster than the stars appear in the sky above them. Should he be vulnerable? Tell her how he feels? What he’s thinking?

This year’s live steel drum band begins a new song, and without pause, she rises, holding her hand out for him to grasp. Grateful for the reprieve, he joins her in their corner of the outdoor restaurant, placing one hand on her waist as she rests her head on his chest. Together, they sway, and his mind wanders.

“I need another lime!” she shrieks gleefully, holding the bottle of tequila in her hand. Harry shakes his head from his position flat on the bed. They are going to need clean sheets before they sleep tonight. Maybe they will go to her room for actual sleep?

What the fuck is he thinking? As if they had actually slept during their rendezvous in the previous two years.

“Here. Hold this,” she laughs, thrusting a lime towards Harry to place in his mouth, pulp out.

“Mhm. Me next,” he mumbles just before his teeth wrap around the green rind.

“You bet,” she giggles. Settling herself on the bed as she straddles him, her soft parts landing on his cock encased in its bright green briefs. She slides down his legs and leans forward, holding the bottle of tequila out to the side. “Mmmmm.” Licking a stripe up from the base of his underpants to his navel, she sprinkles salt there before tilting the bottle of Casamigos and allowing a shot of tequila to land in his taut navel. He’d worked hard on his abs the last couple of months, knowing that he would be lying here with her. They’ve got definition that most blokes only dream of.

Quickly, her tongue captures the salt before she sucks the tequila from his belly and shifts forward to suck the lime that’s in his mouth. Fuck. If he hadn’t been hard before they started this game, he’s certainly got a hammer between his legs now.

As he releases the lime for her, she grips it in her teeth, leaning backwards in her bra and panties, her core now on his chest, and he can’t resist reaching out with a single finger and tracing a pattern over the treasure he knows is underneath.

“You waxed for me this year,” he comments.

“No,” she protests, “I waxed for me this year. You give great oral, and I wanted nothing to get in the way. It’s been far too long since my pussy has been properly eaten.”

“Oh?” Harry’s eyebrow raises, as he knows a couple of people who she dated during the previous year.

“Yep. I would say,” she smiles, leaning down to capture his mouth in a kiss, her lips hovering just above his, “about exactly a year.”

“Hey…” he begins as they finish their silent dance just as their drinks arrive along with the plate of sushi, but he’s interrupted.

“Here are your drinks. Our newest sushi roll is the Hot Lover,” which makes Harry cringe and shift again in his seat. “It’s spicy tuna, shrimp tempura, and avocado wrapped in soybean paper.”

As he places the food in front of them, Harry smiles sadly and nods as the gentleman fades away into the restaurant, like the sunset has drifted into the ocean.

“You were going to say something?” she asks, and he loses all of his courage.

Shaking his head, he grasps a piece of the sushi roll between his fingers, sliding it onto his tongue.

“Not bad,” he comments as he chews, trying to tuck the food in his cheek so he’s not rude.

“It’s really not got a lot of flavour,” she grins as she mimics his eating habit. “Kind of boring.”

Did she mean their relationship? Was this one of those double-entendres? Swallowing the fish and rice concoction, he sips his tequila as the sushi sticks in his throat. For some reason, he wants to cry. It makes no sense, but the tears come unbidden to his eyes. Fuck. Looking away, he sips more of his drink as he watches the remnants of the sunset fade away, blinking furiously.

“I wanted to call you when we were both in New York this year,” he comments softly.

Her fingers pause halfway to her mouth, the soybean-paper-wrapped piece of sushi hovering near her lips. Harry watches as she debates how to respond to his comment, finally placing the fish on her tongue and chewing slowly. Unable to draw his eyes from her mouth, he unapologetically watches as she savors the restaurant’s latest speciality. Eyes closed, she moans. Her hands clutch the table on either side of her, and Harry feels his mouth go dry.

Once she devours the food, she sips her tequila on the rocks, and he can visualize her tongue swirling the liquid around as she either tries to clear the flavour of the fish or fully taste the liquor. After all, her tongue has done that same move to his most favored body part. When she finishes, she makes eye contact with him, her hands resting on either side of her plate, fingers curled. Taking a deep breath, she straightens her fingers flat without breaking eye contact. Fuck. He’s sweating.

“Truth be told, Harry -- I desperately wanted to call you when we were both in Edinburgh that time.”

“Why didn’t you?” His words are faster than his brain, and he immediately wishes he could draw back the question.

“You know why,” she replies, and he nods because he does indeed know all of the reasons. “The sunset --” Her attention is drawn to the colours in the sky, “is lovely, don’t you think?”

“Honestly,” he admits, “I would say this is the best one of all of the times we’ve sat here together.” The words make him cringe. He wants to keep things light, but something about the moment prevents fluff. It feels momentous. Overwhelming.

He watches as her eyes stray from his to the sky before they tear up and she nods in agreement. “Yes, Harry. I would say this is the most breathtaking of the sunsets we’ve seen.”

Did that mean that this would be the last one? Neither of them is getting younger. Sooner or later, one of them will meet “the one”. And then where will the other be? Stuck on an island with a sunset alone? Fuck. He doesn’t want to be that person. But he truly doesn’t want that for her either.

“It’s a sensational sunset,” Harry pleads, his eyes not leaving her face, not straying to the glorious colours, not denying that they have some chemistry together. Why hadn’t he made a play for her before now? Was a hookup enough? Would he be happy if this is the last one?

“Harry,” she sighs, sipping her drink again. “I wonder ---”

The band starts a new song, and he shakes off the sound, willing her to continue. A group at the table behind them sings ‘Happy Birthday’ while another table nearby bursts into laughter and somewhere a server drops a tray of glasses, the shattering drawing applause from a few assholes close to the debacle. Harry ignores all of it.

“Yes? Go on,” he encourages.

“Maybe…” she bites her lip, looking away from him towards the sunset.

“Yes?” His throat is dry, but he doesn’t reach for his tequila or his glass of ice water. Instead, his gaze remains riveted on her.

“Do you think that perhaps we could…”

His breath catches in his throat. What would she say? Would she ask for some random sex act? Cancel their relationship permanently? Or possibly -- miraculously -- suggest that they celebrate more sunsets together instead of just once a year. He holds his breath, waiting impatiently.

“I mean, it would probably be best if we...”

A/N: Reblogs are love, my readers. I appreciate the likes, but reblogs help others find the story and, quite frankly, encourage me to continue publishing here.

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #my writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry fanfiction #original writing #harry styles imagine

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slipping-through-my-fingertips · 3 years ago

Text

Guess I Misunderstood

Part 2 of Not the One series.

Summary: Kurt's trying a find a way to end things with Adam and Blaine Anderson is one of the reasons why.

Notes: Open for more prompts in this 'verse but I only intended it to be 2 parts of a two-sided story. I hope you enjoy.

Read Part 1 here

AO3

The first time Kurt saw Blaine Anderson, he was spying on the bulletin boards. He, like every other Apple, was worried about how many freshmen they could pull this semester. With a majority of the current Adam’s Apples being seniors, they needed to fill those spots with freshmen. Better to round them up this year so they’ll already have a year of acapella under their belts.

He's just standing there reading all the flyers. Kurt’s trying to look busy with his phone to not draw attention. But he can’t help but access this man.

Firstly, Kurt doesn't recognize him so he assumes this is a freshman, exactly the demographic their flyers are trying to bring in. The second thing that makes this man stand out among the others Kurt’s observed thus far is how nicely dressed he is. It is the first day of school so one would think a little effort would be put in but some boys their age won’t even put on a stain-free shirt to come to school. Luckily, most NYADA students care about their appearances, this freshman is no exception.

He’s wearing tightly fitted, dark green, capri pants and a crisp, white, collared polo.

Then his hand is reaching up to the green flyer Kurt designed.

He takes it.

YES!

Kurt tries to collect himself when he walks over to the boards. Don’t scare him away is his new mantra.

“The Apples?” He asks.

The freshman was shy at first probably because he didn’t expect to be approached. Before he answers Kurt, he does manage to meet his eyes.

Well, Kurt thought, if he sings as well as he looks the Apples could make Nationals.

In the past, Kurt would’ve berated himself for checking out guys while being in a relationship but he’s becoming less sure about Adam lately. His boyfriend is becoming a bit pushy about things like this. But Kurt isn’t about to stop doing it. If Adam really trusted him, he could see all of this was harmless.

The guy was gorgeous, no one should really blame Kurt for staring. His bowtie added a dash of adorableness, which would only draw Kurt in closer if he was single. Which he is decidedly not.

“I love to sing.”

Kurt could certainly relate. That’s how he got involved with glee clubs in the first place. Hell, that’s what got him to New York.

“Me too,” he said, “I’ll see you at auditions, break a leg.”

Only while he was walking away did Kurt curse himself for not catching the man’s name.

Before he knew it, they reached the point in the school year—day two—where Rachel was would start harassing him about “getting his name out there” and listing off all the auditions she had lined up. The only way Kurt could hear another word of this was over coffee so he dragged Rachel there before his class. This meant she had exactly 35 minutes to talk at him about it until he inevitably came home for the night and had to share the loft with her. Halfway through the conversation, he notices a finely dressed young man in line.

He’s not ashamed to admit the man’s best asset drew his attention. Though it wasn’t a difficult feat considering Power-Hungry Rachel was his other option.

Thankfully, her time was running out, “Rach, I’ll see you at home, I have Tibideaux.”

With one last look at the man, Kurt rushes off to class.

When Adam’s Apples auditions are up and running, Kurt is fuming. His boyfriend thought the perfect time to discuss their future as a couple was directly before they had to sit on their asses for 3 hours listening to a bunch of freshmen sing their hearts out.

Of course, they fought over it. Kurt was pissed about the timing, Adam thought he was being careless about their future plans because he refused to talk about it.

“I’m refusing to do it publicly when we have obligations!” Kurt had told him.

He had stormed into the empty auditorium at that point, casting aside Adam’s idea to move away after graduation for the moment, and sat in the third row. Unable to take a hint, Adam sat beside him.

Kurt was barely able to pay attention to the singers until Blaine. Once again, the man was pleasantly dressed. This time in bright yellow capris and a lovely yellow and blue bowtie. Kurt wondered if he had an affinity for them.

Adam coughed next to him, Kurt reverted his eyes. For the rest of the song, he was trying not to stare because Adam didn’t need another reason to blame Kurt for their relationship problems. When Blaine was finished, they clapped, Adam leaned in, “I’m sorry, you’re right.” In reply, Kurt kissed his cheek.

Knowing a simple kiss could smooth things over for now. They obviously had a lot to discuss.

As school picked up, Kurt mostly forgot about his little soft spot for Blaine until he was pulling a tipsy Adam off of the Lion’s Den dance floor Saturday night.

They knew their potential new recruits would be at Callbacks, Kurt wanted none of that. If they were going to celebrate the first week of classes as a couple, he wasn’t about to be interrupted by a drunk NYADA student begging to know how their glee audition went. So he was here and apparently so was Blaine.

He almost turned right around wanting to ignore the man. This is the exact situation he was trying to avoid. But Adam pulled him forward, slurring “bar’s this way.”

Kurt tried to catch his eye from across the bar but instead watched as Blaine slung his drink back and paid his tab. By the time Adam was finished ordering, Blaine was gone.

The fourth time Kurt thought he’d see Blaine never came.

Kurt had posted the Adam’s Apples list of new recruits himself. Blaine Anderson was at the top. Alphabetically speaking. Yet, he never showed up to their first rehearsal. Everyone else had come. It was difficult to listen to Adam’s introductory speech when he kept waiting for Blaine to walk through the auditorium doors.

He never did. Did Tuesdays at 7 not work for his schedule?

They sat in a circle on stage playing ice breakers, learning each other’s names and special interests in regards to their studies at NYADA.

When rehearsal ends, Adam tapped his shoulder, “you seem distracted, what’s up?”

Kurt remembers what Drunk Adam told him on Saturday and lies, “nothing, I’m fine. Just something Rachel said.”

“Well,” Adam helped him up, “don’t worry too much about her. Before you know it, you and I will be taking on the West End.”

He smiles until Adam turns away.

When Adam had first said they should move, Kurt thought he meant out of the heart of the city. Which was something he could understand. If Kurt’s dreams of starting a family someday were to be met, he saw the appeal of a move. It never crossed his mind that Adam meant to move across the ocean.

When they first started talking, Kurt loved the allure of an older man. Being a freshman at the time, Kurt had been desperate to fit in in ways he never could at McKinley. So when Adam took him under his wing, showed him the ropes of NYADA and New York, it was only a matter of time before Kurt had a crush on him. Initially, Adam was too busy for a relationship, he had told Kurt as much so Kurt keep the crush to himself...and Rachel.

When NYADA’s spring formal rolled around, Kurt was already planning on going with his roommate. Rachel had been trying him to match in a terrible shade of pink. It didn’t go well with either of their complexions. The text came in mid-argument about their outfits.

Adam: wanna go to formal?

Kurt dropped his phone. Luckily, he was sitting on the couch and it fell onto the cushion. Rachel, of course, knew something was wrong because Kurt paused in the middle of yelling at her about the tackiness of matching when they could complement each other instead.

“What’s up?” she asked, leaning in to glance at his phone, “it’s not your dad, right?”

“No, no, no,” Kurt assured her, tilting his screen so she could read the message.

“OH!” she squealed, jumping up. “Tell him yes!”

“He probably isn’t asking me, just wants to know if I’ll be there.”

Rachel rolled her eyes, “don’t stupid, Kurt.”

Ignoring her, Kurt texted back and slumped down.

Kurt: Rachel and I are going to go together, yes

Instantly, another text came in.

Adam: Would Rachel be upset if I took you instead?

Rachel was biting her lip excitedly. Practically dancing as she sat on the couch next to him.

Kurt: I think she’d be delighted. As would I.

The two of them did some jumping up and down together before Kurt settled back onto the couch, holding his phone to his chest.

“Guess that means I can wear pink if I want to,” Rachel said before disappearing into her bedroom.

But that was then. It had been a long time since Kurt felt butterflies in his stomach when he thought about Adam. He never thought they’d completely disappear but these last few months he felt stagnant. When he expressed these concerns to his boyfriend, Adam’s solution was, once again, to move across the pond.

Like that would solve their issues.

That wasn’t what Kurt had meant by stagnant but Adam kept going on and on about how New York may be the city that never sleeps but he couldn’t wait to get back to the excitement of London.

Kurt could never see himself moving so far away from his dad or his friends. New York had become his home these last three years. Maybe Adam always dreamed of going back to the UK but he had never told Kurt that explicitly until the start of this semester. Dating for 2 years and it never came up.

By the time they were having their fifth fight about this, Kurt knew they were going to have to break up. It was just a matter of when.

The actual fourth time Kurt saw Blaine Anderson was two weeks before Thanksgiving break.

He was sitting in a corner of the library. Sheets of music spread across his lap. Titling his head so a single black curl dangled in his face. Blaine keeps blowing the curl away to no avail. It took everything in Kurt to not laugh.

Adorable.

Kurt wasn’t really here to study. He finished up his assignments for the weekend. There was a major test next week for one of Rachel’s classes. She was in a study group and forgot her yellow notebook so Kurt offered to bring it to her.

Wasn’t it just his luck that Blaine Anderson was here? Right in his line of sight. The universe must be having fun with him tonight. He was about to go home to an empty apartment and write a breakup speech for Adam.

Kurt had plans to talk with his day over Thanksgiving break—Burt insisted on planning for his flight. He just needed someone, not Rachel, to tell him it was the right choice. For so long, Adam, being his first boyfriend, made Kurt feel like he owed it to Adam to continue this. Kurt had just reached the end of his rope.

He did end up talking to his dad about everything other than the impending breakup. In fact, Kurt couldn’t seem to get Blaine’s name out of his mouth.

“We had this really talented singer come in for auditions, dad,” Kurt said. “Blaine Anderson, he’s a freshman.”

“Oh yeah?”

This was the second time Kurt had brought this up.

“He’s going to do big things someday.”

By the fourth time, Blaine’s name was mentioned, which was a lot of times for a man Kurt had only spoken to once, Burt had something to say about it.

“You gonna ask him out, bud, or just keep talking to me?”

Kurt paused, blushed, and stumbled out a “no.”

“No what? You won’t ask him or he won’t go out with you.”

“Dad,” Kurt said, “both of those imply, I do ask him out.”

“Well, you should.” Burt shrugged. “You clearly like him.”

His dad did always know how to read him. This wasn’t the time to remind Burt of his boyfriend. Of whom, Burt was indifferent. Dating for years and Adam couldn’t seem to break down Burt’s overprotective walls.

Now that Kurt was alone in their apartment thinking of those conversations. All of them. Every single time he had asked Burt about Adam or called his dad after a ridiculous fight. How many of those conversations contain happy stories?

Kurt and Adam had loads of good times but none that he ever shared with his dad, no memories that become inside jokes, nothing like that.

It was the Monday after Thanksgiving, Rachel was in class, Adam’s professor had let them out earlier, and Kurt had an empty apartment.

Kurt: let’s get coffee

Adam: Be there in ten

When Kurt came back, he was a single man in New York once again.

The fifth time, Kurt saw Blaine Anderson was on purpose. He meant to run into him in the NYADA auditorium. Kurt had asked around and found out Blaine had joined a different glee club. Amy said they rehearsed on Wednesdays and Blaine was always there a half-hour earlier to warm-up alone.

Sure enough, Blaine was center stage pacing in a circle doing one of Rachel’s favorite scales. Kurt is creeping in from one of the back entrances. Slowly, he makes his way up to the stage unsure if he wants Blaine to notice him or not.

Eventually, he reaches a moment when he has to say something. About fifteen feet from the stage, Kurt speaks up, “you’re very talented, you know?”

Blaine looks down at him, a quick smile, and blushes, “thanks.”

“We were sad to not see you at rehearsals but The Singsations benefit greatly.”

“Yeah, I felt bad about it…” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “but it just wasn’t going to work.”

“Well,” Kurt replied, “acapella isn’t for everyone.”

“Funny enough, it wasn’t the acapella part.”

At that, Kurt’s not sure what to say. He wants to ask what the problem was then.

“Sorry, did you just come here to ask why I didn’t join the Apples?” Blaine asked.

“Um no, Amy said you warm up here before rehearsals.” Which was Kurt’s way of stalling. “I…”

This is exactly why Kurt hadn’t had a boyfriend before Adam: he was too nervous to make the first move.

Blaine is sitting on the edge of the stage now so they’re almost level. Kurt could just push his legs apart, stand between them, and kiss him. That’s all he wants to do.

“I’ve seen you around campus a lot.” Four times.

“Me too,” Blaine said, which has Kurt smirking slightly. So he did notice him too. Then Blaine continues and knocks that smirk right off his face, “how’s your boyfriend?”

Well, Kurt should’ve expected that blow. His and Adam’s relationship was pretty well-known. In just two weeks since the breakup, Kurt’s surprised more people aren’t gossiping about it.

Honesty is the best policy, right?

“We broke up.”

“Oh,” Blaine replied, “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Are you?” Kurt asked, “because I’m not sorry at all. I should’ve done it sooner. We weren’t meant to be together as long as we were.”

“You broke up with him?” Blaine asked, confused. “But you seemed so in love.”

“A year ago, I would’ve agreed with you but one too many problems later it was never going to work,” Kurt told him, “but that’s not why I’m here either.”

“So, why are you here? I was pretty sure you didn’t know I existed.”

“I definitely do,” Kurt said, “and now it’s my turn to ask if you’re single.”

Blaine blushed again, “Not sure that’s what I meant earlier.”

“It’s what I meant.”

“I’m not seeing anyone right now, I’ve been pining after this upperclassman who was with someone.”

“Oh yeah?” Kurt asked.

“Yeah.”

Kurt took a step closer and placed his palms on Blaine’s knees.

“Well, I think he likes you too.”

Then, he pushes his legs open with no resistance from Blaine. It isn’t Kurt who leans in first though.

#klaine fanfiction #klaine fanfic #klaine #my fics #not the one

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trollartistry · 4 years ago

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Fleeting Reunion

Doing a drabble again! No art this time, but I might draw it later. I had the idea of ‘what if Nemi reunited with Classic Freddy as an adult?’ and wanted to do something with it.

Now, just an FYI, this drabble’s based on the idea that *somehow* and for *some* reason, the old classic animatronics were kept and used as parts or something for the new Glamrocks. Also dunno what year Security Breach canonly is in so I’m using our current year, 2021. So I’m really breaking canon here- oh well.

Story under the read more!

The first time Nemi discovered the old, beat down classics, he was shocked and thought he had been seeing things. Tucked deep in the pizzaplex was a parts and services room, and while he worked as a nightguard, on occasion he’d act as a mechanic. The man only had been looking for a basic piece to replace in Monty’s arm as it had broken mid golf swing, and it was an easy fix. But Nemi found more than just the part he needed- he found 4 familiar animatronics from the pizzeria he used to go to as a child; Foxy, Bonnie, Chica, and of course Freddy.

It plagued his mind, and it unnerved him every time he had to go into that room. They weren’t even that dismantled, if anything just.. broken. The foam and fabric on all of them torn, Chica’s hands were missing, Bonnie’s face was gone, and Foxy looked shredded up along his limbs and ear. Freddy was the only one that looked mostly decent, but the state he was in infuriated the nightguard. All of these beloved robots, just dumped in the back with no care in the world.

And then Nemi’s thoughts went from a simple, curious walk to a manic, inquisitive run. Were they the same four from that old pizzeria he attended on a weekly basis when he was a child? Why were they here? Could they still work if he powered them up? What would he even do once he turned them all on and they were the old ones he once knew? ...Would Freddy remember who he was, if Nemi was to power him up?

Finally his willpower broke one night. He had to know. He would only power up Freddy, just to see what would happen. If it wasn’t the same Freddy as the one all those years ago, he’d just shut him back off and let his burning questions fizzle to forgotten ash. And if it was the same Freddy, well.. they could at least catch up.

He spent a good month or so sneaking in, fiddling with wires and parts to make sure the bot could turn on without much difficulty. Thankfully, it seemed any evidence of his tampering either went unnoticed, or wasn’t reported cuz no one ever stopped him. And finally, one night, he was done. All there was left to do was flick the switch and power Freddy up. Nemi took a breath in, muttered his hope, and flicked the switch.

Sparks sputtered and the whole frame of Freddy jolted as power ran through his circuits, causing Nemi to jump back. Inside there was whirring, old inner workings flowing with electricity. The man watched, unsure if his heart was racing with hope or anxiety as the bot’s eyes twitched a bit, before blinking, focusing in on the darkened room and the person before him.

Freddy sat up against the wall, ears tilting a little and he blinked once, twice. Nemi could tell he was confused immediately, the way his eyebrows furrowed and he shut his jaw in a pursed manner. There was silence, an uncomfortable silence and Nemi didn’t know what to say or do, Freddy was just sitting there..

As Nemi opened his mouth, Freddy blinked with some recognition and spoke, unsure, “..*D-Deadname*?”

It’s a name that hasn’t been used by friends or family in so many years, only used for legal manners. But hearing it makes Nemi choke on his words as his heart clenches with emotion. So it is the same Freddy, and he recognizes him even after all these years.

“..Y-yea, it’s me, Freddy.” Nemi said, coming back over to kneel down before the sitting bot, unable to help but grin at him. “I don’t- don’t go by that anymore b-but it’s me.”

Freddy’s silent as he looks the man over, obviously a bit frazzled seeing someone he last saw as a child now kneeling before him as a grown man. He then looks around the room, and sees all of the different parts, and his fellow animatronics. He’s quiet as he takes it all in, and even though he’s old and worn, Freddy was wise and knew what this entailed. They weren’t in use anymore and instead replaced.

“I uh.. go by Nemi now.” Nemi said, bringing the bot’s attention back to him. Freddy blinked, then softly hummed a little as he nodded, “Nemi.. it’s.. unique.”

“Heh.. yea, got it during highschool.” Nemi replied. It’s quiet again and Freddy’s once again looking around, and Nemi wiped his watery eyes before deciding to explain, “You uh.. You’re in Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzaplex. The year’s 2021.. I guess you guys are being used as parts now.”

“2021?” Freddy asked, attention back on Nemi. The man nods and Freddy gives a quiet sigh, “..I’m amazed we’re still in solid pieces then. Or that I even work..” He looked down at himself.

“I uh.. had to fix you quite a bit actually just to get you to t-turn on..” Nemi said with a shrug. He’s looking over Freddy again, and now that the animatronic’s on and talking, it makes his withered state hurt Nemi all the more. Freddy doesn’t miss the first tears dripping down the man’s face and he tries to distract him from his emotions, “Hey.. at least my name’s still out there, right? Surely there’s another model of me still keeping an eye on you.” He smiled.

Nemi’s heart only hurts more than that. Glamrock Freddy was just as incredible as the classic, if not more, and sure, the man loves him dearly.. but he could hear his younger self weep in the back of his mind, ‘But that’s not MY Freddy!’ Nemi clenches his eyes shut at that, a sniffle escaping him, and Freddy quietly sighs before he opens his arms, the old joints creaking. “Shh.. come here, it’s okay.”

The guard, though grown, can’t help but immediately close the distance to hug the beloved animatronic, a sob escaping him. Freddy holds him close, and recalls the few times he did this to Nemi when he was a little girl. He begins to try and play the same tune he did back then, but realizes he no longer has his music box, only a soft clicking noise coming from the inner crank that was left installed to turn it. So instead, Freddy talks and hopes his voice offers that same comfort.

“I missed you.. It’s nice to see you grown up.” Freddy said softly, removing the security hat from Nemi’s head to stroke his hair soothingly. Nemi manages to whimper out that he missed the bot as well, along with an apology that makes Freddy hush him softly, “You have nothing to be sorry for, Nemi..”

The brunette pulls back a little, shaking his head as he tries to wipe those spilled tears, “I-I didn’t even get to say goodbye to you back then when I had to move.. A-And now, here you are, i-in the back of a damn mall collecting d-dust and in pieces-” He began, and a old paw cups his cheek.

“None of that is your fault.” Freddy said as he comforted the man, “What matters is you had a good life after your time with me. I knew I would eventually be taken down from the spotlight, either for good or for a new model to replace me.. it happens, Nemi.”

Nemi looks at the bot who gives him a warm smile, the same smile he would give him all those years ago. It calms some of those bubbling sorrows, but Nemi still can’t help but sniffle.

“It’s been, what.. 10 or so years? And you’ve changed so much.. we have time, why don’t you tell me what you’ve been up to? Just like old times.” Freddy offered, and Nemi nodded.

He told the bear about his father’s passing, the many years of moving before he ended up in his aunt and uncle’s care. How he discovered his own identity and realized he was a man, and graduated highschool by the skin of his teeth. Freddy listened to all of it, just like how he used to listen to Nemi as a child talk about his days back then. He then asked about the pizzaplex and how the man enjoyed working there, and Nemi in turn talked about the whole place and the Glamrock animatronics. Freddy’s amused at how Nemi talks about Glamrock Freddy- its that same admiration the man had for Freddy back then.. and something more, Freddy can tell. The conversation helped Nemi calm down and it was comforting to Freddy himself to know he was still loved by people, even if it was a completely different model. But a glance to his watch told Nemi he only had another hour or two before his shift was up. Before his time with Freddy, was up.

“..Y’know,” Nemi began after a silent moment of just being close to the bot, “I think- I think they’d get along fine with you and the others.. I could work on them too, get them up and running, and-”

“No.” Freddy shuts down the idea with a frown. It hurts to do so, but he knows his place. “I’ve had my time on the stage. We all have..”

The nightguard looks shocked at Freddy’s answer, and tries to change his mind, “F-Freddy c’mon, it’ll be fine! Maybe- Maybe HR would consider refurbishing you guys and you can be part of it all even-!” He said, voice cracking with desperation and Freddy cups the man’s face again, eyes sternly looking down at him.

“You and I both know that’s not how it would go, Nemi.” He said, “Even if we got along with the Glamrocks, it’d be trouble for all of us to be on again. You already risked your job just to get me back online, do you know how much trouble you’ll get into if you left me on?”

“I don’t care!” Nemi exclaimed, not caring just how childish he sounded, “Do you know how much I missed you when I had to leave?! And now here at my job I find your- your broken body just laying here and not know if it was really you and now that I put in all that work, it really IS you?! I-I can’t just- power you back down and forget about you after this, I-I wont! I love you too much to lose you again!!”

There’s a silence, and Nemi’s face grows red as he realizes what he said was selfish and childish of him, along with a confession for the old bot. Freddy’s surprised to hear it, but he then smiles, brushing back some of the brunette hair.

“I know. But you’ve never lost me nor forgot about me, have you? You got a job at a place with my name still in it, along with getting along with another me.” Freddy said warmly, “I know it’s hard.. but it’s for the best. If you kept me on, it would jeopardize everything and you could lose everything you have here.. including that Glamrock version of me.”

Nemi’s eyes widen, before looking away with sorrow at the thought of losing Glamrock Freddy. Freddy was right, but the thought of having to turn him back off had Nemi’s heart twisting in agony. “..B-but.. I can’t..” He whimpered, and Freddy pulled him back into the embrace.

“I know it’s hard.. but you have to.” Freddy murmured. “I’ll still be here, in more ways than one.”

Nemi nodded, fresh tears spilling as he let out another sob, “Can- can I hear your song, just one last time..?”

Freddy may of not had his music box, but he began to hum softly, letting the man hear that tune once more. They stayed there in the darkness of the room, Nemi quietly crying in Freddy’s arms as he listened, before sitting up as the last few notes were hummed. Nemi opened up the bot’s chest, reaching in to that power switch and looked up at Freddy, the two sharing one last gaze.

“G-Goodbye, Freddy..”

“Goodbye, Nemi.”

And with a flip of the switch, the sound of machinery powering down echoed in Nemi’s ears as he watched the life fade from Freddy’s eyes as he slumped against the wall, eyelids closing over. The man closed the chest plate, staring at the bot with a heavy heart before picking up his hat and getting up. He went to the door, pausing to take one glance back to the beloved bear, before exiting the room, the thud of the door closing behind him echoing down the hall.

A week later when he has to go in to that same room, he’s griefstricken to see the four bodies of the classic animatronics were gone for good and for the rest of that night, it’s spent sticking close to Glamrock Freddy as the new, shiny Glamrock model of his beloved childhood friend still brought the man comfort and happiness.

#nemi babbles #story #drabble #five nights at freddys #fanfic #fnaf fanfic #fnaf security breach #freddy fazbear #glamrock freddy #self insert #self insert x canon

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